The Warrior

I am really, actually, non-exaggeratedly sick.

I went to my nurse practitioner, the lady who recommends that patients stop by for a hug at least once a month, and believe me, she's RIGHT; I said, "I think I might have strep throat. The razorblades-scraping-me feeling when I swallow and the hallucinogenic fever are kind of my hints."
I opened a little and she said "Wider." And then she kind of reared back, like something was going to jump out of my throat and wrap itself around her well-educated neck.
"Whoa. Oh sweetie," she cooed. "You need more than a hug today!" You need penicillin! And you need to go back to bed immediately. What's your fever doing?" She was coming toward me with the thermometer and I could tell this was going to be a story to tell the pharmacy rep who was waiting to have lunch with her.
By now, I am actually slumping against the wall, feeling vaguely victorious that the serious illness wasn't imagined for once but also realizing and bowing to the fact that I am going to have some -splainin' to do as to why I went into work today and why I am back this afternoon.
"I closed my eyes while the mercury rose.
And rose.
And rose.
"You shouldn't be driving with a fever this high. Is there someone you can call to come and get you?"
A lonely "No" trailed from my dehydrating lips.
"101.8 in an adult is very serious. You’re lucky you came in today. Why didn't you come in yesterday or go to Urgent Care?"


I was too sick to go to Urgent Care yesterday. I couldn't even take the dog outside and woke up to poopies inside when I finally did wake up at 1:30. I couldn't even move from my bed to the couch yesterday.
I couldn't get in to see my nurse practitioner because they were too busy but she was being so nice and sweet and I didn't have the heart to tell her that late in the afternoon, I had a temper tantrum to her receptionist about checking voicemails in the MORNING. "So you know what would happen at my job if I didn't check my voicemails in the morning? I CALLED. I'm SICK. Please HELP."
The receptionist patiently told me that she didn't have time to fight with me, put me down for noon today, didn't speak to me when I showed up, and put my chart at the very bottom the stack so I had to wait for an hour and a half.
Fair enough.

So now, I have a bottle of heavy-duty de-germer and I took my first one on the way back to my office because hey – who am I if not a generous and giving person? I either got this from them or from the gym and so I’m not spreading anything that isn’t already alive in there.

Right now, I am totally having this imaginary horror movie with the penicillin starring as the Slayer and the streptococcus buds starring as the evil zombies that were created by accident when an innocent little child touched her hand in a bucket of slimy dog water and then her unsuspecting mother walked out with a gym bag and wearing workout clothes, took the child by the hand and……
Cut to the mother on the Gauntlet machine.
Then you see the strep zombies going crazy with kiss and multiplying by the second, like so many kittens in my courtyard if the hippy next door won’t stop feeding them, or at least take responsibility for them and chip in when we plan to take them and have them Bob Barkered.
So now, there’s a Warrior in my mouth and she is shooting at the walls of imminent demise and/or hospitalization and with every second, I think about how many zombies she’s going to be able to decapitate before she needs to have back-up brought in, preferably on an empty stomach, which is not a problem because when you can’t taste anything and your body has a fever high enough to qualify you to get on a list for that spontaneous combustion study over at the University, you don’t really care for “food”.

Fight on, Warrior, fight on.

arizonasarah at 1:17 p.m.

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