I should have taken the antibiotics.
So I awakened this morning to discover that something the size of a balled up sock had taken up residence at the back of my throat. "Hmm," I think to myself. "It's a good thing T isn't here. I must have been a total snorebeast last night." I get up and go get a drink thinking that the sensation I am feeling is that dry sticky feeling your get from sleeping with your mouth open.
I have difficulty swallowing the water and the unpleasant-but-not-particularly-painful sensation doesn't go away. I try to look down my own throat, but... yeah. That didn't work. I fish around my mouth and discover that there is something huge and puffy in there where no huge and puffy thing should be, gagging myself in the process. I think to myself, "Self, that can't be your uvula. You didn't put your finger back that far. Is it a tumor?"
I am so perplexed by my condition that I actually asked Z's teacher, Mrs. C, if she would look down my throat and tell me what was going on in there. (Having your spouse 500 miles away is SO AWESOME! I get to have relative strangers looking down my throat!) She agreed - without looking at me too strangely - and pronounced it, "Red. Really red."
If my tonsils swell, I can usually get them back to their normal size with the application of some breakfast and a warm beverage. The beverage helped, but the cereal literally got STUCK in between my giant mass and the roof of my mouth. Good times.
I called my nurse practitioner, who was able to fit me in an hour later. I slunk into the exam room with eyes downcast and lead off, "I should have taken the antibiotics." She was very gracious and didn't tell me "I told you so," even though she would have been right.
A quick peek into my maw had her eyes widening in surprise. "Your uvula is HUGE. (Probably filled with the feathers from all that crow I was eating!) I bet it feels like you have to swallow all the time, huh?" Indeed, it did. She prescribed penicillin and advised me to eat a soft diet: mashed potatoes, apple sauce, yogurt (to help with the, erm, ailment sure to follow the antibiotics), bananas.
Apart from the Diflucan, I now have the diet of a 9 month old. And I guess I'll be farting feathers twice a day for the next week as I dutifully take my antibiotics.
5.04.2009
5.03.2009
Yearly Exam (Don't panic! It's a funny!)*
Went to the doctor for my yearly physical. The nurse starts with the usual basics.
"How much do you weigh?" she asks.
"135," I say. The nurse puts me on the scale. It turns out my weight is 180.
The nurse asks, "Your height?"
"5 foot 4," I say. The nurse checks and sees that I only measure 5'2'.
She then takes my blood pressure and tells me it is very high.
"Of course it's high!" I scream. "When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I'm short and fat!"
*Yet another post courtesy of Mrs. B. What would I do without her?
"How much do you weigh?" she asks.
"135," I say. The nurse puts me on the scale. It turns out my weight is 180.
The nurse asks, "Your height?"
"5 foot 4," I say. The nurse checks and sees that I only measure 5'2'.
She then takes my blood pressure and tells me it is very high.
"Of course it's high!" I scream. "When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I'm short and fat!"
*Yet another post courtesy of Mrs. B. What would I do without her?
Bring on the Zombie Chickens!
Oh, my wee neck is no longer able to hold up mah great. giant. head. Two, count them, two lovely blogging peeps (get it? Peeps? Zombie chickens? A joke just for me, then.) awarded me with the Zombie Chicken Award! My main gal, Jamie, from Kids... Me & RAW III, gave it to me first in a cosmic co-inky-dink of epic (epic? Okay, maybe not.) proportions - I had just seen it on another blog and coveted it mightily. You might not know this about me, but I LOVE me some silly chickens. Then the very next day, Lisa, from Pink in a House of Blue, presented me with another one. How much does that rock?
THE ZOMBIE CHICKEN AWARD
The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all...
I would face down even the zombiest of zombie chickens to read anything these ladies write:
- Extra Hot, No Water (she's not really into blog awards, but she does love all things Zombie!)
Check out their blogs! It might keep the zombie chickens at bay!
5.02.2009
Et Tu, Q?
My sweet, placid, biddable boy has decided to try some stubborn on for size. Wah!
