Okay.
If you've ever flipped through my wallet while I was in the shower, you'll know that I NEVER carry my health card with me. I store my card, along with my York alumni card, void laminated birth certificate and expired Canadian passport, in a folder with my important worldly papers (tax papers, bank statements, love letters. Okay, I don't have any love letters; I have some letters from highschool stalkers, but no real, heartfelt words over which to pour affectionately and longingly during times of low self-esteem. Which are never; so, whatever.). Back to my mind-numbing story.
The day of my flight to Toronto, flipping through pay stubs and tax forms, I see my student loan papers from RBC. I have a funny feeling about my loan, so I pack my loan papers. (Good thing I brought them to Toronto, as RBC's incompetence nearly cost me my credit rating yet again -- I had to fax them evidence pronto of my student loan status. And the form they claimed that they did not receive, was the form I had brought with me, Yeahhh baby! RBC ZERO) So I was flipping through my envelopes and see my outdated, photoless red-and-white health card... have a funny feeling... think, *funny thoughts begone; no, I do not want to have to use that... thoughts, go away... go away, hellooo I'm talking.. no, don't reach for it, what the -- stop it, I don't ever use it -- it's just extra weight in my bag --* and there it softly falls into my bag.
Yes, I brought my health card with me. And I used it, today, for the first time in yeeeeeeeears. I won't divulge the exact reason I went to the walk-in clinic after 2 days of pure pain (I resisted taking anything), as I want to avoid looking like a complete doofus in this entry, but I will reiterate some timeless words of wisdom: do not stick anything in your ears that is smaller than your elbow. And don't put your ears in the path of a high-powered water jetstream. Repeatedly. And then don't stick old q-tips (that you've found in the dusty basement) too far into your ears, to absorb the itchy water in your ear canal. And then don't be a hero and refuse to take anything for the pain and not sleep for 2 days.
My mother drove me to the local clinic tonight. Macey was my nurse. Or maybe it was Tracey; I couldn't hear very well (and I'm sure that my mother appreciated my telling the entire waiting room about my sexual history through the thin curtain. No, no one asked about my sexual history, much to my relief and dismay. It's been a long time since I've been to the doctor, and I didn't know what to expect. So, taking the cue from my family motto, I expected the worst. No, I expected all good things, because doctors have drugs, and drugs make me feel good). Tracey led me into a waiting cubicle and told me to have a seat. I jumped up on the table with the protective whitepaper covering, ripping it, then apologized for ripping it. Tracey took my temperature in my ear. Ouch. Fever. Told me to wait for the doctor. I don't know if I told her 'thanks;' I was holding back tears from the pain, and from remembering Old Yeller. I loved that dog, but his memory revisits at odd times in my life. Oh, forgive me; I'm on medication right now -- by tonight I was so happy when the doctor prescribed steroids for me, that I could have kissed her. Pills? Yes please. Drugs? ANYTHING.
I waited for the doctor to arrive. After what felt like 10 minutes, I was delirious, and recited in my mind a few possible exchanges between myself and the doctor.
Doctor: "How are you today?"
Me: "Oh, I'm just wonderful, thanks." *eyes rolling back in head*
Doctor: "What is the problem today?"
Me: "My ears are infected. The pain is constant. According to Louise L. Hay, earaches are indicative of tense family relationships and arguments. I'm hearing things I don't want to hear, and the anger has settled in my ears. To feel better, I must tell myself, 'I hear good and harmonious exchanges in my world. I am a centre for love.' But while I'm doing that affirmation, can you give me some good medication that will knock me out and that boasts many side effects -- preferably some unknown ones too -- so I can sleep for a while before shrugging off this mortal coil? Many. Thanks."
But no, I needn't have wasted my time entertaining such possible worlds, because the doctor yelled, "Sonya?" from the hallway as I was enroute to passing out against the wall, but caught myself, and I called back, feeling ridiculous, "present." Dr. Thompson walked into my cubicle. Of pastel green and yellow. Soothing.
Dr. T, friendly, about my age, all smiles and bloodshot eyes: "Hi! You're here 'cause you have a bit of an earache? Ah yes, and a fever."
Me: :| [No, I just like to sit in waiting rooms with exceedingly bright lights -- which I'm sure are a great hit with your migraine sufferers] "Yes, my ears hurt." [Brilliantly articulate. Also, I forgot to ask her if the pain could be caused by impacted wisdom teeth. Or, maybe I didn't want to hear an affirmative to that one.]
Dr. T: "Do you have any allergies? Have you had a cold? Are you a smoker?"
Me: *half smiling, but trying not to 'cause it hurts to move my face*
Dr. T, mischievously: "You are a smoker?!"
Me: "Nooo -- I'm from Vancouver!" [My logic, even when I'm feeling well, is like this]
Dr. T: "Me too! Whereabouts are you from?" as she looks into my ear.
Me: as I try not to cry from pain, "Strathcona, but now near Burrard and Davie."
Dr. T: "I'm from Point Grey."
Me: "Oh yes... Are you planning on moving back?"
Dr. T: "Yes, I would LOVE to. I moved here for training, then met someone, and he has a business here, so he doesn't want to move just yet. So I have to choose -- either career/relationship/love, orrrrr, HAPPINESS!
Me: "Yes, and all mutually exclusive."
Okay this transcript is putting me to sleep and I left out most of the good parts. Anyway, short story made long then short: was prescribed some goop for my ears, took 2 advil, and now I am wired. It's 2 am. Listening to Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstacy. Man, I am so happy to feel healthy again! And happy that I followed my intuition and brought my health card. Unless I made this happen by bringing my health card... oh well; it was fun to feel pain and then to have the pain vanish. The vanishing part was my favourite. Loving the gratitude right now.
Moral of the story? Don't tell people about things you don't do, because shortly thereafter, you will be rubbing the medicated steroid cream in your face and LOVING it, almost as much as McDonald's. (No, I didn't eat that. I wasn't THAT out of it.)
I made some tasty soup broth.
Speaking of broth, my brother Bjorn has a physio appointment tomorrow morning. I am full of false confidence in the ear cream and am well enough to take care of Bjorn tomorrow, but his grandparents are expecting him. We shall see.
I and my bubbly steroid cream love you all.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment