New Years Eve post – Resolutions are easier if you set standards low. Really low. (12/01/01)
Job Search Fun – I try for a new job at my old job (12/01/26)
Not sure what happened here. Maybe I slept.
The Big Red Atomic Dog – I start writing reviews of awful Children’s TV. In this one, I ponder how Clifford got so big (12/03/30)
Woman at the Well – I retell a random Bible story. Badly. (12/04/20)
Time Management! – This won’t help you. (12/05/07)
View from a Trampoline – I figure out I’m not 12 anymore (12/06/11)
You Suck: Helpful Advice for Writers – I dispense learnings from my writing class. (12/07/18)
Penguin’s Progress – How things don’t get done at a university or why I stay with my old job. My first post after my switch from blogger to WordPress– (2012/07/30)
50 Shades of Beating a Dead Horse – I decide to recap the 50 Shades series despite countless warnings and many others beating me to it. I am an idiot. (2012/08/06)
More 50SoG? Yes, No, Who invited you to the party? – I ponder whether to continue the series. And I give 50 SoG the psychopath test. Guess who passes with flying colors???? (2012/08/20)
50SoG Interviews Taylor: I start interviewing 50 Shades fictional characters. Speaker 7, her mind clearly blown by her recaps, links to me and I get semi-famous! (12/8/22)
Your Weekly Horoscope – I make up horoscope readings. I am still getting hits from people wanting actual readings. (12/09/07)
The Cool Table – my first post on Canvas of the Minds. (12/09/09)
Queen of the Mucus People – beginning of my series “Fun with Lung Disease” (12/09/30)
Curious Alice Visits the Hospital Part One – Pneumonia sucks. (12/10/02)
50 Shades Flunked: Back to School – I grade E.L. James on her third book. Not pretty. (12/10/15)
An Alice Halloween Special – Worship the Great Pumpkin at the patch of your choice. (12/10/31)
The Seneca Scourge by Carrie Rubin: A Review – There are still good books out there, you guys. (12/11/02)
My Hurricane Post (12/11/04) – My totally unhelpful reflection on Hurricane Sandy
Alice’s Inspiring Movember Post (12/11/06) – There’s a picture of male anatomy and a pumpkin with a mustache.
Alice’s Thanksgiving Special (12/11/22) – Pilgrims, Indians, Turkey, and Smallpox
Alice’s Press Release Blurbs (12/11/18) – You like me! You really like me!
Twilight Movie Recap Part One (12/11/30) – I review Twilight with my darling, snark-filled children.
Alice’s Letter to Santa (12/12/12) – Alice starts her blackmail campaign against Santa.
Alice’s Christmas Special (12/12/25) The story of Jesus and Santa.Wow, what a trip down that rabbit hole of memory lanes. Clearly, so much happened in 2012, as revealed in those blog posts that I’m sure you clicked on instead of skipping to the bottom. Like I applied for a job and got pneumonia and reviewed a bunch of awful books. Oh, and there was a hurricane. Let no one say Alice does not have a handle on news we can all appreciate. Or something. Make way for 2013.
Okay, so it’s another pneumonia related post, but since it’s still hanging on me, it can hang on you too. That’s just the kind of mood I’m in, peoples. I am much better, but tend to get exhausted after walking, like, ten feet. Our parking situation is less than ideal, which you’d know if you’d read my post (No Parking). So, since I get so tired so easily my boss suggested I get temporary handicapped parking.
Here’s where it starts to get fun, guys. I asked the doctor for a note and took it to the university’s parking services, because I figured they controlled everything on their campus (they try to, at least). Well, not that. So I went back to the doctor and he filled out a form and I signed and some notary person signed and I took it to the DPS in town and paid five dollars and ta-da I had a fancy new placard to hang from my rearview mirror. It’s not exactly stylish. I’m thinking of fixing it up with some glitter and rhinestones so it can be all handicapped blingy.
Wheee, close parking! Finally something halfway decent was coming out of this lung crapola. Granted, I would have preferred breathing clearly to having a nice parking place, but I’ll take what I can get.
But it gets EVEN BETTER, guys. I have no problems the first day, but the second day using my handicap bling I’m walking toward the library’s back entrance (which is just a short distance away – Score!) when another employee (not of the library) who by the way is fugly and annoying says to me ever-so-helpfully, “You know they’ll catch you for parking there.”
