Tales of Wit and Charm…

The last time I felt this horrible was when I had kidney stones three years ago and spent Christmas in the ICU. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t all that bad. Midge brought movies and cuddled in bed with me. The pain was somewhat tolerable with a Morphine drip. However, once I started seeing the face of Jesus in the wallpaper I made them take it out. Talk about ruining a good time.

My body has never handled germs of any kind very well. I’m a chronic puker. When I was in high school a doctor accused me of being bulimic when, after a case of Mono, I couldn’t stop throwing up for weeks. My mother in her prime mama bear days got angry with the doctor and reminded him I’ve had a weak stomach since I was a very tiny baby. As a nurse, she was always very involved when I was sick. Perhaps that’s why, at 32, the minute I feel sick I want my mom taking care of me. And if I asked she’d drop everything and drive two hours to get here, just to rub my back or get me a drink of Gatorade. Since it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow I’m not asking her to drive up. After all, he only has a birthday every four years.

What I thought was a cold is a full-fledged case of the bird flu—self-diagnosed of course. Sure, I get flu symptoms with a minor headache, but this is beyond ridiculous. I can’t even keep a sip of water down. Not to mention, every part of my body hurts, even my eyebrows. Which is all very inconvenient given that I had a math midterm tonight and a Lost party to attend.

I promised my mom if I wasn’t feeling better tomorrow I’d go in and have then hydrate me with an IV, but until then I’m going to lay on the couch, continue to whine, watch trash TV and remind myself over and over what the silver lining of being sick is…

SKINNY JEANS!

Obviously, I’m going to look really good after this “diet” helps me fit back into them.

I’m sick, and it’s all Ben’s fault. I’ve not had a cold or flu all winter. With the small exception of food poisoning inflicted by Arlo, I’ve been completely healthy.

Like a good sister I picked Ben up from the airport Sunday and gave him a ride home. He coughed the entire time and spewed his disgusting boy germs all over my car.

I started feeling gross yesterday, and then woke up this morning with a fever and coughing so hard I puked. Awesome. It was obvious I was Instacare bound. Ben called to see which one I was going to so we could meet there. The jerk is still sick. I told him where to go, but he never showed. Is he OK? Who cares. Part of me was hoping he had overdosed on NyQuil. Not because I don’t love him, but because he totally deserves it.

After waiting an hour in the lobby, my name was finally called–music to my insanely clogged ears. Another wait in the room and finally a doctor arrives. And by doctor I mean Doogie Fucking Howser, MD. Young doctors before have seen me but this was ridiculous—he looked like he was in high school.

“Bad news, Sarah. Looks like you don’t have strep throat.”

“Um, why would that be bad news? I didn’t really want it.”

“Strep we could have treated. This particular funk you’ve got can’t be treated. I can, however, give you a prescription of codeine pills to ease the pain a bit.”

“Pills? Can’t I just get some cough syrup? I think with my throat this swollen I won’t be able to swallow pills.”

“Unfortunately there’s a shortage on codeine syrup, so pills will have to do. Try crushing them in ice cream.”

“Ohhhh, is that what your mom does, too?”

He glared at me. I’m guessing he gets wisecracks about his age all the time. Quite honestly, I was just excited at the prospect of ice cream. I swore off ice cream a few months ago and was very much looking forward to having a reason to buy some.

“Go home, load up and get as much sleep as possible. You should feel better in a few days.”

Maybe having a young doctor isn’t all that bad. Loading up sounds just like what I need. And who am I to defy a doctor’s orders? Exactly.

I received a letter in the mail yesterday from the Utah Department of Health. This shouldn’t be a huge deal, but with my imagination and anxiety it was.

I walked into the house and sat on my couch just staring at the ominous white envelope, imagining the very worst. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Once that letter was open whatever bad news it had to offer would be real.

Was this about the flu shot I stole last year? Some co-workers and I went to the offices next to ours and pretended to be employees, when they were offering flu shots free. I talked myself out of thinking it was wrong when my very Mormon friend, Kirk, didn’t seem bothered by it. If there was a place in Mormon heaven for him, then surely I wasn’t going to end up in hell over this one little thing.

There was that sketchy boyfriend with all the tattoos from my early 20s. With that much body art it’s entirely possible he contracted some fatal disease from a tainted needle. I haven’t heard from him in years—he could be dead for all I knew. At this point I felt numb all over.

Numb extremities are never a good sign. After a quick online consult with WebMD I decided I was dying. Diabetes was the number one search result. My father is a diabetic, and somehow the health department was able to diagnose me before any doctor had. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. I was bound and determined to eat every last drop of sugar in my apartment before finding out I was indeed a diabetic, and that I was forever banned from sugar.

One zillion calories later I knew it had to be done. Whatever was inside that envelope was something I could deal with. Something I had to deal with. I was ready.

I opened the envelope and found a copy of my birth certificate. That’s riiii-ght, I ordered it online last weekend when I couldn’t find the original.

Now, I have a birth certificate, enough calories to double the size of my ass, and lastly an understanding that while the health department can’t diagnose your insanity, they can certainly be the cause of it.

I don’t have the best eating habits. This we reinforced over the weekend by Alaska Pat, my soon-to-be personal trainer. It’s not that I don’t eat healthy, because typically I do, it’s that I don’t eat regular meals. I blame my schedule, but truthfully it just seems like a hassle more often than not. Which is why Wheat Chex and vanilla soy milk were invented… to sustain me.

This morning in an attempt to eat at least three meals a day, I had a cup of coffee with soy milk. Soy milk counts as a real meal, right? Then, as I ran out the door, I grabbed one of my Dannon Light & Fit-Carb & Sugar Control Smoothies to drink for lunch. Since I’m not in the office very many hours as is, I rarely take a lunch.

Just now, as I was about to drink said smoothie, I noticed the expiration date was Nov 14. In my quest for good health, I choose to ignore the fact and drink it anyway. Now, I’m just sitting around waiting to die wondering how important forcing yourself to eat really is.

i’m not just losing my mind, i’m losing my legs too! okay, not my actual legs but i’m losing the feeling in them. the backs of my legs started going numb last month. i chalked it up to bad circulation and vowed to get in shape. (it’s time to start thinking about summer clothes.) i bought an elliptical and have worked out every day for the last three weeks. i’m only doing 5-7 miles a day, i’m pathetically out of shape. but, the numbness didn’t go away. in fact the opposite happened… my legs got bigger so there was more leg surface to go numb. lame!

after trying to self-diagnosis on webmd, i went to see the doctor. my dad is diabetic and numb legs is one of the symptoms. needless to say at this point i had totally freaked myself out. i couldn’t give up my addiction to ice cream–i’d rather die!

when the doc was testing my legs for feeling, he applied warmth, then cold–something soft, and then pressure. if i didn’t know better i’d have thought he was trying to woo my legs. lastly, he told me to turn my head so i couldn’t see what he was doing, and to only say something if i felt anything. i was positive he was back there dry-humping my leg, but as it turns out he was just running a sharp object across them and didn’t want me to see it and imagine pain. who me??

all my tests were fine and my legs are still dry-hump virgins.