Well. I am not well and now its official. I was delighted when the doctor did not think I was crazy when I showed her my hand and said and I am sick, the skin is falling off my fingertips because I am sick. She held my hand and carefully inspected each finger "Yes, the skin is coming off your fingertips because you have had a fever for some time now. You are dehydrated from having a fever, this is why the skin is coming off your fingertips". I wanted to jump up and high five the woman. It might be important to point out that I am slightly delirious.
I feel drugged. I feel drunk. I feel like I've got my own personal invisible supply of happy gas, that might be the fever talking. I can't walk two blocks without nearly passing out, the lump in my neck is painful, my face is swollen, my fingers are shredding themselves, I am unable to digest food in a sensible way, there is only brown liquid yucky not normal poo and yet I feel wonderful. The doctor recommended that I stay in bed for the rest of the week so I've bribed myself with Vogue Living, a bag of books and a packet of biscuits, which I will eat if I get hungry.
I don't want to sit still I want to walk up King St and enjoy my new psychedelic vision. Everything is beautiful, buildings come in and out of focus, roads snake down and away in slow motion and I am sure that every passing bus is the magic bus.
I'm not too fussed about what is actually wrong with me, I'm just going to enjoy the ride. The doctor said something about lymph nodes and white cell counts or some shit. I just nodded and thought ooh that's a great chart on the wall over there. I have to stay in bed for the rest of the week and visit the doctor again on Friday. She will most likely poke her pointy doctor fingers painfully into me once more. They must teach this at doctor school, every doctor does it, even Creamboy once poke the back of my skull with his pointy doctor fingers and left a big old bruise. It was sore for a week so well done there Creamboy, your doctor training must be coming along nicely. The doctor said something with the word significant in it, I have a significant something, I wish I could remember what though. I might have to have some kind of scans or something on Friday. Until then I will sit in my bed castle and enjoy being vague.
I feel drugged. I feel drunk. I feel like I've got my own personal invisible supply of happy gas, that might be the fever talking. I can't walk two blocks without nearly passing out, the lump in my neck is painful, my face is swollen, my fingers are shredding themselves, I am unable to digest food in a sensible way, there is only brown liquid yucky not normal poo and yet I feel wonderful. The doctor recommended that I stay in bed for the rest of the week so I've bribed myself with Vogue Living, a bag of books and a packet of biscuits, which I will eat if I get hungry.
I don't want to sit still I want to walk up King St and enjoy my new psychedelic vision. Everything is beautiful, buildings come in and out of focus, roads snake down and away in slow motion and I am sure that every passing bus is the magic bus.
I'm not too fussed about what is actually wrong with me, I'm just going to enjoy the ride. The doctor said something about lymph nodes and white cell counts or some shit. I just nodded and thought ooh that's a great chart on the wall over there. I have to stay in bed for the rest of the week and visit the doctor again on Friday. She will most likely poke her pointy doctor fingers painfully into me once more. They must teach this at doctor school, every doctor does it, even Creamboy once poke the back of my skull with his pointy doctor fingers and left a big old bruise. It was sore for a week so well done there Creamboy, your doctor training must be coming along nicely. The doctor said something with the word significant in it, I have a significant something, I wish I could remember what though. I might have to have some kind of scans or something on Friday. Until then I will sit in my bed castle and enjoy being vague.
Comments
I sometimes secretly enjoy a fever. It's like drugs you didn't have to buy or alcohol you didn't even drink.
i agree that sometimes there is a certain pleasure in sickness. but this is providing it does not happen right in the middle of something important or exciting. by the sound of it, this is a good time for you to be sick. or at least, not a terribly bad time.
I was locating your 'external occipital protuberance', or the funny bump thing at the back of your head (which is more prominent in guys). I apologise for doing damage to the tissue surrounding it.
Had I known, and were you vegetarian, I could have schlepped over some spare chicken soup which is a cure-all.
Chicken soup will be on the menu at some point, as soon as I can make it to a shop.