WTF? I’d like to say I swung around and flipped him off or some other appropriate response but I never do that because I’m just too stunned that anyone would be such an asshole. I don’t know WHY this surprises me, since there are assholes everywhere, but somehow it always does. Instead I say, “I have a placard.” Meanwhile it’s blowing cold air out in the fucking parking lot and I’ve got my face buried in my jacket defending myself to Mr. Dickhead. He responds, “Is it yours? Because that’s what they’ll look for, if it belongs to you.” Or some other such shit. Oh, great. So now I mug handicapped people for their placards? WTF???
I say, “I have pneumonia,” somehow leaving off the “asshat” part and go inside. Meanwhile I’m still fuming. I mean, really? Where does he get off? So you’re not handicapped unless you’re in a wheelchair or on crutches or have an arm hanging by a tendon or something? Sorry, moron, but there are other disabilities, like, I dunno, LUNG DISEASE. It’s listed in the little form thingy that you fill out to get one of these awesome fucking placards. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Because you’re a dickhead.
Another thing that really struck me was how he acted as if he was concerned for my welfare here. Like, oh dear, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the law, sweetie. The policemen get madfaced when you park where it’s illegal. Really? No shit, Sherlock. I’ve only been driving for 20 freaking years, so I kind of picked up on that already. It’s not like handicapped parking is unique to the university. And if I have the placard? I must have stolen it! So I’m an illegal parker and a thief! I have this image of myself knocking over some little old lady, grabbing her placard, laughing evilly, and dashing off into the night with my prize. What.the.fuck.
But here’s the most important part. Even if I WAS a thief and illegally parking, why would this be his business? I’ve seen him around some, sure, but we aren’t pals by any stretch of the imagination. If I’m stupid enough to park illegally and rob old ladies, would I really listen to reason from Fugly Ass here? Just – shut up. Shut the fuck up. You’re not trying to help me. You’re jealous because I have a good parking place and I don’t look sufficiently disabled to you. My dear, I’d love to give you just an ounce of this pneumonia so you can see how it feels. Also a kick in the nuts. It’s none of your business.
So shut up. The world would be a much better place if more people just SHUT THE HELL UP. End rant.
You know how I said I was going to return to the horoscopes on Friday? Yeah, I lied. See, my physic abilities have taken a hiatus, and I’m not sure when they’ll be back. What I do have in abundance, though, is lots of AliceRage. So I thought we could do a nice Friday special about this. I call it “Rants with Alice”.
Today’s rant is about: Doctor’s Offices.
Now I spoke of adventures in the doctor’s office before in another post, but this one is different because this is like the 18th doctor’s visit I’ve had since contracting Lung Crapola (the saga continues!), so by now I’m just pissed before I even walk in the door. This is my second follow-up appointment, since it was determined at the last appointment that I was still sick and I got another week off.
My rage begins when I first get to the counter and meet the receptionists. What’s fun is the way they pretend they don’t see you. Their motto is “don’t make eye contact”. They will look off absolutely anywhere but straight in front of them. It’s like two-year-olds when they close their eyes and think they’ve disappeared. I want to say “I can still fucking see you.”
So I get through the receptaraptors, and now I get to wait on the doctor. And wait. And wait. I have no idea why they even schedule appointments, since the doctors are never on time. But the waiting is not so bad, because besides the T.V. (Fox News! Yes!) there’s always good reading material available, covered in lots of patient germs. Stuff like fishing magazines and Highlights for Children from 1985. Don’t you just love that Goofus and Gallant? If I were Goofus, I would have offed Gallant a long time ago. You know he wants to do it. No one is that freaking annoying and perfect and gets to live long.
Finally I get in and go through the motions, and then I usually see the doctor, but this time I am so lucky and get a blond doctor student. I have nothing against blonds, it’s just that I never bothered to read her name tag, so I’m just calling her blond student which beats what I want to call her, which is really not printable.
Blond student is way too fucking chipper to be in a doctor’s office. I ask for meds to help me sleep temporarily. She is so amused that I sleep so much during the day (because I’m exhausted from no sleep at night). “There’s your problem!” she says. “You just need to stay awake during the day!” Brilliant. I never fucking thought of that.
She examines me by listening to my lungs and checking my oxygen levels. “You sound great!” she happily exclaims. I inform her that I sounded “great!” when I my entire right lung was coated with fucking pneumonia. She gives me this “I’m going to humor this hypochondriac” look I just adore. She asks me how I’m feeling (fabulous, bitch) essentially asking for what I just told the nurse a while ago. I am forced to defend being sick, despite there being oh you know FREAKING XRAYS showing I was sick. Nope, nope, clearly I have Munchausen’s. If so, then put me in the damn loony bin and write me a note for work. At least I’ll get some rest there, and I hear the Jello is excellent.
