Sick and tired of sick and tired

I'll skip over the part of the story where I got the intestinal virus in the midst of all my other medical maladies because really, who wants to hear about that.

We'll fast forward to this morning when I started coughing and coughed up blood. Not just once or twice, but several times and enough blood to make me call my mother at 6:30 to ask her if that was normal. Her reply: Kristin, just what makes you think any part of coughing up blood is normal??? Point made. So it was decided right then that I would be making a stop at the clinic before going to work.

In the meantime I walked into the bathroom to find Abby kneeling over the toilet. Yeah.

Seriously? If this wasn't actually happening to me I would totally not believe it.

I put the two youngest kids on the bus, took Abby with me to town and Pops picked her up at the clinic for me and took her to Mom's. It was not even 7:45, but the doors were open because (drum roll please) today was the Diabetic Clinic which means every Native American in the area who has blood sugar issues was at the clinic this morning. (And they got oatmeal and coffee! For free! And I heard the dietician offer one guy walnuts! I know! It's almost enough to make you wish you were diabetic!) Fortunately, they opened up a line for Triage and another for Diabetics. After I checked in, I turned around to find the other aide at work, T-Racey, standing in line looking utterly miserable. Instead of sitting in the over-populated main waiting room we opted to go down the hall where there are less people and less ebola and typhoid. I haven't seen T-Racey in two weeks and have missed her somethin' fierce, but obviously meaningful conversation was out since I still don't have a freakin' voice. So yeah. Fortunately her five year old entertained.

I knew how it was going to go because of Diabetic Clinic - we'd get triaged and given an appointment for later in the afternoon. It wasn't long before they called me, then they called T-Racey immediately after me. I tried to look really pitiful (even though I really don't feel all that bad anymore) so I'd get an earlier appointment, but I got Nurse Ratchet who apparently went to nursing school in the Lebanese army and did clinicals on psychopathic maniacs because she was SO not sympathetic to anything I said. Everything I said was met with a "mmhmm" or a simple raise of the eyebrows and then a tsk. Grrrr. I hate patronizing people. She also told me that my "allergic reaction" (that was how she said it, in italics with quotes) to the albuterol inhaler must not have been too bad since I didn't even go to the Emergency Room. Grrr.

She left the triage room and came back a few minutes later to tell me she spoke with the PA who said I probably just coughed so hard I ruptured a blood vessel, thus the blood, but since I reported blood I have to have a TB skin test tomorrow. "Do I think you have TB? No, but we have to test you anyway," was her explanation. Well, yay. And whoop de doo. Sorry I reported it, silly me. She said the PA wrote me a prescription for some antibiotics since it would appear the crap in my chest has taken up residence beyond the realms of what a virus usually does. And then sent me on my merry way. OH! And with another off-work slip until Monday. I guess that's just in case I have TB? Geesh. If I still have a job when this is all over it'll be a miracle.

T-Racey didn't fare so well, she got an appointment for 1 and was going home to crash until then. I waited for my prescription then picked up Abby and came home where I have spent the day doing pretty much what I've done the last two weeks - playing solitaire and watching bad daytime TV. However, Abby doesn't like The Food Network so that perky Sandra Lee didn't offend me with her semi-homemade goodness today and we've watched "Drake and Josh" and Boomerang. Less perky, for sure.

Oh and in case anyone is wondering just how swollen my throat is? Last night Paul took me to town to get some drive-thru while the kids were at church. Long John Silver's sounded soooooo good and I could not wait to get back home here to eat it. Turns out, deep-fried, battered chicken planks are not only bad for your heart, they are also easily choked upon. But no worries, I won't starve - the night I was so sick all I could do was cry and moan, Paul and Sam went to the store and bought - kid you not - 20 cans of chicken and stars, chicken and curly noodles, plain ol' chicken noodle and chicken and double noodle soup. Twenty cans. He's so sweet.