That Whole Dying Thing

For anyone who's keeping track, I'm pretty much better. I still take a minimum of one two-hour nap every day, and I'm technically not supposed to work until next week, and I'm only supposed to work short shifts for the rest of the month. Ha. I laugh in the face of mononucleosis. But not in the face of my wallet, that's for damn sure. I closed tonight, which was a bad idea, but I made it through and made my tips.

Oh, and as for the final update. By Sunday morning, my tonsils had swelled so much that my throat was almost completely closed. (I say "almost" because Joe managed to dribble Capri Sun down my throat after I had managed to croak that I was incredibly thirsty--and yes, dribble. As in put-finger-over-straw, place-straw-in-mouth, release-pressure.)

I knew damn well I needed prednisone to take down the swelling; my doctor had told me as much. Basically, "Hey, if your throat hurts too much, come back and we'll prescribe some steroids." My tonsils hadn't started swelling until Friday afternoon, though, after the clinic had closed, and Friday and Saturday had been manageable. Sunday was not. Since our spectacular country with its spectacular health care system effectively bars much of the populace from obtaining affordable health care 1/7 of the time, I braced myself for the $500 thwack of an emergency room visit. Fortunately, Joe called my mother first, and she managed to contact her doctor friend, who called in a prednisone prescription to Wal-Mart. I took my pills (try doing that with almost no throat left), went to bed, and woke up an hour later, tonsils still swollen and touching the uvula, but with that precious quarter-inch of space that allows a person to swallow.

But I'm better now! Regular-sized, pus-free tonsils. You don't know how great that is until you've tried the alternative.

First Roll Call of the Semester

"John Doe?" she asked.

"Here," he said. "But I go by Invictus."

...

He was dead serious.

I swear I am not making this up.

The Difference Between Men and Women

It seems that Joe and I have had this conversation three or four times, and we inevitably reach the same conclusion.

If men (A) and women (B) switched bodies for a day, what would that day be like?

Answer A: Men would need two days. They would spend the entire first day naked with strategically placed mirrors. Also probably a mini-trampoline. On the second day, I suspect they would spend most of the time playing with all their new underwear and shoe options. Don't lie, you know it's true.

Answer B: Women would (maybe) jerk off once, and then spend the next twenty-three hours and fifty-one minutes opening jars and lifting heavy stuff. "Why, what's that, Little Old Lady? Let me help you with your applesauce. No, no, keep your butter knife, no loosening the seal on the lid today. Ta-da! Ooh, hey, softener salt." (Is the Little Old Lady in this scenario actually a Little Old Man whose gender has changed for the day? I don't know. And now you're over-thinking this.)

Hello, Tonsils

You never appreciate your tonsils until they swell to the size of basketballs and scream, "Hey! Hey! REMEMBER US?"

Day 14 of the Mystery Illness finds it no longer a mystery. Actually, Day 11 did that. On Day 11, your ailing host decided to get a second opinion at a different clinic and was diagnosed with mononucleosis. (Note to Dr. Kangaroo: Told you so.) Day 14 marked a rapid decline in condition, probably best exemplified by the time when I woke up, panicking at 4:30 in the morning with the sudden sensation that, oh, wait, I can't breathe. My nose was stuffed up and my throat swollen nearly closed. After willing myself to relax and expelling some of the more problematic throat-goo, I managed to let the fatigue take over and fell back asleep.

My mother came to rouse me at about 1:30. I complained of this horrific new throat problem. She immediately convinced me to bundle up and head off to a doctor friend's for an unofficial examination. Doctor Friend poked my belly, prodded my throat, and stuck a flashlight down my gullet. Definitely mono, he concluded, now making my diagnosis two out of three, but at least in the final stages. Prescription: no work for at least 5 more days, bed rest, fluids, and any and as much food as I can convince my appetite-devoid body to accept.

That said, though, I took a look at this horrid, horrid throat tonight, and it's completely bizarre to see one's uvula touching one's tonsil. Particularly when both your tonsils are bright red, absolutely massive, and covered with little white pus-filled blisters.

My throat looks like the pictures on doctor's office posters of various STDs.

