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So, I’ve been gone a while. Sorry about that, or you’re welcome… should you have been in need of a break from my blather, prattle and nonsense. This is where I’ve been:

Some time ago, after a thorough investigation of my symptoms, Web MD and I decided that I had an ear infection.
Well, it was either an ear infection or Hodgkins disease. You know Web MD, no matter what symptoms you have, cancer is always an option. I went to the doctor.

Shockingly, Web MD and I were incorrect in our self diagnosis. (Although my left ear has a very waxy buildup, in case you were interested)

I was diagnosed with a salivary gland infection.

That sounded about right.

That would happen to me.

But it was the wrong diagnosis.

I went downhill fast after that day, and the dr sent me (and my wonderful supportive husband) to the ER, where apparently, it was Lindsay’s birthday!

I didn’t give a shit. Not one teensy tiny little mouse turd.

There was a party for Lindsay going on outside my curtain. No one was helping me. They stuck a catheter in my arm, and then had some drinks.

This make Naptimethoughts angry.

I was in quite a bit of pain. I asked for some pain drugs. I sent my husband out into the festivities to plead my case. Nothing but more waiting. Some time after I had developed a severe case of hospital rage, (which I consider to be a secondary infection) dr. O (I think the O stands for asshOle) came in and told me I could go home! Isn’t that fantastic.

I ripped the catheter out of my arm, and threatened to shove it up his nose. A nurse escorted me out of the hospital.

(Later, after I was better and had received a stern warning about such behavior from my family doctor, he asked why the nose and not his ass. I don’t have a good answer for that. Back to the sick naptimethoughts.)

Were we finished for the evening? No, no we were not. I was nearly hysterical and exhausted, but my doctor sent us to another hospital.
She must have called ahead, because they were waiting with some very potent opiates. I suppose word gets around.

They did a Cat scan of my head. The diagnosis? Sinusitis. Follow up with an ENT. I knew that was wrong even as they said it, but hey, potent opiates.
Did you know that ear nose and throat doctors like to stick tubes up your nose to look at your throat?

I would ask the patient to open up and say “aaaah”, but that’s just me. I think the tube might have been overkill, but she did dispell the sinusitis myth. The sinusitis and my symptoms were on opposite sides of my head.

Ahhh, incompetence. One must wonder, however, if the second ER doc was feeling some pressure to come up with a diagnosis. Nobody wants a catheter up the schnoz, after all.

Since the ENT had not yet sent me to a hospital, she took the opportunity to do so. By this time, I was so sick that the nurses couldn’t find a vein in which to place a catheter.
Oh, but they tried. They tried and tried, and poked and poked, they stood around my craftmatic adjustable ER bed in a mass of humanity, all taking turns, until I informed the nurse who was sticking my inner wrist with a giant needle that the catheter she was holding may find itself up HER nose if she did not cease and desist at once.

Or something like that. That might not have been the precise use of language I employed at the time. There were probably some F-Bombs and shits and up your noses. I don’t know, I guess I was just interested to see what would happen if I shoved something sharp up a medical practitioners’ nose. Strange.

They produced more opiates.

Several hours later they admitted defeat. So did I.

After more potent opiates, they decided that I need to see a doctor who specializes in weird and shocking diseases. I asked if my skin was falling off.
They said no.
I asked if my organs were turning to goo.
They weren’t positive.
So off I went, to the weird and horrible disease doctor. I can’t help but wonder exactly how one gets into the field of shocking and disgusting communicable diseases. When I asked him, (because I asked him, If you haven’t noticed, I get a little testy when I’m sick.) he said it’s a calling. All I know is that if one of my family had that calling, that person would quickly go from family to pen pal.

Dr. G poked, prodded, took multiple samples of multiple fluids and came up empty. He was most concerned with my skin.

I knew it was falling off.

It turned out that I had a nasty case of Strep A, and every single disease that goes along with it. (Scarlet fever, strep throat, impetigo, strawberry tongue.) Just picture a bright red fat lady with giant lumps on either side of the neck and a tongue like… Well, a strawberry.
Apparently they were at a loss because usually only 6 YEAR OLDS get strep A.
As I said, he was most concerned with my skin, and poked at it while looking at his nurse significantly.
He went around to my back and put his whole palm on the skin there, pressed, took it off, and whispered to the nurse.

Oh my God, my skin is falling off.

If you’re a doctor, especially if you’re a doctor of awful and heinous diseases, do us all a favor and don’t do that. You’re ten inches from me. Don’t whisper to someone else like I’m deaf and/or dying. Since I am not deaf, you made me think I was dying.
He ended up prescribing a boatload of antibiotics and a sombrero.

It’s imperative, he said, that I wear the sombrero for the rest of my life in order to keep my lily white skin lily white, instead of Melanoma brown.
I don’t know.

I bought a sombrero. It was immediately dubbed “my prescription hat”.

Whaddaya know. I got better.