On the way up to take a bath this evening, Q suddenly realized that he was actually walking up the stairs under his own steam and stopped flat. On stair 7 of 16 he decided that he could not possibly get up the remaining 2/3 of the stairs (despite having done so eleventy-gazillion times earlier in the day) and needed to be carried. His sick and tired mama told him nothin' doin' and headed on up. Q sat down on that seventh step and started howling like a werewolf cub.
Z and I went on upstairs. She cleaned up her room and I straightened Q's. Q kept sitting and howling.
I ran a bubble bath. Z got undressed, went potty, and hopped in. Q kept sitting and howling.
Z played with the newly empty bubble bath bottle and built towering castles of bubbles. I called Q to come play in the bubbles. Q kept sitting and howling.
It got dark outside (and thus in the hallway), so I flipped on a light and entreated Q to come play. Z shrivelled up into a prune and the bubbles went flat. Q kept sitting and howling.
I washed Z up and she went and changed into her jammies. We brushed and flossed her teeth. Q kept sitting and howling.
Z and I went into her room and selected the evening's books. We cuddled in her chair and read all three of them. Q kept sitting and howling.
Finally, one hour later, when I was just about ready to put Z in bed, Q wandered into Z's room. Cheerful as can be, he said, "Poopie," in a voice that sounded like he'd been snacking on crushed glass and walked to his room.
I quickly tucked Z in and followed Q down the hall. No fighting. No fussing. Got him cleaned up and into his jammies and read his books. Then he went to bed without a peep.
WTF?
On the way up to take a bath this evening, Q suddenly realized that he was actually walking up the stairs under his own steam and stopped flat. On stair 7 of 16 he decided that he could not possibly get up the remaining 2/3 of the stairs (despite having done so eleventy-gazillion times earlier in the day) and needed to be carried. His sick and tired mama told him nothin' doin' and headed on up. Q sat down on that seventh step and started howling like a werewolf cub.
Z and I went on upstairs. She cleaned up her room and I straightened Q's. Q kept sitting and howling.
I ran a bubble bath. Z got undressed, went potty, and hopped in. Q kept sitting and howling.
Z played with the newly empty bubble bath bottle and built towering castles of bubbles. I called Q to come play in the bubbles. Q kept sitting and howling.
It got dark outside (and thus in the hallway), so I flipped on a light and entreated Q to come play. Z shrivelled up into a prune and the bubbles went flat. Q kept sitting and howling.
I washed Z up and she went and changed into her jammies. We brushed and flossed her teeth. Q kept sitting and howling.
Z and I went into her room and selected the evening's books. We cuddled in her chair and read all three of them. Q kept sitting and howling.
Finally, one hour later, when I was just about ready to put Z in bed, Q wandered into Z's room. Cheerful as can be, he said, "Poopie," in a voice that sounded like he'd been snacking on crushed glass and walked to his room.
I quickly tucked Z in and followed Q down the hall. No fighting. No fussing. Got him cleaned up and into his jammies and read his books. Then he went to bed without a peep.
WTF?
Weekend Wordles - House of the Plague Edition
Join the fun at The Asylum, aka Last Shreds Of Sanity, to participate in Shan's Week~End Wordles. She has Mr. Linky up and running. For instructions on how to participate, go here.
5.01.2009
Super Bug!
Faster than a speeding hypodermic needle! Stronger than the smell of ammonia! It's a flu! It's a plague! It's SUPER BUG!
I went to see my nurse practitioner yesterday. I needed a blood draw to check my thyroid levels, but while I was there she did all of the other check-up-y things. She couldn't help but notice that I had this mean mamma-jamma of a cold. She asked a few pointed questions to rule out Swine Flu, then moved on to discuss my ongoing battle with the pharmacy. (My Ob/Gyn and my nurse practitioner have the same last name, though only distantly related. The Ob/Gyn wrote my original thyroid prescriptions. Once I transferred this aspect of my care to my NP, the pharmacy has NEVER, not even once, gotten my prescription right. Arg.)
Anyhoo, she was asking me if I wanted to continue using the Wal-Mart pharmacy (see? Using the real name as payback for bad service! Heh!) to pick up my antibiotic and my new thyroid scrip. What... huh? She just slipped that antibiotic into the conversation without any preamble.
