I think somewhere in my last entry, I said something like, "I don't want to get sick." Well, fuck me if mother nature is a bitch with a sick sense of humor. I have spent the past 3 days feeling more miserable than I have since high school.

Monday started off with a sore throat that developed into a grinding cough and it just went down hill from there. Monday night, I had a fever of about 101 degrees, which luckily, broke sometime in the night. I got up the next morning, still with a fuckin' sore throat, but this time I was aching all over and had the get up and go of a three-toed sloth. I debated about going to work, but since I used all my sick/vacation days when the baby was born, and I don't get any more until July 7, I decided to go in. I figured, hell, if I get worse, I can leave early. Riiiight.

I stagger into work Tuesday with my bottle of Robitussin in one hand and a bottle of pseudo Tylenol in the other. I was determined to do what I needed to get finished, and then haul ass outta there. Well, it sort of worked. I finished what I was doing around 1:00-1:15 and finally got out of the office and headed home by about 1:30. The whole day spent hacking up chest-grinding phlegm balls, or rubbing the outer layers of skin off my nose with some rough-ass toilet paper. I was so happy to get home and rest. For what good it did. Tuesday afternoon, I have another fever. This time, about 101-102, does it ever end? Not yet. Luckily, the fever broke rather quickly, but my throat just kept getting more sore and every time I coughed, I'd get like 200 little cramps all through my chest, sides, and back. This is hell.

I figured it couldn't get much worse and that I must be on the down hill side of it. WRONG. I get up sometime early Wednesday morning to use the restroom and I'm still coughing and hacking. I go to spit in the sink and see that now I'm coughing up blood to go with my phlegm. Yummy! This is where I start to worry. After hitting the head, I wander back to bed to toss and turn for another 4-5 hours before the alarm goes off and the wife wakes me and tells me "it's 7:00". I immediately reply, "I'm not going in today...I'm going to the fuckin' doctor." So, while I'm in the bathroom, yet again, she calls the boss an fills him in, and then calls the doc's office to see when I can come in. There are good and bad things about my doctor. The good things are: he's very nice, very personable, he listens very well, and he explains things so that you understand them and really seems to care about you. The bad things, however, are: he's an old guy, 90% of his patients are old people, his office is very small and has no lab-type facilities (no blood work-up, x-ray area, or anything) so you have to be "shipped" out for stuff like that, usually to another office across town, and, since he's old and his patients are older, his office is only open about 3 hours a day. He must be a retired doctor or something. He opens at 9:00 and then closes at noon. Some work day.

Well, the wife calls and the nurse says we can come in anytime and takes my name. When we get there, there's no one in the office and they already have my file out so I get shuffled right back to an exam room and get to see the doctor. Now, mind you, around this time (three days of grinding coughs and sore throats) I've got a voice that puts Tom Waits to shame (if you kiddies don't know who he is...go ask Uncle Bob, I'm sure he can 'splain it to you). This was the main reason I brought the wife was because I couldn't talk, but what happens? She gets held up in the waiting area by one of the nurses fawning all over Icebear Jr. and the other nurse (the scary one), drags me back to the room to wait for the doc.

I guess they could tell that I had a sore throat, by my voice. I hear the doc coming, talking to Scary Nurse, and he's saying something about "sounds like flu symptoms". I thought, great, I've got the flu. Perfect. Been sick for 3 days, now I'm going to be sick for more. But, alas, that was a preliminary diagnosis. After I describe my 2½ days of hellish pain and agony, he starts a little ramble about how a lot of these symptoms are common to "true flu" (his words not mine), but that with the flu they usually come on quickly, a matter of hours, not slowly like with me and even though coughing is symptomatic with the flu, a sore throat isn't. So, after all that, some poking and proding, ooohing and aaahing, he says, "It looks like you have bronchitis". Ah. Ok. Well, I owe the wife a $20 for this one. On the way over she says, "Maybe you have bronchitis." Of course, me being Mr. Marcus Welby, I'm all, "No honey, that's in your lungs and shit." Wrong fucker!! So, what's next?

Well, the good man writes me a prescription for an antibiotic treatment called a Z-pack. It's a five day pill treatment that lasts for 10 days and should really knock the shit out of the virus. Normal antibiotics you have to take in 30 day treatments, but this is supposed to be better. I had about the same thing last year at this time (go figure) and he prescribed the same thing and it did the trick. Although, I've been told by a reliable source to get a follow up antibiotic to really put it down or else I'll just get it again next year. I really hate this shit.

But anyway, that's how I spent the past 3 days. Coughing, aching, stuffy headed, and with a fucking fever so I couldn't rest dammit. I was about ready to go by some NyQuil and just chug the shit and put myself out of my misery for a few days. NyQuil, the coughing, aching, sleep on your cold tile floor when it knocks your ass out medicine. I was in New York in high school and I saw bums bying that instead of alcohol. It's cheaper, has about the same alcohol content, and it helped them with the hangover the next day. Go figure.

Haven't really got much else to report to y'all. I was told last week by the mortgage company that the house was going into foreclosure this week, but we haven't heard anything from the foreclosure attorneys. My mother wants us to go ahead and start hitting up the lady at the apartment complex we like to see if they have anything available, even though she said wait until after the 4th. She's going to get us in trouble, that woman. Got some good news, though. The company I work for is going to give us the 3rd off as a paid holiday too. I've got a 4 day weekend coming up! Woohoo!!!! And if they stay true to form, and I don't see why the shouldn't, we'll probably get to leave early on Friday. Fuckin' A!!!!

The wife's been doing an incredible job getting the house packed up. It's kind of sad to think about, but I think the relief outweighs the sadness. As far as my pilot license goes. I haven't spoken with my instructor since my solo cross-country on Saturday. All I have left is the written and my checkride (and about 2 more hours of flying) and I'll have it. Thing is, I don't know if I'm ready for my written, and I can't take my checkride without taking the written first. Shit. Guess I should hit the books. I'm due in Oshkosh, Wisconsin in 3 weeks. That's plenty of time, but with everything else going on...who knows.

Well, I'm finishing for today. I'll try to keep you all better updated than I have for the past few days, but fuck, I was sick! Gimme a break! Later.

"Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"

Icebear

 

 

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