I go wait for an Xray, because it has been an entire week since I’ve last been exposed to radiation. When I’m done, I get to wait some more! Blond student comes back. Shit. She yammers at me some more, but I just watch her stupid lips move and her head tilt back and forth and I realize she reminds me of that Janis puppet from the Muppets. I repeat everything I repeated already, again, and real doctor shows up! She grins and informs him that I sleep like four hours a day! Isn’t that fucking funny? Look, bitch, I’m still sitting right here in front of you. By the way, I hate you.
Real doctor tells me that hey, I can take Tylenol PM, when stupid blond student said I couldn’t take anything. Bite me, blond student. For the 80th time I tell someone, this time the doctor, about how I have tons of fucking paperwork to fill out in order to qualify for sick leave that will not kick in until a week after my regular leave runs out, which means there will be at least a week of me not being paid (hooray!) provided they fill out the forms right and then payroll does what they’re supposed to do and I really think that’s way too much to expect. I’m so not getting paid this month.
I am allowed the rest of the week off, which has so far allowed me to A) take care of sick child B) run around in circles trying to get this damn paperwork completed and C) have several mini mental breakdowns. So it’s going super well. Next week I go back to work half days, and this should be interesting since it’s been so long since I’ve been there I’ve almost forgotten what the hell I do. I can hardly wait. End Rant.
Slightly more serious than my usual fare, but still an important issue I think – check it out on Canvas. (And yes, Sad Pony makes another appearance, too!)
Friday (Ding ding!)
After a night of being repeatedly interrupted with blood draws and the checking of vital signs (yes, I’m still alive, go away) I am woken at 6 AM to go get a chest Xray. Because blood must be drawn at midnight, and Xrays done at dawn. Makes sense. I order eggs, bacon, sausage, yogurt, and a bran muffin for breakfast. I threw in bran muffin and yogurt for a healthy cover. No one cares, cause it’s my lungs, not my heart. I’m not terribly worried, as at this point, I’m still not sure I’m coming out of this alive, so I might as well enjoy myself as much as possible.
The nurse asks if I want a shower. Not really, but I think others want me to want one, so why not. I am wrapped up so I don’t get the IV wet. My hair I don’t touch. I’m not sure it’s actually hair anymore anyway. Maybe it might make a good nest for something.
Dh returns. Doctor shows up and asks how I am doing. Haha, that’s a good doctor joke there, because of course my answer is horrible. Yet there is a part of me that is compelled to say “fine” like a good American who never admits that anything is wrong, even when attached to monitors and an IV. This is because generally no one wants to know how you’re doing. They’re just being polite.
She says I get to stay another night in their fabulous resort. After all, one can’t expect to recover from a Pneumonia you can see on the Xray from orbit, she says. I’m once again complimented on my ability to get sick on a complex scale. I bet my Xray is talked about at lunch with the other doctors. “It was this big, and yet she was still breathing!” Yes, I can just imagine their happy talk at the doctor lunch table. Stupid doctor gossip.
I get breathing treatments with the Nebulizer. This sounds like a sci-fi term, but really it’s just a glorified air pump. I breathe this smoke stuff in and out. Thing One had to do this earlier, and delighted us with her Darth Vadar impersonations. “Luke, I am your father” and so forth. I do not do impressions.
I am also given my very own spitoon. It’s technically called a spectum collector, but basically it’s a funnel you spit in and they collect it. I don’t want to know what they do with my spit. What kind of job involves looking at spit? It occurs to me that I think doctors are worth every penny they make because there is no way I would ever, ever want to work with sick people or their spit.
More T.V. How can there be so many channels, and yet nothing on any of them? I’m assuming at one point the names of these channels meant something. For instance, the History Channel (new motto: history is made today so that means we can show you crap that has nothing to do with history) has stuff about how aliens constructed the pyramids. Or maybe that’s Discovery. One or both of those stations talk about aliens and Bigfoot and Mermaids. They have entire shows on this stuff. The producers wear tin foil hats, I think.
The best one, of course, is The Learning Channel where one can learn about freaks of all shapes and sizes. I decide on Amish freaks who come to New York. You’d never guess, but the Amish can be total jerks also. In no time, one of them is an alcoholic bouncing around on a stripper pole. Thank you, TLC, for being such a good influence. Clearly this is preferable to their life back on the farm without such necessities as reality TV.
