About a week ago I was knocked flat by some kind of cootie. A cootie, I might add, that I undoubtedly inherited from one of the youngsters I saw in clinic that week (because here's the deal with the kiddos: they are covered in cooties and it is irrelevant how many times you wash with Hibiclens, douse in Avagard or how many vitamins you take, you will acquire the cooties).
At first, I thought it was just more "cyanide poisoning" (which I was convinced I had when I was working at the Corvallis NICU as I suffered through daily nausea, dizziness, scintillating scotomas, general malaise and headaches). However, this cyanide poisoning proved to be constant, rather than temporally related to my presence at the hospital. It also proved to evolve into respiratory symptoms.
Meh, whatever, I thought. I was bound to get sick in peds.
In the last 10 years or so, it has become the norm that I resist getting sick, but when it does happen, I am knocked flat for days. When I opted for a half-day on a Thursday, I figured that I could sleep it off and return well by Friday morning. And I did. I worked the whole day without feeling badly at all. When I embarked on my homeward commute, however, I was consumed with what surely felt like a quickly rising fever, accompanied by shaking chills. This persisted through the weekend as respiratory symptoms evolved, into the early morning hours of Monday, prompting another sick day.
During this time I found myself in a new predicament: I was completely alone. I needed meds. Badly. And I was wholly unfit to operate a vehicle. But there was no one to help me--both roommates were away, my parents are almost 2 hours away, I have no significant other to sucker into doing my bidding, and I don't even know my neighbors (because I'm never here). I imagined what would happen if I called 911:
Operator: "911, what is your emergency?"
Me (whining): "I'm siiiiiiick. I need Tylenollllll. And Sudafed."
Rather than be the obstacle in the way of a heart attack receiving legit medical attention, I opted to put the whole of Linn County at risk and drove to Safeway. Slowly.
When I was out of sick days, I dragged myself to work (we get 3 days of sick time per rotation, or else we have to repeat it) and within the first 12 minutes was met with at least three people who admonished me to go home. My preceptor asked me if I wanted antibiotics.
"Psht! No. I don't need that," I snorted.
"Well, I'm not trying to get rid of you or anything, but maybe you should go home and rest," he implied gently, giving me a sidelong look.
"Meh, I'm good," I shrugged. When I walked into his office toward the end of the day, he offered me a small square of paper. "What's this?" I asked, taking it. It was amoxicillin, written for 3x/day for two weeks. "Amoxicillin." I sneered. "I don't need this!"
He calmly closed his eyes for a second and said, "Take the amoxicillin. And get out of here. Goodbye."
I did as I was told and limped to the pharmacy. I started to improve by the second dose. Weird!
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