Blood in the Water

This morning as I got ready for work, I had a small fit of coughing. Not terribly scary. Until I looked in the sink to see what I had coughed up.

There was blood.

I looked at it and thought, hmm, blood. Bad. Better get to work.

As I sat in my office, contemplating why my throat was on fire, and sipping a cup of tea handed to me by one of my coworkers (yeah, he's awesome), I thought about the blood once more. Still thinking that's a bad thing. Still not doing anything about it.

Then I coughed a bit more. A little more blood.

So I asked the next best thing to a doctor, my medical transcriptionist friend, if I should be worried. She proceeded to tell me to get to the doctor YESTERDAY. And if I didn't, she would call my mother, husband, sister, and the police.

I decided the walk-in clinic up the road would prevent the chain of phone calls.

I arrived a little before 3, after stopping by my apartment to pick up my insurance card. I brought a book with me, anticipating a wait.

The chain of events that followed, while extremely dull, reminded me why I hate going to see the doctor.

Sat in waiting room reading. Waited about a half hour. Name is called. Gave my symptoms to a nurse who seemed annoyed that I was there. Got weighed. Now, in addition to having a sore throat and bloody cough, I feel fat and sad. Temperature is taken. Nobody tells me anything. I get sent back to the waiting room. I look at a woman who was called in the same time as me that gets escorted to an actual room. I decide my fever wasn't high enough or I wasn't fat enough to merit a doctor's attention yet.

I sit in the waiting room and read some more. And more. I realize that I am on page 121 of a book I just started when I arrived at the clinic. This disturbs me. I get called back.

I am led to a small, cold room, brightly lit with horrible flourescent lights. I read some more. A nurse takes my blood pressure. As usual, it is low, and this makes the nurse happy. She leaves and tells me the doctor will be with me shortly.

100 pages later, I am still sitting in the room alone. My toes are turning colors from the cold. I again am wondering how this process will make me better.

I move my chair closer to the wall, curl up in my chair and lean my head on the wall. I fall in and out of sleep. I have no idea how much time passes. Things seem quiet. I wonder if the nurses forgot about me, and left. I wonder what fun things I could find to do locked inside of a clinic. I start planning what cool things I will build using tongue depressors and cotton balls.

Sometime well into my reconstruction of the Bilbao Guggenheim, a doctor finally showed up. After sticking various objects in my nose, throat, and ears, and some other prodding, the doctor tells me I have an icky case of bronchitis, writes me a prescription and tells me to stay home and rest the next few days.

I look at the clock as I walk out. It is 6:30 pm. I don't remember where my car is. I haven't seen it in so long.


So now I am home, waiting for my husband to bring me soup and my prescription. I guess my body decided this was the only way to make me stay home and rest.


Currently watching: House - he is the one doctor that is the exception to my I hate doctors/hospitals rule
Current Mood: Soooooooooo sick feeling.......
Started/Finished Reading: the curious incident of the dog in the night-time (I liked it - it was different...it was a far better choice than all those stupid books currently aimed at my demographic)