At some point I give up and let dh flip channels while I attempt to sleep. He naturally turns to manly stations like those revolving around people digging for junk in storage lockers (there are several of these. Why?) or people digging for junk in old garages, or hillbillies fishing with or without poles and / or dynamite. Also, there’s the survival shows, like with expert Bear, who is all alone except for his wiles and oh yeah the camera crew. There are other survival shows besides this one. One has a husband and wife. Another has two guys, one of whom is a hippy with bare feet. Fascinating stuff.
The girls are shuttled to my parents to spend the night so dh can stay with me. He gets the recliner while I get the possessed bed. Back at the grandparents, I hear that Thing One (she’s 12) refuses to sleep with Thing Two (she’s 8) on account of sister cooties or something. Thing One is bugged that her routine is disrupted. Thing Two thinks she is on vacation, and has brought along a posse of stuffed animals. Sleeping accommodations are set, though I doubt anyone actually sleeps well. Except the stuffed animals, maybe.
Saturday (Ding din. . . oh forget it)
I am released from the hospital that afternoon with about a billion prescriptions and random orders that neither dh nor I remember. I am scheduled to see my GP a week from Tuesday, because who needs vacation time, right? Actually, I am relieved, because I’m pretty sure that if they sent me to work at this point, I’d spend the day drooling on my computer, I mean more than usual, and more than likely would end up stapling my coworker’s head at some point. Better for all to rest.
And get better. They keep mentioning this, but I have yet to experience it. Luckily, I am not at all patient. We will see. Home accommodations are not as cool as the hospital ones, even with the IV. Perhaps I will swallow a puzzle piece.
Thurs. Afternoon (cue that Law and Order ding-ding)
I arrive at La Resorta de Enferma (years of Spanish classes at your service here) at around noon. My husband drops me off at Registration while he attempts to find a parking place. There is a short line. I notice an old lady with a walker. She tries to cut the line. Yeah, I don’t think so Grandma. I assert my place, and give her a look that says “I will trip you, lady.” She backs off.
Next it’s time for paperwork. Mostly it’s signatures on stuff I don’t read but I’m pretty sure it says something along the lines of “patient will not sue if maimed or killed in our care”. They make sure I have a driver’s license and insurance card, and make copies. I guess this is in case I flee to Mexico without paying. Then I get the royal treatment – a wheelchair ride into the elevator and up to my floor. No one wants to ride with us for some reason, so the elevator is all mine. Wheee.
There are tiny accommodations, but I don’t have to share, so I’m happy. They give me my uniform that snaps on the sides and opens in the back. At one time this might have embarrassed me, but I’ve given birth twice now. There are few people that haven’t seen me, you know, “there”, so I don’t care. I get more paperwork! They ask if I want to fill out a living will. You know. Just because. No real reason.
I am hooked up to an I.V. by a nurse who does not use the vein I’m complimented on so often, but another further down the arm that apparently takes some digging around to get just right. They put a bag of fluid into the I.V. This insures that the patient will have to go to the bathroom every half hour, yet be unable to do so, because she is chained to an I.V. pole. I’m not sure if there’s a purpose to it. I think the doctors just do it because it’s kind of funny to pretend they don’t hear you when you push the nurse’s button needing to go potty. I swear they hung up on me a couple of times.
Well, at least the IV will mean they won’t have to keep sticking me. Oh, but wait. Yes they will. You see, they only use the IV to stick stuff in you, not to take it out. And they must take your blood out at certain times, like midnight when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then they must take out so much that even the nurse comments that she has no idea why they want so much. I think they’re conducting Nazi experiments, but I could be wrong. Should you see a familiar looking Alice clone walking around sometime, you will know what happened.
But La Resorta has some advantages. There is a bed that adjusts up and down. Sometimes all by itself. At first I thought the bed was possessed, but the nurse informed me that it’s a smart bed, which should be a warning right there. The bed is designed to adjust by itself to keep you from getting bed sores, but mostly it just annoys the patients. Nice to know.
There is also room service. I am not on restricted diet, so I order something that claims to be a chicken pot pie, but it is no Stouffers, let me tell you. The cake is excellent, though. They also bring me drinks when I ask, and all my meds, right to my bed. This is much better service than I find at home. Home service mostly consists of getting dumped in the back bedroom and totally forgotten about. This might be partly my annoyed perception of events. I am a good caretaker, and I expect the same, like a little bell I can ring for service. Or a button to push. One where the people on the other end, I repeat, do not hang up on you. (Yes La Resorta nurses, I am looking at you.)
