I hate being sick. I take for granted the ability to breathe in and out my nose, so I’m understandably taken aback when all of a sudden I cannot. What’s even worse than being sick is being sick away from your mom. The first time I fell ill (sneezed a few times and was tired) at college was also the first time I discovered that no one tolerates dramatic exaggerations quite like Mom does.
Well, I woke up on January 1st 2017 feeling like death. And after chugging gallons of water and coffee, I was still left with lots of sneezing and coughing. I could tell I was on the verge of a sinus infection, and you know what that means: Urgent Care.
If you don’t have an object sticking out of your head or something, you feel super boring describing the inflammation in your sinus cavity to the lady at the front desk of the Urgent Care. When I first walked up, she asked how she could help me and I thought you probably can’t unless you’re storing steroid shots back there but instead I blurted out some clever quip like “I’m sick.”
I’m sure this process is much more complex than it appears to a non-medical person like me who passes out every time I get blood drawn, but it’s so awkward for me to describe what’s wrong with me while standing at a window writing my name down in front of a crowd. Maybe they have to note my symptoms at the window for their records? But if that’s the case, why do I then need to repeat it to the person who forces me to get on a scale and then again to the nurse and then yet again to the doctor? By the time I tell the doctor how I’m feeling, I’ve said it so many times that it has lost all meaning and I’m starting to believe perhaps I’ve made it up in my own head.
This particular visit, while I was detailing my lame cold to the woman at the computer, a little boy in a baseball uniform with ice taped to his arm walked in with his dad. I had already finished filling out my forms, so I knew I’d be called back before he was. The guilt flooded my chest even more so than the phlegm currently residing in there. Next, naturally, an elderly couple entered, followed by a mother and her newborn baby. I felt like a Disney villain when they called my name and everyone stared at me like she looks fine. That shoulda been my name.
After Mr. Hott Nurse took my blood pressure (fun first date idea) and asked me several questions that certainly would’ve turned me off had this really been a first date, the doctor came in and asked what was wrong with me. I didn’t know how much time he had, so I just stuck to describing my cold.
None of this, of course, is to undermine my gratitude toward all the Urgent Cares out there. Without them, I’d waste a lot of money on tissues. Without their waiting room magazines, I’d waste a lot of money on magazines. And for all you readers dying to know how this all ended, you’ll be comforted to learn that I am feeling a lot better. I’m almost totally breathing through my nose again and I’ve enjoyed many a delicious cough drop. Also, as this is my first post of the new year, 2017 can only go up from here!!!