I spent the entire day yesterday in bed sick with this flu thing that’s going around trying to turn into bronchitis / pneumonia. Two weeks ago I had a head cold, then last week I suffered general malaise plus a cold sore (my first one since oh, about 1974) that pretty much shot the week to hell, if you know what I mean, and then now, body aches/fever and a splitting headache. My cough is still in the tickling stage, which is good, because every time I do cough it splits my head even further apart.
But as much as I would have liked to spend today in bed as well, I tried to psych myself out of this thing. Kipp’s birthday party is in two days and I intend to be well. Sharon came this morning to clean and I plodded around, picking up and tending to general neglect. I grocery shopped and fixed a quick supper, but may have overdone it as it is. Now I intend to take a warm bath and crawl into bed early tonight in the hope that tomorrow I will wake up perfectly well.
My husband had the same flu last week. He went to see his doctor who put him on some antibiotics and gave him a codeine-laced cough syrup (which, according to the Urban Dictionary, is some popular stuff. I filched some yesterday and I can see why.) Figuring I had what my husband had, I went to the clinic too, in the hope that I could stave this thing off. So far Kipp has been okay, and I didn’t want him to get any sort of respiratory bug, since he has enough trouble there as it is.
So I go to the clinic, and am seen by a stringy little PA. She starts this whole long, repetitive spiel about how I have a virus and antibiotics don’t work for viruses and that if they give out antibiotics to everyone for everything pretty soon there’ll be such resistance. . .yammer, yammer, yammer.
I was highly annoyed. First of all, because she was speaking to me as if I were a kindergartener. Second of all, because I already know about the growing problem of resistance to antibiotics and she didn’t have to tell me more than once. Third, because why then did my husband’s doctor put him on antibiotics for this thing? Why can’t doctors get their act straight?
But fourth, and this is what mainly bugged me, is that after I had listened to her sermon, I got up to put my coat on and she said, in this wheedling little voice “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed that I can’t give you something.”
I bit my tongue, and said wearily, “I’m not disappointed."
(I’m not a baby, you twit. Nor am I some sort of antibiotic junkie.)
“I just don’t feel well.”
And you made me feel worse. Thank you.
6:52:21 PM 
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