Well, the good news is that I’m not dying, as I was pretty sure I was last night when my fever skyrocketed to 102.5, my eyes looked worse than ever, and I began dreaming of dead relatives all, “I’m comin’ home, GRAMMY!” And see, you probably think I’m making that up, but I swear on my Versace sunglasses that I’m wearing right now, I ain’t makin’ it up.
This morning, after going to bed at 7:45 p.m. last night. Seriously. 7:45. I woke to the fever, the chills, the throat soreness, and as an added bonus, abdominal pain.
Hello? Doctor? Yeah, I’m dying. When can you see me? 10:45? Perfecto. I’ll be the normally hot chick that for today looks grosser than Jeff Reed’s puke after a night cavorting with diseased sluts.
11:30, I get the call to come in and get weighed, get the temp taken (102), and get asked lots of personal questions about my period and my pee and my bowel movements. Um. Excuse me, Nurse, but can you wrap these questions up in a nondescript brown paper bag for me? Thanks.
11:35, I’m in room 2 going, DAMN, I need to lose five pounds before vacation!
11:55, the Physician’s Assistant TRAINEE comes in and wants to shake my hand. I remove my sunglasses and she recoils all, “Uh. Right. Maybe not.” Trainees are thorough, so she spent 20 minutes thumping just about every part of my body she could get her hands on. Does this hurt? Does this hurt? Have you ever been hospitalized? When was your last period? Are you pregnant? Could you be pregnant? Has your left foot ever itched worse than your right foot? Let me thump your ankle. Let me shove this thing down your throat with my untrained hands that are shaking a little bit right now.
Saucy jumped in. “Uh-uh, bitch. Step off my girl with that there instrument of gaggage if you know what’s good for you.”
Oh. Ok. Well, I’ll return soon with the real physician’s assistant. Try to ignore the throbbing pain in your throat and your abdomen, the seepage from your eyes, and the fact that your fever is making is seem like it is 25 degrees in here. Right back.
25 minutes later. I’m asleep on the bed. Shivering.
Saucy’s all, “Psst. The bitches be back, yo.”
I gently rise to a seated position on the table. Now I get the real PA to start probing and prodding and thumping and asking me all about my period and my poop. Oy. Where’s that bag?
Can I take a throat culture, please?
Saucy is indignant, “OMG. I said STEP THE EFF OFF!”
Right. Well can I at least LOOK?
Whoa. You’ve got strep I bet, just like your sister, and apparently the infection spread to your eyes and to your lymph nodes in your abdomen.
Am I dying?
So, no, I’m not dying. But it sure as hell feels like it.
Saucy says as we’re leaving, “Damn, I thought I was going to have to choke a bitch.”
That’s church, Saucy.