Ooo Eee Ooo Ah Ah…CHOO!

I had a terrible cold for a month.  I have “Seven Dwarf” symptoms too-- Dopey, Sleepy, Sneezy and Grouchy.   I’m thinking I need Doc, but I know what she’ll say:  “It’s a Virus.”  But I’m miserable enough to risk getting the "V" word. 

 

Nice Lady at Doctor’s Office (NLDO):  “What are your symptoms?

Me:  “Green *goo* pouring out many of my orifices and the total loss of 4 of the 5 senses.”

NLDO:  “Do you have a fever?”

Dishonest Wench (still me):“Yes, 101 (always a good number to say when you’re lying about your temperature) but I took Ibuprofen so now it’s normal.”

NLDO :  “When can you come in?”

I’m on the schedule, but not home-free.  In years past, green *goo* (which wasn’t a lie) was the ticket to getting a prescription.  Now?  Not so easy.   Mentioning a fever, may make a bigger impression.   I’m hoping I can manage something like a friend of mine, who was bequeathed with a prescription when he “saved” what was sure to be a sensational, slimy “loogie” for an hour until the doctor came in.  He hawked it up right then and there, in its brownish-green glory.    I only hope I’m that lucky.

In the doctor’s office, I’m sweaty, which can only work to my benefit, and coughing. 

   

“You’ll need to wear this mask.” 

Now I really can’t breathe.  My one good nostril is over-extending itself even farther over to the other side of my nose, seriously blocking my already bad nostril.  Struggling to inhale?  This can only be a good thing when it comes to looking pitiful.  30 minutes of re-inhaling my hot, germy exhale later, my name is called.

 

After only two minutes with the doctor:

Vicious Drug-Withholding Monster (VDWM):  “It’s a virus.”

Honestly Sick Person wishing she had a loogie of any size available (me): “Did I mention I’ve been sick for a month?  Don’t you want to prick my finger or something?”

VDWM:  “Why?”

Old Person-because only old people say “When I was a kid” (still me):  When I was a kid… they pricked your finger with a nasty pointy silver stick, and a nurse dressed all in white would suck my pooling blood up into a straw, and, while I was still holding a cotton ball on my throbbing digit, I got some dad-blame penicillin and I felt BETTER!!”

VDM (unaffected by my ramblings): “Doctors have been over-prescribing...”  Followed by mumbo-jumbo, doctor speak that my ears interpret as “I want to take your money and do absolutely nothing for you”.  

Old and Defeated (you know who):  “What should I do about this *virus*?”

Rather than hitting the pharmaceutical lottery and leaving with a piece of paper for my druggist, I took down the formula for concocting my OWN home chemistry-spun “Mucus-cide” (or sorts), instructed on how to use the nasal power-washer and told about the benefits of chicken soup.  None of which worked, I may add. 

Achoo!

Next time I’m skipping the MD and hunting for a WD (witch doctor).  Hit me with a voodoo stick, blow white powder in my face and tattoo my forehead, I don’t care--only fix this snotty nose! 

Ting Tang Walla Walla Bing Bang