I made an interesting discovery while I was sick. That is, if you are sick, an MD in private practice won't see you. I called several. No appointments for new patients available until next week. Could I wait? Well, since I was calling on Friday and was already wanting to walk toward the light, no, I couldn't wait. My regular MD had changed practices twice and was no longer in my insurance network, so I realized that what I should have done was find a doctor when I didn't need one and go for no discernable reason other than to waste a half day and take up time in the doctor's appointment book that could be used by a person with the flu and bronchitis.
So, doc-in-the-box it was. That's a slice of society's grimy underbelly, there. Trips to two pharmacies for meds, then back to the napping.
The worst part of the whole ordeal of illness was that I had to work all day Saturday (a week and a half ago) for my consulting gig. I knew when I got there that I was starting to get sick. And we had tickets for Lyle Lovett that night. If it had been one or the other, then that would have been ok. But by the time I got to Lyle, I was starting to whirl around the metaphorical bowl. The show was fabulous, as he always is. The stuttering patter between the sets is as good as the music is. And the music is excellent. Quirky. Not everyone can pull off a song about untimely deaths that involves a child eating a peanut butter sammich.
We went with a co-worker of the greggers, who is lucky that I didn't toss her out of the car and onto the highway. She invited herself to go along with us, which is semi-ok since it's not like we're newly dating. But then she was late to our rendezvous, got lost because she didn't bother looking at fucking google or mapquest before she left, then argued about the directions I gave her, then told us that she was parked by Borders, when in fact, she was not.
One important thing I learned this week that I spent with the bad dogs: Katy farts more than any other living creature on the planet. She sleeps about 20 hours a day, and the second she slips into dreamland and relaxes -- pffffffft.
So, lessons learned: Not much, actually. It sucks to be sick, and it sucks worse to be sick alone, with no one to bring you juice. Pffft.3 comments so far