For the past few days I’ve had that “I think I may be catching a cold” feeling. As of yesterday evening, there was no doubt that the cold had arrived in the form of a painful sore throat. I heard the word “strep” bandied about the office last week, so I imagine someone carried in the germs and thoughtfully passed them along to me.
I’m no stranger to tonsillitis. When I was 23 and living alone in my squalid first apartment, I came down with a case of it so bad that I missed almost two weeks of work. My tonsils looked so swollen, spotted and horrible that everyone who saw them involuntarily reacted with an, “Ewww!” – including the doctors and nurses. The first doctor I went to decided it wasn’t necessary to test for strep, but that I “probably” had it. After the first round of antibiotics not only failed to help but landed me in the emergency room, I finally had a strep test (negative) and the right drugs to get me back on my feet.
In the midst of that whole medical drama, my mother had come by my apartment and, noting my lack of food, comfort and will to go on, scooped me up along with my cat and taken me to her house. It was from there that I’d made my late-night emergency room trip. It’s a little worrisome to consider what might have happened if I’d had my bad penicillin reaction alone at my place.
I know it’s boring to read someone’s self-indulgent whining about their minor ailments. But you know it’s difficult to focus on other things when you’re sick, so I’m sure you understand. I’ll work on amping up the entertainment value tomorrow.
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