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When I am sick, I mostly want to be left alone in my miserty. Having other people around forces me to be “up” (I have no choice) and that increases my stress and my strain and makes things way worse.

So I went through the usual stages. Registration. Wait for the triage nurse to see me. {{2}} Then wait in an examining room for me doctor to see me. Then wait for the various things the doctor orderd to show up.

The male mind is so messed up : when the doctor looked at my baby monster and said “Whoa! Holy crap!”, I was oddly proud.

She took a swab and sent that off to the lab. And she put me on an antibiotic IV – note my total lack of surprise I knew that was in the cards before it even occurred to me to go to the ER.

She also has me on an oral antibiotic. One I havce never taken before, so, fingers crossed. I’ve already taken one pill at the hospital – so far so good.

I also had my “wound” (it fits) dressed and “marked”.

“Marking” the wound involves, as you might imagine, means tracing it with a marker.

What you might not imagine is that this would be by far the most painful thing to happen to me today. Apparently my nurse felt she had to press down REALLY HARD, and that hurt so much that I honestly thought she was slicing the whole thing open.

I am positive that was not necessary. I mean, you’re marking me with a Sharpie, not tattooing me by sheer force of will, for fuck’s sake.

But OK. After the IV antibiotics were in me, then the “sodium chloride solution”^[3] was used to flush it out I was, in theory, free to go.

But then this blonde nurse stops me and gabbles something involving medication at me and tells me to sit in the waiting area.

So then 30 more minutes is added to my sentence just so that blondie can re-confirm what meds I am on. Lovely.

More on this later, when I have gotten some fucking rest.

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And now things get even worse.

So there I am, recently released from the ER, and only then fully realizing that I actually had not eaten since 9:30 am, and it is now 5:30 pm, and that is Bad.

“Just now realizing” may seem out of place here, but the thing is, I reacted to all the waiting I had to do today mostly by sinking into a sort of dozing half-asleep state, and so getting out was a lot like waking up.

Must be one of the few advantages of having a somewhat passive personality. I was able to just sort of Zen my way through it.

The fact that I spend the majority of my time there in an examination room with a comfy-enough exam table helped a lot.

It’s harder to be Zen when you have no where to lie down.

Anyhow! SO there I was, knowing that I needed two things :

1. Somewhere to get the prescription for the oral anibiotic filled, and
2. FOOD NOW PLEASE.

So after a subjectively long time trying to calculate a solution, I took a cab to the Shopper’s Drug Mart at Richmond Center, dropped off my script there, then walked over to the White Spot in Richmond Center.

I actually would have preferred to go to the food court, but I was not up to the mental task of figuring out how to get there from where I was, let alone deal with the natural chaos of so many people and options.

Too bad. I could have gotten Chinese food there.

Of course, at that time of day on a Friday, White Spot is slammed, and I am told I can sit at the bar or wait 10-15 minutes.

I hate eating at counters. They are always too low for my comfort. So I decide to sit and wait. But oh no, there’s no room left in the waiting area.

So I notice there is a table near the entrance with a chair tucked into a corner, so I sit my sick ass down there.

Standing was NOT an option. The walk from Shoppers damn near killed me.

Eventually, one of the waitresses comes over and says “Do you just want to sit there? We can bring you a menu!”

Fine by me.

So I order my Diet Coke and my BC Chicken Burger and I am reading while inhaling the Diet Coke ( I was so damned thirsty!!), and I happen to notice there was this little bit of bandage sticking out of the leg of my pants, right below the wound.

Uh oh, I thought. I roll up my pant leg and sure enough, the dressing for my wound has slipped down to my freaking ankle and my wound is open to the world and all its germs.

So now I have to puit the thing back on somehow, eventually, and I don’t wanna. I suck at taking care of myself and I suck at things requiring any kind of manual dexterity and this is both of those.

Oh well. I keep eating, even though the fries seem weirdly tasteless. But I figure I am all kind of fucked up right now, so I am probably what has changed.

But then, when I get my third glass of Diet Coke, I am half way into it when I realize that it too seems different somehow. It’s much darker in color, and heavier, and oh yeah I started feeling ill the moment I started drinking it.

And it occurs to me that a) my fries are undercooked, and b) it’s entirely possible that my third Diet Coke is actually regular, sugar-filled Coke.

Sadly, I was in too messed up a mental state to take them to task on this. I just paid my bill and got out of there. By the time I fully awoke to what had happened, I was most of the way back to Shoppers and had no way to prove my claim or anything.

Which is too bad. Because if I am right, that could have fucking killed me.

Oh well. After I pick up my pills, I realize that I have no way to call a cab. No cell phone and pay phones are totally not a thing.

So after all that, I had to walk home. Those were two very long blocks to walk considering how wiped out I was.

So now I am home. And I am supposed to go hang out tonight but I ain’t up to it. Which means I am going to have to prevail on Joe to do some shopping for me.

Oh, and I have to go back tomorrow and Sunday in the afternoon for more IV antibiotics. Then on Monday, I meet with the doctor to talk about where to go next. She will have the lab results back by then.

It never ends.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

[[1]] Unless you prefer to keep your cookies untossed, in which case, um, no. [[1]]

[[2]] Cute Asian guy. Rawr. [[2]]