I managed to catch some fantastic crap. It never ceases to amaze me what breeds in the hospital. Of course, you’re already dealing with The Worst Of The Worst because people who just have a touch of a cold don’t go to the hospital generally. On the other hand, by the time you end up in the Skilled Nursing Unit (where my wife works), you’re probably pretty banged up.
To complicate this – despite everyone’s best efforts – the hospital is one giant breeder. I’m convinced if someone figures out a good way to sterilize a large volume of air quickly, they’re going to make a mint.
Anyway, last Tuesday, I came home from work and was getting dizzy behind the wheel. I figured it was just due to the new Camry having a really fluffy suspension and quick steering. It keeps you disconnected from the road, which makes it a fantastic “going places” car. You can gesture to other drivers, drink a cup of coffee, reload your gun, shoot at the other drivers, drink a cup of coffee, it’s all quite nice with the one handed steering thing while covering up the bumps of Philadelphia’s finest quality pavement.
That night I got the chills and started to run a fever with coughing, and I knew it: MY WIFE BROUGHT HOME THE LUNG-AIDS AND I HAD CAUGHT IT FROM HER.
The next morning was a trip to the doctors. Now, you would think that my wife, having been to the office a few days previous to pick up a prescription for the same damn thing, would be evidence enough that I got it and I need the same drugs he gave her. Nope. The guy insists on a full checkup, which means that my 102F fever and seeing stars gets to try to figure out what in fucks sake he’s talking about while delirious. I don’t remember a whole lot of it aside of being incredibly agitated while feeling like I’m freezing to death since he made me take my coat off. My wife says I was fairly belligerent and accused him of carnal relations with animals several times. Part of the checkup involved asking personal questions about “lifestyle choices”. They didn’t ask if I was gay but they did want to know if I drank or smoke. Turns out if you smoke less than a pack a day, they’re not terribly worried about you, and if you don’t have a three martini lunch every day you’re also pretty low risk.
Finally I got my hands on the drug zithromax. Fun times ahead, folks. The packet comes with six pills, which last five days. The first day, you take two pills, then follow the schedule in the packet. I also got an oral steroid, which is good because I LOVE GETTING RIPPED. The packet says that you’re supposed to avoid driving, and have no coffee or alcohol on the first day, then you should be OK to drive the second day but still need to worry about hydration. They weren’t kidding. Antibiotics make me a bit spacey, but taking the two pills put me right out. Probably more from having some type of relief from the symptoms more than anything but I took the drugs and was asleep an hour later.
When I woke up, I decided to enjoy television. Let me tell you: Drew Carry is ruining The Price is Right. I used to love that show. Also worth noting is that when tripped out, Teletubbies are absolutely terrifying. Something about their faces is so absolutely wrong.
The next day I woke up and felt right as rain. I took my lovely pills and made some coffee and shuffled my way into work. I was doing well on the drive in, but noticed I was a bit floaty so I took it easy on the commute and only made a few creative gestures in traffic. By the time I got in, I was a bit worn down but still so much better than yesterday. And by noon, I was dragging. They sent me home at 1pm and told me to take a half day.
Friday, I don’t remember anything aside of sending an e-mail from my phone about not coming in.
Saturday and Sunday were uneventful, mostly sleeping and taking it easy. The local grocery store knows something is going around and is profiteering. The price of gatoraide was on par with a gallon of gas.