Lazy Sunday

Lazy Sunday, woke up in the late afternoon, called Mr. Allison just to see how he's doin'...etc.

Yesterday my fever peaked at 102 degrees, and today I threw up, so I called in sick to work. This was an excellent decision, as it has allowed me to instead lie on my couch and watch old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A day can be truly classified as lazy when the highlight of it is pausing an episode, leaning forward, and muttering to yourself, "Is that Wentworth Miller?" And then, just to make life even more pop-culturally fantastic, you repeat the pause-and-lean-and-mutter later during the same episode, except that time you say, "Is that the guy from A Walk to Remember? What's his name? Shane West. Good god, it has to be. I bet my soul that's Shane West." And then the credits confirm both your suspicions, and you get to keep your soul, and everything is delightful despite the nausea.

If anyone has Wentworth Miller or Shane West fetishes, it's "Go Fish," episode 20 of Season Two.

Licklicklick

Yesterday was Day 7 of the Mystery Illness, and I finally went to the doctor. My old doctor retired, so I told them I didn't care who they gave me. Anyway, they assigned me a doctor--we'll call him Dr. Kangaroo. He seemed very nice, but this is roughly what my doctor visit looked like:

Allison: Hi, I've got all the symptoms of mono.
Dr. Kangaroo: Hm. So you're sick, you say?
Allison: Oh, also, my mother had mono last month.
Dr. Kangaroo: No, she didn't.
Allison: Yes, she did.
Dr. Kangaroo: No, adults don't get mono. College kids don't get it either. Only teenagers get mono.
Allison: Um, she had the bloodwork done. She had mono. Also, mono is going around campus with a vengeance.
Dr. Kangaroo: Nah, you're just sick.
Allison: Maybe I should at least get the bloodwork? I've been sick for seven days with the same symptoms my mother had.
Dr. Kangaroo: Nah. You have "that viral thing that's going around." Not that I can tell, since my entire diagnostic criteria seems to be sticking a flashlight in your ears.
Allison: Um, am I paying for this? Maybe you should check my throat for white patches. Or maybe you should at least ask about my symptoms.
Dr. Kangaroo: No, no. How about I poke you in the stomach for while? Here, does this hurt? Jab.
Allison: Yes.
Dr. Kangaroo: This? Jab.
Allison: Yes.
Dr. Kangaroo: And this? Jab.
Allison: Yes. You poking me in the stomach hurts.
Dr. Kangaroo: Hm. Must be gastrointestinal.
Allison: What? I don't have gastrointestinal symptoms.
Dr. Kangaroo: You've had some vomiting, yes?
Allison: No.
Dr. Kangaroo: Diarrhea?
Allison: No.
Dr. Kangaroo: Oh. Well, you will. As for my diagnosis: you're sick.
Allison: No shit.
Dr. Kangaroo: Tell you what--if you're still sick in ten days, come back and see me.
Allison: Oh, of course, I mean, once I've been sick for SEVENTEEN days, it might be a good idea to see a doctor then.

And then I kicked him in the balls for the sheer satisfaction of it. I mean, my ninety bucks had to buy me something, didn't it?

Bleargh

I've been fiendishly sick for the last few days--sore throat, achy arms and legs, swollen lymph nodes, godawful back pain, low-grade fever, chills, lightheadedness, dizziness, loss of appetite, persistent headache, and crazy crazy fatigue. It's a fun time, let me assure you. I'm now on Day 5 of what I assume is a terrible flu, and the prognosis for the future doesn't look good.

Also not good are my chances of being able to call in sick to Corporate Pizza Joint. I called in sick yesterday, but I'm trying to ibuprofen my fever and aches into submission so that I can be there in the days to come. We're hard up for employees right now, and those that we still have are dropping like flies in the long hours and busy shifts that come with being severely understaffed. I can't really blame those who quit; it's not exactly fun to work twice as hard for roughly the same pay. Even as a tipped employee, it's difficult to make any extra money if you're trying to work a full dining room by yourself, unable to converse with guests because you're running your achy butt off serving drinks and appetizers, desperately calling out for pizzas that don't exist because the sole cook is swamped by the dozen orders before yours.

Want me to lick you?