And a double ear infection, but those aren’t gross… and
I can’t get my husband to look into my ears. Eyes, yes. Ears, #wtf.
Me: Look!! I’ve got white spots all over my throat!
Him: Ewww. That looks bad.
Me: (shoving the flashlight halfway down my mouth) You see it?? Way back there?? All the white shit all zombie-like, like something’s going to climb out of my throat or something?
Him: (backing himself into a corner in the kitchen) No, really, I see it.
Prouder than punch, I was…dude could SEE IT.
I feel like my head has been kicked six ways to Sunday, but dagnammit…you can SEE IT!
I almost wanted the doctor to take a picture of it with my cell phone.
I thought that might be a little much.
I can do it my damn self.
(I won’t…but I could…that, dear ones, is the key…having OPTION)
So, notwithstanding the first clinic was closed because the physician on call couldn’t come in…or the second clinic with it’s three hour wait (should be some kind of Gilligan’s Island spin-off)…or because I got to the third clinic before cancelling the second clinic and thusly my mo-fo health card came up that it was not verified…aka, INVALID.
So. Here I am, checking my throat more often than I checked any damn pregnancy stick I have ever had the privilege of peeing on.
THAT is what fuels my chronically afflicted fire of all that ails me…
And by the gods, if I feel that my husband might have, in total and utter neglect, forgotten what it may or may not have looked like…I can sure as shit SHOW HIM.
Sensing a theme, here?
But wait! There’s more!!
I’m so full of infection, and regular infection, that I get those antibiotics FOUR times a day! :-/
Notwithstanding that I feel like someone has kicked my head six ways to Sunday, I am also a woman. With a hoo-ha. A self-sustaining bit of awesomeness that doesn’t take kindly to the introduction of foreign flora (I didn’t say fauna…is that really as funny as I think it is? ‘Cuz I sure as shit can’t stop giggling…which is really hurting).
ANYHOOOOO (ha) *snort* I’ve also stocked up on yogurt and probiotics. Oh yes.
But wait! There’s more!!
So, having gone to the clinic, gotten my meds, stocked up on yogurt AND procured for myself a plethora of icy popsicles…I feel like crap. Utterly and completely.
I’ve figured it out.
It’s because it’s only when people (like my poor, traumatized husband) can “see” what’s going on, does it give validation to what I endure.
Why didn’t it hurt so bad yesterday? Well, frankly, I had shit to do, and nothing appeared to be askew.
Now it’s almost….almost, mind you….like the validation is “allowing” myself to be sick…thus enabling me to take care of myself.