1. Desperate need to watch Sense and Sensibility for the Alan Rickman and the Hugh Laurie. DESPERATE. Maybe I should just buy it?
2. Irritating tendency to listen to Alanis Morissette. On repeat.
3. Obsessive reading of soft science BBC articles, followed by enduring concern for my own susceptibility.
4. Inability to finish simple tasks, such as making a list.
5.
I have a cold. The first signs-- a baseless sore throat and a bit of a sniffle-- reared their unpleasant heads on Friday, and by this morning The Cold had seized control of everything above my shoulders in what could be called a largely bloodless coup. Alternately, it could be called a pain in my arse. You know, whichever.
Note that this is the second time I have blogged about being sick since I started this blog in February. I am a font of interesting and insightful*observations indeed! I ought to have my blog taken away from me.
To return to yesterday's zipcar post for a moment, I forgot to mention my decision-making process when it came to choosing between that company and igo, also available just down the street from me.
Tonight, for the first time in weeks and weeks, I did the following:
Who's bright idea was it to drink for eight hours straight yesterday? As soon as I feel better, I am going to find the person responsible and bash his/her head in.
So I woke up drunk this morning.
What was a fairly amusing occurrence in college is miles less entertaining now. I. Want. To. Die.
I think I have discovered the nebulous phase, thought to be mythical, in which one is simultaneously hung over and still a little drunk. It is not an attractive phase.
I'm fairly sure I would have failed the straight line test when I woke up this morning. Luckily I seem to have gotten my motor skills under control. I think. One hopes. Because in half an hour I'm going to an industry conference to schmooze with peers. And schmoozing is hard if you can't even stand up straight.
Wish me luck. Or a merciful death. You know, whichever.
I took my last pill today at noon. According to the wisdom of the internet and my pharmacist, I was supposed to wait three days before drinking. Six hours is like three days, right?
Come on, who am I to turn down half a bottle of $75 wine when I'm being treated?
And behold: my stomach held. No puking (flagyl is not a makes-you-drunk-really-quickly drug but rather a makes-you-vomit-repeatedly-when-you-consume-alcohol drug), which was a relief both to me and to the rest of the patrons of the restaurant.
Also on the tonight's menu: giant filet mignon, baked potato, corn on the cob. 'Twas awesome. I am content.
Why does the John Hancock building have pink lights this month? I'm usually able to deduce the cause of the color du jour, which I can see from my living room windows. But this pink? It is mystifying me. Is it breast cancer awareness month? (I feel like I'm usually more inundated by pink during that month.) Gay pride month? What? Tell me!
In health news, I finally have most of my usual energy levels back. And I'm almost done with my medications! Three! More! Pills! Two tomorrow morning and one with lunch! *dances*
Feel free to skip this nothing-but-whining post. Really, I can barely stand to write it; reading it would surely erode the last bit of respect you may (or may not) have had for me.
Thank you thank you thank you, drugs. I feel like I might possibly be a human being once again. Sure, you're making me awfully nauseated, but at least I can get out of bed. No more fever! No more vomiting! I can even coax my stomach into accepting bland foods, and I'm finally not dehydrated. Go team pharmaceuticals!
That's pretty much it, really. I still have to take drugs through Wednesday, and you can count on me bitching endlessly about how nauseated I am until then, but I am on the road to recovery.
While dying, I managed to read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, and The Big Knockover, as well as three quarters of the internet. Yes, a full three quarters. Which means I am now very, very bored, but not really up to any form of real entertainment yet. I think I'll go take a nap.
I have a lovely collection of prescription drugs now. Thank you, Dr. Just-Finished-His-Residency. The following conversation actually occurred:
Dr: And I'm going to prescribe you one more antibiotic that's also an antiparasitic for another condition you may have.
Me: And what condition is that?
Dr: It's called giardisis. I don't know if there have been any reports of it in Morocco, but...
Me: The State Department has cleared all drinking water in major Moroccan cities, so no, no giardia.
Dr: Oh, well in that case we can skip that.
Me: I still want an antiparasitic. Maybe flagyl?
Dr: That's what I was going to prescribe for the giardia, actually.
Me: Yeah, I'd like some of that, too.
Dr: Okay.
So I called my mom (oh please, what do you do when you get sick? that's what I thought) and she advised me to take my temperature. Smart! Good thing someone has a brain around here.
It turns out I have a fever (hi, infection! how are you today? thriving?), so I am hauling myself off to a doctor at 1:45 today. Wish me luck: I played Northwestern Hospital Referral Service roulette, which turned out well the last time I tried it. Google has not turned up any horrific malpractice lawsuits, but one never knows.
In the meantime, being sick is boring, so I'm amusing myself by watching clips of last night's GOP debate. There is something horribly wrong when Rudy Giuliani sounds the most reasonable. All of these candidates are terrifying.
I have called in sick to work, as I spent all last night hurling the remaining contents of my stomach into the toilet. I have never loved my bathroom setup so much: the toilet is perfectly situated so that I might perch, doubled over, on the side of the bathtub, needing only to aim when the inevitable wave of nausea hits.
Sorry, too much information, I know. I'm a sharer.
I crawled out of bed to call in sick and then couldn't resist the siren call of hysteria, so I checked WebMD.
Clearly I'm dying.
Time to vote on what I'm dying of! Comment with YOUR suggestion, and if enough people vote for a deadly enough condition, maybe I'll consider seeing a doctor.
Appendicitis (suspected because only the right side of my abdomen hurts)
Giardisis (hello Moroccan tap water!)
Gastroenterisis (tap water OR food!)
Shigellosis (no fair, I've already had this)
Amebiasis (all of this is the same after a while)
I'm going with one of the travel-related diseases, i.e. anything but the appendicitis. I am, however, not at all keen to see a doctor, as last time I had a fairly undiagnosable travel illness I was stuffed full of antibiotics and antiparasitics that made me sicker that the original disease. The flagyl particularly: I was totally out for the count for the entire two-week course of that. Also, flagyl (a broadbase antiparasitic) is the only pill I've ever had trouble swallowing. I had to hide it in applesauce, which was, incidently, the only thing I could eat, as those drugs give you hella nausea.
Also incidently, that was the doctors visit that diagnosed me with celiac, totally fucking with my future ability to order in restaurants. So negative associations and all that.
I, alas, think I have to bow out of dinner tonight. As much as I would love to see all of my grad school friends, I don't think I can leave the house right now, let alone be in close proximity to food. Another day, I hope.
