This morning I woke up bright and early to go to the (drum roll, please) doctor's office. My second appointment in two weeks, no less.
If you know me at all, you're aware this is something of a landmark event. I tend to think of my body as a self-healing superhero, and refuse to visit any doctor unless I appear to be dying - for instance, giving birth. That was like dying. This is possibly due to how I was raised. We rarely ever visited doctors. I used to be able to count on one hand how many times I'd been to see a doctor in my entire life. Unfortunately this week seems to have ruined my proud record. (Now they're going to take away my trophy, dangit.)
Also, I've had exceptionally bad luck with doctors in general. I've been hit on by two female doctors, given incredibly bad advice by a third, and then of course there was the Infamous Gynecologist Incident. For some reason I just had to tell him, during the exam, that I had a friend whose gynecologist was named Dr. Boner. The poor guy was so embarrassed he refused to see me again.
(At this point you have probably realized I was under-exaggerating about only having been to the doctor's office five times. What can I say. I'm a liar.)
Since I've suffered through two weeks of whatever it is I have (bronchitis, mono, walking pneumonia, the plague), and didn't seem to be getting any better, Tim made me go. Under protest. Kicking and screaming all the way, "BUT I AM NOT SICK!"
"But, Lauren, you haven't left the apartment in two weeks. You don't sleep at night. You've been coughing so hard you're going to break a rib. You've gone through five bottles of benadryl, three cases of aspirin, twenty packs of clean-ex, and four bags of cough drops. You've had a nine-day fever. You stopped eating. You just saw me kick dirt under the sink and didn't even flinch. Plus, you didn't laugh when I just mocked our next-door neighbor for wearing her underwear outside her pants." But the kicker, the thing that had him really worried, was the fact that I stopped drinking my morning coffee. (Yes, it's come to that; I've lost all interest in life.)
The coffee thing is what finally convinced me, too.
The doctor took a blood test, returned with an odd expression on his face, and said something unsettling. "Your blood is almost normal."
Which isn't exactly something you ever want to hear, I think. Plus he didn't expound on it. At all. It seems even the clinical assistant of my doctor is curious to know what's happening.
So naturally I replied, "Damn that radioactive spider!" But I don't think he got it because he didn't laugh. Which kind of freaked me out, actually.
And now I am on antibiotics.
Here's to wellness.
"You lost the spark! Do you remember the spark? Come back little spark!" - Lorelai, Gilmore Girls