Finally, there is entertainment. There’s a large T.V. in the corner of the room, and an actual real remote, which is a real improvement over the remote at the last hospital I visited years before. That one only went up or down through about sixty channels, several of which were either Spanish, religious, or religious Spanish. Or sports.
Shockingly, there is still nothing on T.V. TLC has decided to air a marathon of “Say Yes To the Dress”, except no, it’s not a marathon, there are just half a dozen shows on this station about weddings. Why. Just why? On “Say Yes to the Dress” the tension hinges on whether the bride will select this dress or that dress. Or possibly another dress. All costing more than my first house. But that’s okay, because you get so much wear out of these kinds of dresses.
There’s another show where women visit each others’ weddings and rate which one is the best. And they act like catty jerks while doing their evaluations, because as you know everyone’s wedding sucks but yours. They get annoyed that a Catholic wedding ceremony is like, so long, and that priest guy was totally dressed femmy and all. Also, the enormous ballroom is bo-ring, and the silverware totally doesn’t match the flowers, or something else stupid. I hate this show worse than the one where people catcall the girl trying on dresses with such endearments as “That makes you look like a tramp!” And that one was from Grandma.
My parents are in Vegas at this time. Yeah, I know, my parents have way more fun than I do. Anyway, my dh has to leave to take care of children because apparently someone is supposed to be with them and I am left by myself at the hospital. Because I am big and strong I start getting a little scared and weepy and the nurses figure out there’s nothing physically wrong with me (besides the obvious Pneumonia crap) so they ease on out of there. Only the janitor stops picking up trash to hug and bless me. That was weird, but nice. So thank you janitor lady, wherever you are
Stay tuned for Part Two . . . it’s more exciting than TLC
Tuesday Morn. I drop the kids off and deliriously drive home. Must wait till 11:15 doctor appointment. Turn on T.V. Another TLC gem. “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.” Seriously. Seriously? How do you not know there is another human in your body? I don’t care if there aren’t normal signs or whatever we are talking another human being moving around in there. And how are there enough people this out of touch to make an entire series? I just . . . I . . . nevermind.
I get to the clinic and wait. And wait. The T.V. is on here too, and guess what it’s turned to? What are all TVs turned to in this area? Fox News of course. Joy. Utter joy. At the moment, leggy blond reporter is talking to fat bald white guy and another leggy blond about how much Obama has messed up. Something to do with him not talking to this Israeli guy when he should have been talking to him because good presidents do that and they certainly do not go on the View to talk to “The Women” said condescendingly by “A Woman” who apparently forgot she was one. I’m thinking they are all irritated that they weren’t invited on a real talk show. There is much wink-wink, quotation marks, none-to-subtle innuendo, and outright slurs. Professional News Reporting at its finest.
I am stuck listening to over an hour and a half of that stupid station. I start feeling low blood sugar (you really have to feed me regularly or watch out) so I ask the receptionist for hard candy. I get a strawberry sucker that is really quite good, at least when you’re famished. Finally, I am called in. Apparently they put me on the schedule, but there are two schedules, and they forgot (shocked) to put me on the one the doctors use, so yeah, I wasn’t on their schedule. Great. I sit in the exam room. And sit. And hack like a dying moose. And sit a little more.
What to do, what to do? I start to feel like Curious George. Remember that book where the monkey swallows a puzzle piece so they X-ray him and cut him open (and I bet that monkey was on Medicaid too) and then put him in a room with sick children? Awesome medical practice there. Anyway, like George, I have been left on my own and decide to entertain myself. Turns out they have all these free samples up on the counter. Popsickle sticks, cotton swabs, gauze, plenty of fun with crafts right there! But I decide not to take any, because Thing 2 already can come up with enough craft ideas to last most children a lifetime in a single afternoon.
There’s also the blood pressure pump, and the instruments he sticks in your ear and up your nose where he pretends he actually sees stuff beside gross old snot. But that’s about it. This is a very unexciting doctor’s office. Clearly I have not packed properly for this journey. My purse offers nothing interesting, despite weighing about 14 pounds. But see, last time I went as a walk-in, and got in and out in like half an hour. This time I have an appointment, and so far I’ve been here six years. Okay, two and a half hours. Luckily, I grabbed another sucker before getting shuttled in here, so at least I have that for provisions.
