Venting my spleen
Mar. 30th, 2002 04:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pseydtonneI was reading Caoine's FAQ (she designed several permutations of Penny Arcade). She mentioned that she had mono, didn't treat herself properly, and messed up her tonsils and immune system. So she's sick a lot.
I suddenly feel very lucky.
I had mono once. When I found out that's what it was, I nearly flew into a rage. Since I lacked the energy to strangle my knee-jerk doctor, I yelled and slunk off to my car. Within 48 hours, my symptoms of mono were gone and I had an appetite again.
Rewind: July of 1999. This was a particularly hot summer. At the time, I was going out with Lou (see previous entry) and I'd been visiting her. She didn't have air conditioning, so I only stopped sweating when I was driving. When the heat broke after two days and I was still feeling hot, Lou took my temperature.
102.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Since I normally run cold (98.0), I simply said "oh, then I need to sleep this fever off."
Lou freaked out. Panicked! She'd never had a fever in her life and didn't believe me when I said I'd live. I'd never been a sickly kid, but I'd had my share of the flu, of 104 temps and hallucinations. I'd never thought hard about that -- I'd be hot, I couldn't stop counting the creases in my sheets, and everyone is secretly pleased that I'm not bouncing around the room for once.
I felt fine the next day, so I drove home. I stopped along the way to get some Tylenol Sinus, because I'd started feeling lousy again. Then the pseudo-ephedrine hit me and the rest of the drive flew by.
The next day I went to work. I felt fine in the beginning of the day, but around 3 I was failing madly. I dragged myself home an hour early and went to bed immediately.
I woke up twelve hours later, feeling horrible. I called in and did not get out of bed again for two days. On the third day, I noticed my fever was not dropping and I could barely figure out how to sit or relax without major aches attacking me. I hadn't thought about the sensation in three years, but now I recall it as feeling pinched in the sides. So I called my doctor.
"I've had a 102 fever for three days, I ache, I can't eat. Help."
"Well, I can squeeze you in for the afternoon, but you need urine and blood work. Let me ask you: are you sexually active?
Yeah, she was one subtle lady. Let me call her Q, since I can't recall her full name anymore (she was Polish, like most people in west Utica) but I remember she told all of her patients to eschew Q-tips. "Wax will run out of your ears as necessary. Ear wax is a lubricant." When said lubricant stinks enough that I can smell it, I get self-conscious and get the 375-swab box.
Lou was only my second sexual partner, and my first in nearly a year. I knew I had to be honest. "Yes."
"Oh, then I know what you have. See you at 3."
Q wrote 'chlamydia' on my blood test paperwork and sent me to the basement. I felt like Adrian Mole (a British comedy based on a book series), when he has to go to the casualty ward because he got a model airplane stuck to his nose when he was trying to huff the glue off it. Everyone in the ward is laughing at him, he's trying to hide, and his parents are Malcolm in the Middle dim so they're just oblivious and worried. The nurse puts "glue sniffer" right on the scrip and turns to laugh with the rest of ward.
She hadn't even looked at me before this diagnosis. In fact, she suddenly had no time to see me. She had the receptionist hand me the papers and the sheets for the prescriptions she'd already phoned to my drugstore. I felt like a book -- "My First Social Disease".
I was on some antibiotic and something else. My fever dropped from 102.4 to 99.0 by the next day and I felt well enough to return to work. However, I was still tired and I'd barely eaten.
I'd gone to Canada during the previous weekend. I'd picked up a couple boxes of Shreddies, my favorite cereal. I poured a bowl and stared at it. I love cereal, so I felt like I was in purgatory. Here's yummy, imported, goodgatory. Here's yummy, imported, good-for-you ("it's squarely good" the French copy reads) cereal and here I am trying to eat it. It looks gray. I keep thinking the milk has gone bad, but it's a fresh container. I force down two spoonsful and leave for work.
The next week or two of work is lousy. We keep winding up with ten-hour shifts because the best people are on vacation. I can't really think very deeply, but that job that didn't work well with thinking so I guess I was doing okay. I'd go home and immediately fall asleep.
I called Lou to let her know what the doctor said I had. Again she panicked, especially because I'd had the time to read up on chlamydia. It has a short incubation period with men but often shows no outward signs for women. I put two and two together. She came up with zero and would not talk to me for a few days. She felt insulted. I felt I was doing my part to promote public health. I also felt woozy and was talking in monotone a lot.
Work, sleep. Work, sleep. Ten hours at the office, ten hours in bed. I mentioned to Q that my fever wasn't dropping below 99, so she put me on a stronger antibiotic. The days began to blur, or at least they would've if my throat hadn't started aching. Boy was it painful to swallow. Since I didn't want to eat, it only annoyed me that I wanted to spit my saliva so I would feel the pain from swallowing it. "Spitting's a disgusting habit."
So I was back with Q two weeks after my initial bang-up diagnosis. I needed treatment for my throat now. I wondered if any of these things were related.
She slowed down in her sprint toward me as she read the test results for the first time.
