My Evil Throat Of Death continues to plague me. I’m all snuffy and my voice has slowly gone from sounding Kathleen Turnerish to the realm of Henry Kissinger. Tres sexy, non?
So I went to the Doctor on Wednesday. Dr. Perky never works on Wednesday so I got to see her backup guy. I don’t have a pseudonym for him. Dr. Hot N’Gentle, maybe we’ll call him. He’s sexy but in a tender, Sarah McLaughlin kind of way. He’s Rupert Murdoch mixed with a Walton boy.
‘Well, Weetabix, you’re certainly looking a lot better today!’ He exclaimed in his Hot and Gentle kind of way. And I did look better. I was wearing a light blue long-sleeved t-shirt that did good things to my complexion and pearl drop earings, a far cry from the enormous sweatshirt and sweatpants with my ghostly white face of last time.
‘Well, that’s because I’m not heaving into your garbage can.’ I quipped. With health there is sarcasm. He didn’t get to see that side of me last time. He instead got to see the shivering, bleary-eyed wanting-to-die Weetabix. ‘But I don’t think it’s completely gone away. I mean, I haven’t spoken with my real voice in a month and my throat is starting to hurt again and I’ve never really gotten better.’
He felt my sinus’ and looked up my nose (What the hell can they see up your nose? Seriously? It’s just a booger canal, right? I think all doctors are just some kind of sadists.) and down my throat and then tapped on my forehead (‘Does this hurt?’ ‘Ow!’) and on my cheeks (‘How about this?’ ‘MOFO OW!’) and then looked at my throat. He agreed that it wasn’t too bad yet but assured me that it would be getting worse.
‘Also, my neck really hurts. I think it’s my blimphoids or something.’
‘Hmmmm.’ He said, feeling up and down my neck and jaw. He screwed up his face and then said:
‘Well, Weetabix, exactly WHAT have you been doing with your neck?’
My mind filled with the image of me involved in many strange and surprisingly acrobatic acts of perversion involving my neck. It was as though that question, with the sort of speculative sotto voice he used, was apparently a subliminal cue. From the look of shock and horror on Dr. Hot N’Gentle’s face, his brain went there as well. The muzak had even taken on a rather specific ‘Bow chicka BOW BOW’ tone and for a brief moment, I had a mental image of a hot pizza delivery boy about to knock on the door of the examining room.
We both fought mutual blushes and he stammered that we were going to try Cinemax’. ZITHROMAX to combat the swelling’er’ CONGESTION ‘deep in my ‘ um’ throat. Yeah.
Note to self: schedule yearly physical on day other than Wednesday.
On a plus note, for all of the extra hours I have put into work this month, I have been rewarded with a half day off. Woot!
And I’m spending it going grocery shopping. Seriously. This is not my beautiful life.
I still keep crying quiet little sad tears over Mister Rogers. I probably should refrain from reading lovely articles such as this one but I just can’t help it. Read it if only for the bit about the subway ride with the children or the thing about the boy with the sword. They are all so beautiful. He was just such an incredible example of what we have a chance to be. The magic.
Be a sweetheart and make someone smile today. Or just smile at someone who isn’t smiling at all because it’s a nice thing to do. Or make someone’s day and sign a guestbook today. Or check out a diary you might not have read. Pretend to be an optimist if you’re a pessimist. Take a moment and find beauty in something you see every day. And most important of all things: look. Just look. It’s a big word, that. Look. When my brain used sounds like coloring books, the word “look” was a flash of green, like a leaf in June.
Look.
Have a wonderful weekend. It’s just full of possibilities.
