Doctor, doctor, can't you see I'm burning, burning

Thompson Twins -- Doctor, Doctor -- 1984


Sooooooo. I pissed and moaned a tad about my sad excuse for last week's vacation. I took that particular week off for 2 specific reasons, the first being that it was a lighter week at work, the second being that the weather has steadily improved here. Spring had sprung and it would be ideal to complete several outdoor projects.

Needless to say, it was rainy and raw almost all week. The temperature soared all the way into the low 50's. It had been in the mid 70's just one week prior. I tried to get whatever I could done, but there was little time between rainstorms.

Then, on the final days of vacation, I started to feel crappy. Hot/cold, weak.

Sick.

But when Monday came, I dragged by sick, sorry ass into work because I felt that I should. I needed to prepare for a number of high-profile events, and I wanted to catch up on what I had missed for a week.

I felt like someone dug me out of a pine box and sat me in an office chair. I was coughing so hard that my chest hurt. I was tanked up on Tylenol SEVERE COLD and cough drops. I barely made it through the day and dragged myself back home. Not that anyone particularly cared at the office. In this job, it's all about getting the work done with as few complaints as possible. No matter the personal toll.

When I woke up to the sweet sound of my alarm this morning, I came to the realization that I could barely breath with even the slightest exertion. I called in sick to work. And then I called my doctor.

For me, that's saying everything about just how awful I felt.

They gave me an appointment for the afternoon. I spent all day in a merry-go-round of either sleeping, coughing, or blowing my nose. By the time I took a shower, got dressed and made it to my doctor, I was cold and clammy.

His diagnosis: Bronchitis with a side order of Sinus Infection. For dessert: a case of Pneumonia if the antibiotic pack doesn't work in the next 48 hours.

I left there with three prescriptions. The mega-antibiotics, an inhaler to open my cemented airways and allow this sludge to exit, and a cough medication with Codeine for some hacking relief.

Oh, and a note that states I am not allowed to return to work until Friday. I had to beg to go back that soon. He was insisting that I stay out until next Monday. I had to plead for mercy and explain that my boss might show up at my house. He was serious.

So was I.

He relented and said that I could go to work on Friday ONLY after I spoke to him on Thursday about how I was doing. If I was not appreciably better, all bets were off. We have known each other for many, many years. He knows I have to be pretty damned desperate to come to him for help, and even worse to accept a note for work.


I find all of this disconcerting. For most of my life, I've been a fairly healthy person. Once I began working in the Emergency Room when I was 22, it seemed that I developed a typical sort of super-immunity that protects the staff. Because our immune systems are under chronic assault from all sorts of bacteria and viruses, emergency room employees, even more so than general hospital staff, will quickly find that they don't often suffer from the general crap that the rest of the population carries around. Since I have little patience for being sick, I loved the idea that the piddly illnesses appeared to bypass me.

Now, it seems that I get walloped by the tiniest little bacteria. I hate it. I hate feeling weak. I hate being slowed down by physical frailties. I am going to be one miserable old person.

In the meantime, I am luxuriating in the semi-fog of a Codeine enhanced evening. Cough free and ready to roll. If someone could just find me my fuzzy robe, I'll be all set to go.


You'll know it's mine by the snotty tissues in the pocket.