Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Second Verse, Same as the First

Besides the endless chorus of "This is the song that doesn't end," other things get old, too.

Like manna, day in and day out.

Or repeatedly getting struck by lightening.

Or perhaps having your lunch money stolen everyday and then being thrown into a garbage can, only to suddenly get revenge one day by riding a flying cockerspaniel down a narrow New York alley way.

But my personal non-favorite is: Getting sick. All The Time.

It's sorta a habit with me. Though, on the bright side, I am a highly functional unwell person. I can still make you dinner, do your laundry, teach you to read, sew you a sweater, and cut your hair all while battling ebola. And the impending death time crunch is a real motivator.

Anyway, I woke up last night (or this morning, depending on how you look at it) unable to swallow without excruciating pain. I kept thinking of that commercial about robitussin or dimetap or some other liquid death repellent, where the little girl is lying in bed and she keeps thinking, "It'll hurt if I swallow...it'll hurt if I swallow... MOMMY!" I bonded with that little girl in my head, and decided since I couldn't shout out "MOMMY!" and get a definitive "yes, dear?" response from my imaginary savior, I did the next best thing.

I called a doctor.

"What symptoms do you have?"
"Well," I said. "I am having difficulty swallowing, my throat is so painful...it was a burning in one spot that spread through my entire throat last night, and..."

"So you have a sore throat?" came the cold, and clinical interruption.

"Well, yes..." I replied feeling somewhat deflated.

"Anything else?"

"No, just mostly that..."

"Alright, we'll see you at 11: 40."

When you feel like you are dying, three hours seems like eternity, but I've given birth to four children, and, for me, nothing beats labor pains...except maybe this sore throat...

The time finally arrived, and I sat in the room waiting for the doc to show up, and amused myself by playing Brick Breaker.

I must have played 5 or 6 levels before he showed up, his student in tow.

The doctor decided that his student needed lots of experience, so he left me in her hands and wandered out, to no doubt play Brick Breaker on his Blackberry.

The Student looked at me confidently, and descended on me. She checked my lungs eight times, couldn't find my heart beat, shoved a pointy stick up my nose, determined I had a deviated septum, and made some slight remark about the white spots on my throat.




"What's a deviated septum?" I asked innocently (my face looked like this)












She explained, and then I felt sort of picked on, since I already know my nose isn't symmetrical, and now I know there is a technical term for it, no doubt made up by some sort of bully of a physician who wanted to use big words to make anti-symmetrical people feel small.

"Well, I'll have the doctor come in and look you over," she finished, and whisked out of the room.

The doctor checked my lungs again (twice), checked my ears, shoved another pointy stick up my nose, and looked at the white spots in my throat.

"Besides the deviated septum, you have a sinus infection, and I thought I heard something in your lungs, so I'll give you some anti-biotics...hmmm...Oh, I dunno...Ooo, this is a good one, this should work..."

He did little to inspire my confidence, especially since he never told me what I had, and why he was giving me anti-biotics, except to say that they would "make me feel better." Made me wonder if pharmacies distribute placebos to the general populus on a regular basis.

Dr. Shmoo also said to take Mucinex, Tylenol, and "get some rest" so I toddled off to Wally World to fill my prescription. I couldn't stay to wait for it to fill, because I didn't know how long my MIL could stick around, so I picked up a bottle of MX, and went home.

When I came into the house, it smelled...chemical...

Apparently, my MIL had sprayed everything with Lysol as soon as I left, no doubt giving the kids a healthy dose, and I found her propped up on my bike in the living room, which she, no doubt, also sprayed with Lysol, in the event that my germs had felt like exercising.

She said she could come back when the prescription was filled, so I didn't have to drag the kids to Wal-Mart. She left and I was alone with my bottle of Mucinex.

To those of you who have never had the pleasure of taking Mucinex, let me tell you, it was like liquid blue, berry-blast of death. I knocked back the 20ml of the stuff, and besides being completely revolting, also decided to make it's way out the side of my mouth and down my face. I looked like this:

Now, since it is liquid, it went straight to my blood stream...while I was driving to Wal-Mart. I suddenly got very tired, and everything seemed very bendy and round when I looked out the window. I got out of the car and was suddenly paranoid about how I was dressed. I thought it was appropriate given the circumstances (baggy sweats, a Halloween shirt, and a hooded sweater, complete with pigtails and my fuzzy slipper-shoes), and was almost ready to start justifying my clothing choices to those around me, but decided against it. I managed to slink my way up to the counter at the pharmacy, where I paid my $2, and was handed off to the person who was going to bag it and tell me my instructions. He pulled out the little blue pills and told me that I definitely needed to stay out of the sun because I could get a sunburn (dude...It's February...), and then said that if I took one, to wait ten minutes before I tried to lay down because the anti-biotic could erode me esophagus. My face looked like this:


Really? They give people stuff that would burn holes into their esophagus? Well, I guess that's a stupid question since I was on a medication years ago that exploded in my throat and fried my nose because I didn't drink it with a glass of water...

I then began my return slink back to the car, where I again felt paranoid about my clothing choices, but this time felt a little better since I had the pharmacy bag as an accessory, and attempted to look as pathetic and sick as possible. Which, really, wasn't that hard since I was feeling pretty pathetic and sick.

Made it home...took my pill...ate some soup...thought about my esophagus...Time for a nap.





1 comment:

Les said...

You poor thing! Being sick is the worst, if I was in Utah I would run you a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I hope you get feeling better soon.

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