"Umm, I hadn't even ordered this test, but they gave it to you anyway. You don't have chlamydia -- you have mono."
Okay, you can sense where all that rage came from.
"The kissing disease?"
"Ummm, yes. But likely you got it from being worn out."
"I... this explains a lot." It explained why I didn't want to eat, why food looked like black & white photos instead of tasty things. It also explained why my fever wasn't dropping."
"But infectious mononucleosis is a viral infection, so I don't even need antibiotics."
"Right, so you can stop those immediately. Oh, and take care of your spleen."
My what?
"Oh, so that throat thing is thrush. It's a yeast infection that comes up when you've had too much antibiotic in your system and the good bugs also disappear. Gargle this twice a day."
It turns out my health insurance would have qualified me for pills instead of this horrid, rancid-banana-flavored gargle. However, I was dealing with Q.
It's funny that everyone had recommended Q to me because she had been a nurse before she was a doctor, that she was approachable and had great bedside manner.
So I stopped taking antibiotics. The next day, I felt significantly better. By afternoon, I felt like eating something. I had no fever and no fear. In a week I'd find out I also had no girlfriend anymore, but that was the hush before the heartbreak.
I lucked out. People, friendships and relationships get tested. I passed the mono test, and I'd even lost 16 pounds. My relationship with Lou failed an early test, the test of how one person reacts when the other is in need. Had I needed to wait to learn that, I could've been strung along for a good while. I might not have had the motivation to get out of Utica.
I still find it hard to believe she never had a fever. It's like when a forty-year-old tell you he's never had a cavity. How is that possible?
I lucked out with mono. My theory is that the bombardment of medicine to my body got the mono used to the fucked environment. The antibiotics must have killed something early on, or my temperature would not have dropped from 102 to 99. However, they stopped helping when they were done. When they were removed, they clear the whole dance floor. I was free.
Actually, I was free of a lot of things after that. I would start the process of maturity that began completely by accident when I got that car a few weeks before I got mono. It hasn't ended yet. I have much more confidence in my instincts now -- I don't accept other people's words just because they have nicer diplomas. I don't assume corporations will take care of me.
My maturity goes in waves. I have bouts of rabid childishness, followed by moments of sobriety and weeks of recovery. I met Maggie in a moment of sobriety, which is part of why I love her deeply. She didn't show up when I was in a manic flurry but when i was taking stock and kicking myself in the head. She wanted me when I wasn't trying to be entertaining. She still wants me, even when I say "babalones" a lot. She's someone I can mature with.
Now, if only I could find a wealthy dude that needed a point man...
-Herkimer Jitney, ps/d
I suddenly feel very lucky.
I had mono once. When I found out that's what it was, I nearly flew into a rage. Since I lacked the energy to strangle my knee-jerk doctor, I yelled and slunk off to my car. Within 48 hours, my symptoms of mono were gone and I had an appetite again.
Rewind: July of 1999. This was a particularly hot summer. At the time, I was going out with Lou (see previous entry) and I'd been visiting her. She didn't have air conditioning, so I only stopped sweating when I was driving. When the heat broke after two days and I was still feeling hot, Lou took my temperature.
102.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Since I normally run cold (98.0), I simply said "oh, then I need to sleep this fever off."
Lou freaked out. Panicked! She'd never had a fever in her life and didn't believe me when I said I'd live. I'd never been a sickly kid, but I'd had my share of the flu, of 104 temps and hallucinations. I'd never thought hard about that -- I'd be hot, I couldn't stop counting the creases in my sheets, and everyone is secretly pleased that I'm not bouncing around the room for once.
I felt fine the next day, so I drove home. I stopped along the way to get some Tylenol Sinus, because I'd started feeling lousy again. Then the pseudo-ephedrine hit me and the rest of the drive flew by.
The next day I went to work. I felt fine in the beginning of the day, but around 3 I was failing madly. I dragged myself home an hour early and went to bed immediately.
I woke up twelve hours later, feeling horrible. I called in and did not get out of bed again for two days. On the third day, I noticed my fever was not dropping and I could barely figure out how to sit or relax without major aches attacking me. I hadn't thought about the sensation in three years, but now I recall it as feeling pinched in the sides. So I called my doctor.
"I've had a 102 fever for three days, I ache, I can't eat. Help."
"Well, I can squeeze you in for the afternoon, but you need urine and blood work. Let me ask you: are you sexually active?
Yeah, she was one subtle lady. Let me call her Q, since I can't recall her full name anymore (she was Polish, like most people in west Utica) but I remember she told all of her patients to eschew Q-tips. "Wax will run out of your ears as necessary. Ear wax is a lubricant." When said lubricant stinks enough that I can smell it, I get self-conscious and get the 375-swab box.
Lou was only my second sexual partner, and my first in nearly a year. I knew I had to be honest. "Yes."
"Oh, then I know what you have. See you at 3."
