Still dragging. Usually I spend a day in illness rehab (the part where I feel like I might be getting better), and then it’s over, but it’s been longer than that. I promised Mrs Next Door I would go to the doctor today – I would never have done it if I hadn’t made that promise. In fact, when I got there, I had to do preliminary stuff because, it turned out, I had never yet been there as a patient, in over four years of living across the street from this clinic. I was always The Patient’s Mama. Turns out my usual method of dealing with illness (ignore it and hope it goes away) has been even more effective than I’d realized.
Even now, having been weak and weary for eight days (nine?) I still think it’s just a virus that will eventually be over. I’ve just reached the point where I’m willing to cough up the €10 copay to find out when.
So the doc was supposed to hear my symptom and grimace and say “Yeah, that’s been going around. Usually lasts about two weeks. Drink water, try to rest, buh-bye.” Unfortunately she doesn’t seem to have read her script. So poke prod listen, reflex hammer, stethoscope, blood pressure, close my eyes and march in place. etc. Then she told me to make an appointment for labwork and an ultrasound, and the earliest one they could give me was next Tuesday.
Um. Tuesday. You know, I really wasn’t planning to stay sick for that long.
Song du jour of the day: Interpol. A Time to Be So Small