I was all, "Antibiotic? For what?" Because even though I have had no medical training, I know that antibiotics don't do any good for a VIRUS.
She looked up from her clipboard, clearly surprised. "Well, you said you had some sinus pressure several days ago. It will help clear that up..." She trailed off at what must have been my obviously incredulous face. "Um, I could give you some samples?" I guess she thought I didn't want to pay for the prescription! Clearly most of her patients must pressure her for antibiotics. I was an anomaly.
I told her that I would prefer to avoid antibiotics unless there was a clear reason to take them (keeping to myself that she hadn't done any of the appropriate exam/bloodwork to see if an antibiotic was even warranted). She ended up sending me how with Singulair samples "to dry up that drainage." Isn't Singulair an allergy medicine? And I have a cold?
Am I the only one who is okay with walking out of a doctor's office without drugs? It's a cold! It requires chicken soup and orange juice and lots of sitting on the couch watching back-logged Tivo. Not antibiotics! Not allergy medicine!
No wonder we are breeding super bugs.
I went to see my nurse practitioner yesterday. I needed a blood draw to check my thyroid levels, but while I was there she did all of the other check-up-y things. She couldn't help but notice that I had this mean mamma-jamma of a cold. She asked a few pointed questions to rule out Swine Flu, then moved on to discuss my ongoing battle with the pharmacy. (My Ob/Gyn and my nurse practitioner have the same last name, though only distantly related. The Ob/Gyn wrote my original thyroid prescriptions. Once I transferred this aspect of my care to my NP, the pharmacy has NEVER, not even once, gotten my prescription right. Arg.)
Anyhoo, she was asking me if I wanted to continue using the Wal-Mart pharmacy (see? Using the real name as payback for bad service! Heh!) to pick up my antibiotic and my new thyroid scrip. What... huh? She just slipped that antibiotic into the conversation without any preamble.
I was all, "Antibiotic? For what?" Because even though I have had no medical training, I know that antibiotics don't do any good for a VIRUS.
She looked up from her clipboard, clearly surprised. "Well, you said you had some sinus pressure several days ago. It will help clear that up..." She trailed off at what must have been my obviously incredulous face. "Um, I could give you some samples?" I guess she thought I didn't want to pay for the prescription! Clearly most of her patients must pressure her for antibiotics. I was an anomaly.
I told her that I would prefer to avoid antibiotics unless there was a clear reason to take them (keeping to myself that she hadn't done any of the appropriate exam/bloodwork to see if an antibiotic was even warranted). She ended up sending me how with Singulair samples "to dry up that drainage." Isn't Singulair an allergy medicine? And I have a cold?
Am I the only one who is okay with walking out of a doctor's office without drugs? It's a cold! It requires chicken soup and orange juice and lots of sitting on the couch watching back-logged Tivo. Not antibiotics! Not allergy medicine!
No wonder we are breeding super bugs.
Dear Tide
Another contribution from my friend Mrs. B. I changed it a little to reflect my circumstances. Remember: this is a JOKE.
Dear Tide:
I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I've used it all of my married life, as my Mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am a full-time mom, I find it even better!
In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck.
One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood* on my new white blouse! I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out!
In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were negative and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.
What a relief! Being a stay-at-home-mom is hard enough** without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product.
Well, gotta go, have to write to the Hefty bag people.
* No husbands were injured in the writing of this letter. As a matter of fact, I just thought it was funny and I am not one little bit mad at T. Geez! Lighten up!
** No hate mail on this, please! I realize staying home with my kids is a privilege lots of moms would love to have. But let's get real: SaHM-ing is hard.
Dear Tide:
I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I've used it all of my married life, as my Mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am a full-time mom, I find it even better!
In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck.
One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood* on my new white blouse! I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out!
In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were negative and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.
What a relief! Being a stay-at-home-mom is hard enough** without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product.
Well, gotta go, have to write to the Hefty bag people.
* No husbands were injured in the writing of this letter. As a matter of fact, I just thought it was funny and I am not one little bit mad at T. Geez! Lighten up!
** No hate mail on this, please! I realize staying home with my kids is a privilege lots of moms would love to have. But let's get real: SaHM-ing is hard.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)