Q wrote 'chlamydia' on my blood test paperwork and sent me to the basement. I felt like Adrian Mole (a British comedy based on a book series), when he has to go to the casualty ward because he got a model airplane stuck to his nose when he was trying to huff the glue off it. Everyone in the ward is laughing at him, he's trying to hide, and his parents are Malcolm in the Middle dim so they're just oblivious and worried. The nurse puts "glue sniffer" right on the scrip and turns to laugh with the rest of ward.
She hadn't even looked at me before this diagnosis. In fact, she suddenly had no time to see me. She had the receptionist hand me the papers and the sheets for the prescriptions she'd already phoned to my drugstore. I felt like a book -- "My First Social Disease".
I was on some antibiotic and something else. My fever dropped from 102.4 to 99.0 by the next day and I felt well enough to return to work. However, I was still tired and I'd barely eaten.
I'd gone to Canada during the previous weekend. I'd picked up a couple boxes of Shreddies, my favorite cereal. I poured a bowl and stared at it. I love cereal, so I felt like I was in purgatory. Here's yummy, imported, goodgatory. Here's yummy, imported, good-for-you ("it's squarely good" the French copy reads) cereal and here I am trying to eat it. It looks gray. I keep thinking the milk has gone bad, but it's a fresh container. I force down two spoonsful and leave for work.
The next week or two of work is lousy. We keep winding up with ten-hour shifts because the best people are on vacation. I can't really think very deeply, but that job that didn't work well with thinking so I guess I was doing okay. I'd go home and immediately fall asleep.
I called Lou to let her know what the doctor said I had. Again she panicked, especially because I'd had the time to read up on chlamydia. It has a short incubation period with men but often shows no outward signs for women. I put two and two together. She came up with zero and would not talk to me for a few days. She felt insulted. I felt I was doing my part to promote public health. I also felt woozy and was talking in monotone a lot.
Work, sleep. Work, sleep. Ten hours at the office, ten hours in bed. I mentioned to Q that my fever wasn't dropping below 99, so she put me on a stronger antibiotic. The days began to blur, or at least they would've if my throat hadn't started aching. Boy was it painful to swallow. Since I didn't want to eat, it only annoyed me that I wanted to spit my saliva so I would feel the pain from swallowing it. "Spitting's a disgusting habit."
So I was back with Q two weeks after my initial bang-up diagnosis. I needed treatment for my throat now. I wondered if any of these things were related.
She slowed down in her sprint toward me as she read the test results for the first time.
"Umm, I hadn't even ordered this test, but they gave it to you anyway. You don't have chlamydia -- you have mono."
Okay, you can sense where all that rage came from.
"The kissing disease?"
"Ummm, yes. But likely you got it from being worn out."
"I... this explains a lot." It explained why I didn't want to eat, why food looked like black & white photos instead of tasty things. It also explained why my fever wasn't dropping."
"But infectious mononucleosis is a viral infection, so I don't even need antibiotics."
"Right, so you can stop those immediately. Oh, and take care of your spleen."
My what?
"Oh, so that throat thing is thrush. It's a yeast infection that comes up when you've had too much antibiotic in your system and the good bugs also disappear. Gargle this twice a day."
It turns out my health insurance would have qualified me for pills instead of this horrid, rancid-banana-flavored gargle. However, I was dealing with Q.
It's funny that everyone had recommended Q to me because she had been a nurse before she was a doctor, that she was approachable and had great bedside manner.
So I stopped taking antibiotics. The next day, I felt significantly better. By afternoon, I felt like eating something. I had no fever and no fear. In a week I'd find out I also had no girlfriend anymore, but that was the hush before the heartbreak.
I lucked out. People, friendships and relationships get tested. I passed the mono test, and I'd even lost 16 pounds. My relationship with Lou failed an early test, the test of how one person reacts when the other is in need. Had I needed to wait to learn that, I could've been strung along for a good while. I might not have had the motivation to get out of Utica.
I still find it hard to believe she never had a fever. It's like when a forty-year-old tell you he's never had a cavity. How is that possible?
I lucked out with mono. My theory is that the bombardment of medicine to my body got the mono used to the fucked environment. The antibiotics must have killed something early on, or my temperature would not have dropped from 102 to 99. However, they stopped helping when they were done. When they were removed, they clear the whole dance floor. I was free.
Actually, I was free of a lot of things after that. I would start the process of maturity that began completely by accident when I got that car a few weeks before I got mono. It hasn't ended yet. I have much more confidence in my instincts now -- I don't accept other people's words just because they have nicer diplomas. I don't assume corporations will take care of me.
My maturity goes in waves. I have bouts of rabid childishness, followed by moments of sobriety and weeks of recovery. I met Maggie in a moment of sobriety, which is part of why I love her deeply. She didn't show up when I was in a manic flurry but when i was taking stock and kicking myself in the head. She wanted me when I wasn't trying to be entertaining. She still wants me, even when I say "babalones" a lot. She's someone I can mature with.
Now, if only I could find a wealthy dude that needed a point man...
-Herkimer Jitney, ps/d
