Sunday, May 19, 2013

(not to be read while eating, I suppose)

Just over a month ago, I stayed home sick for four days.  I had an awful fever the first two days, and couldn't even leave the apartment.  This was quite awful, as I had no food in the house.  My father, the lovely man that he is, came into town and went grocery shopping for me.  Among all the lovely groceries, he had also purchased a box of 50 popsicles, as I had mentioned to him that I had a sore throat.

The next morning, I didn't want to eat any of it.  Looking in the mirror, I saw that I had two massive pieces of what appeared to be cauliflower lodged in the back of my throat.  In my feverish stupor, it took me a while to realize they were my tonsils*.  No wonder I had trouble falling asleep the night before; I kept waking myself up with the snoring!
You can't move to another bed to get away from it when it's you.  Also, a bra in bed, really, lady?
I went to a walk-in clinic, where the doctor took one look at my throat ("clearly strep throat!") and gave me antibiotics and a corti-steroid to bring down the swelling quickly.  It was nice to feel like I was finally doing something about it.  Come Monday, I went back to work, although my throat was still sore.  I had ten days of the antibiotics.  On day 11, I was in pain again.  The fever had subsided, but my throat was still in excruciating pain, and when I looked, there was still pus on my tonsils.  Awesome.

Went to another walk-in clinic.  I would have gone to the same one, but I wanted to get in that night, and the first one was only open to 5.  New doctor looked at the prescription of antibiotics I was given and said "this is the dose you give a six year old**."  Swabbed my throat and sent me off, with a prescription for a second round of antibiotics.

"This'll take care of it!"  I thought.

I was done that round of antibiotics when I finally called my doctor's office for results of the swab ("not strep throat!") and to arrange an appointment with her.   "She's just gone on holiday," the receptionist informed me.

Of course she fucking has.  Nevertheless, they got me in with another doctor in the same office, who sent me home with another script (this one just a heavy duty anti-inflammatory to keep the pain at bay),  and is arranging for me to see an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist.  So, hopefully, I'll be able to get rid of them.

The low-level depression that goes along with being sick for this long*** is quite awful.  Also, because this involves my throat and voice so much, I haven't been able to sing all this time, and it's looking like my singing will be on hiatus until further notice.  Actually, my voice is so affected by this that it's exhausting to talk.  My voice sounds like it's coming from about three inches farther back in my throat.  It's so muffled by the swelling, I'm having a hard time making sound shapes in the back of my throat that all the pronunciation of my words is left up to the front of my mouth.  And it sounds awful.

I'm still in pain now.  I just want these things out of me.

*Now, I'd always had big tonsils, which was something I was strangely proud of.  I don't know why I would be proud of it, but I was, all the way through childhood.  And university. And... up until about a month ago, actually.  I don't have a lot of claims to fame.
**To my knowledge, I've never been mistaken for a six year old.  Maybe once, when I was 5.
***for stupid reasons, really. I'm not placing myself among the ranks of the seriously ill.

Sorry for the bummer post.  How about some Yardbirds or Country Joe & the Fish?

Thursday, May 9, 2013

I may have started becoming something I didn't really intend to.

I was sitting in my apartment on lunch, wearing my office ID tag, eating fast food, watching popular sitcom, and checking my phone when I realized I'd become something I always hated: a total bore.  As recently as last month, I've often said that I don't understand people who just consumed everything that came their way.     There should always be at least one facet of your life where you don't give in to what's put in front of your, and you try to reach for something a little more substantial.  

I used to be very picky about the art I consumed.  I swear that's not really as pretentious as it sounds, but I would reach out for a specific book, movie, or TV show because I wanted to, not because it was there.  Not to be a contrarian, but bestsellers lists and top 40 lists used to really turn me off.  Now, I just feel like I couldn't be bothered.   I'm almost certain it's laziness and not because there's nothing new out there anymore.  I would still tell you Wenders' Wings of Desire and Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry are among my favourites, but I didn't bring a VCR with me since I moved out, so I have no idea how long it's been since I've seen them.   Oh, I should also mention Vinterberg's The Celebration.  I honestly love this movie:

The same goes for music, but not as severely.  I listen to the stuff I really love, but I haven't really listened to much that is new to me.  

I think I need to walk away from the computer more often (or simply use it smarter - more blogging, less 9gag and pewdiepie).  And I think I need to shut the phone off more often.  It's hard, though.  That's how I keep in touch with Ted.  My delightful Ted.  

I need more balance in my life.