It occurs to me that that survival expert on the Discovery Channel, Bear, would be most disappointed in my survival skills. (That’s his name. He’s not an actual bear. Though that would make it a more interesting show.) I have no heat, no food and no shelter. Luckily fever keeps me from freezing in the office, so being a portable heater does have its uses. If pressed, I could create a very weak pup tent with that anti-germ paper they scroll on the exam table. But what would you use for a heat source if needed? I spy an electrical outlet. Great. Now I just need a long metal stick and someone dumb enough to poke it. But still no food. I’m not sure if I can make any traps, or if I’d want to eat anything I might trap in a doctor’s office.
Then I have another brilliant idea. Ask the locals. I peek out and beg for a coke. And I get one! And it is so cold it is the most amazing coke ever in the history of the universe. They also give me part of a package of Ritz crackers. No idea where those were scavanged from. Possibly the lunch of my nurse, who is the epitome of awesome, because not only is she competent, she recognizes that her patients are actual humans. Remarkable, I know. She also gets her very determined nobody-messes-with-my-patients- face when I tell her that the NP wouldn’t see me twice at the urgent care side of the clinic. I wonder if someone’s going to get a hand slap? Hope so!
Okay, I’m getting really bored now. Hacking until your lower abdomen threatens to split open like a teddy bear slashed in two is only entertaining for so long. I decide to cast 50 Shades of Grey based on the office staff. Ana is easy. There is this receptionist I call ponytail twit girl (because she wears an itty bitty ponytail and she’s a twit). She rolled her eyes when I informed her that I have arranged something with the nurse already, as if I was saying I knew Elvis personally or something. Twit. So perfect Ana right there.
Christian Grey is harder. Now my doctor is young and nice-looking, and I’m assuming he’s well-off based on my visits alone. But he’s just too, you know, decent and normal and human. Finally, I decide to cast the NP that refused to see me that night despite there being no one else in the waiting room, because that sounds like the sort of thing Christian Grey would do.
Bored again. I drink my coke and eat my crackers. The doctor comes in and examines me. You’ll never, never guess, but my lungs sound perfect. But obviously, I’m sick, because I hack at him and I think maybe I’m making even him nervous. So I get blood work done. I happen to be a pro at this because I have this giant vein on the inside of my left arm. Yeah, I’ve been complimented on it often. It’s pretty impressive, vein-wise. She sucks the blood out and wraps some sticky stuff on me and yay I am back in the room again.
The doc decides that my blood says something blah blah virally something blah yeah we’re not totally sure blah. I told them I needed something better than that for missing a week and a half of work. Viral Pneumonia is written on my doctor’s note for work, and I’m offered antibiotics and this is the best part! A shot! I know, most people are not excited about this, but I know shots work faster. I didn’t realize it would be a terminator shot, though. This was one massive shot. But I got it, they called in my medicines, and at last I was racing out the door, after only four and a half hours!
Maybe not racing. But I was out at least. Now I expected to feel better in no time.
Wednesday: Still not better. I have never been sick so long, ever. On the plus side, I think I spat up a lot more of the Mucus people today, so maybe their vacation will be over soon, if not mine. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.
Thursday: Still sick. I go back to the doctor, you know, that place where everybody knows your name! At first I’m told there’s nothing for me, but then the doctor clears his schedule just for me and my dying whale bellows. They decide to do a chest Xray. Doctor is so surprised! I swallowed a puzzle piece! Not really, but the doctor is actually giddy, which is kinda strange when speaking of lungs. He brings me in and points at this black shadow over my lung. I’m assuming I am not dying as if I were, this would be seriously inappropriate. No, I have a massive pneumonia in the right lung. And the doctor keeps saying “But you have such great oxygen levels! 96 percent! How the heck do you have oxygen? You have some really great reserve systems. I mean, your blood count was normal too but wow, look at that!” It’s really simple, doc. My own body is trying to gaslight me.
Well, it’s determined, and after only a week of this crap, that maybe their current treatment plan has not been working all that well. (This is why they go to medical school, you guyz). They decide to put me in the hospital, but first I get another test called a CT test, which is super fun because you lay in this flying saucer thing with blinking lights like something out of Star Trek and they take pics of you while the doctor carefully stands outside and says not to worry.
After all of that, my dh drives me to the hospital for the next leg of my exciting adventure. I’m starting to run out of legs. Stay tuned next time for: Curious Alice visits the hospital.