Today I fought and clawed my way back into the world of Cloverdale thanks to modern science.
It was Monday evening. I was laying in bed enjoying my nightly dose of British Comedies on Cloverdale Weekend Television, laughing at something Rene said in Allo’ Allo’ when a swallow brought pain. The next morning my throat and the Olympic flame in Vancouver had one thing in common - FLAME! I knew that pain. It was the pain all teachers know - Strep Throat! Most likely passed to me from some small human who sneezed in my face while I stood in the check out line at the Piggly Wiggly, covering me with droplets of mucus swimming with the bacteria.
I called the Cloverdale Clinic and was lucky enough to be squeezed in for a check up. My temperature was 102.5 degrees.
“There’s a nice pus pocket,” my doctor said in reference to one of my tonsils. I nodded. I didn’t need him to tell me my throat was seething in strep.
“Hows your gag reflex?” he asked.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, mine is 15,” I replied. Meaning I start gagging as the cotton swab passes my front teeth. “I’ll be quick about it then,” he replied.
Out came this elongated swab on a wooden stick nearly long enough to be used as a fireplace match. I closed my eyes thinking that if I didn’t see it entering my mouth I wouldn’t start gagging. It was a good strategy. I was find until the cotton came in contact with the pus pocket.
“Sorry, Sorry, Sorry but I need to be sure to get enough,” he explained in believable sympathy.
He put the swab into the autotester, put in a drop or two of some magical liquid and, as if by magic, a red + appeared in the window. I left with a prescription of some form of penicillin I couldn’t pronounce but was gratefully for nevertheless. I didn’t spare the gasoline as I raced to Cloverdale's Chemist to fill the prescription. I couldn’t get that first pill into my mouth fast enough.
Now, a confession of my stupidity. I had this strange delusion that once that adsuthflwohgjriuieoeillin (or whatever it was) entered my blood stream those little strep bacteria would sound a full scale retreat. I sat in my car waiting for relief. I drove home and still nothing. I wondered if the Chemist had pawned a bad batch of the stuff on to me. Either that or my medicine was years past its sell by date.
I woke up Wednesday morning feeling just as bad. Then the worry set in. I just knew, using my imagination as proof, that my doctor had misdiagnosed my infection. Instead of strep, I convinced myself I had that flesh eating staff infection that kills in a day or two. It had taken root in my tonsils and was in conference, planning a break into the main artery that supplied my brain with blood. I could almost hear the oooAhhhh’s from the little marine bacteria as they gathered along the artery wall, waiting for the breech and invasion. Yes, all of this was passing through my mind as I sat at the Kitchen bar struggling to swallow spoonfuls of cottage cheese.
I continued to take my dkgjrufkdlmvnfjejecillin and went on with my daily activities. All day I waited to hear the faint sound of a bugle as millions those little staffs got the order to “ATTACK”. Strangely enough, around 6:00 P.M. I started feeling a bit better. I was able to eat a semi normal supper of soup and ice cream. At bed time I felt good enough to laugh at Rene in Allo’ Allo’, my 10:30 P.M. nightly stop on Cloverdale Weekend Television.
This morning found me feeling somewhat better. The fever is gone but my throat still hurts like the dickens. The good news is that I’m getting a bit better as each day passes.
Anyway, I’m feeling somewhat better and happy to see everyone again. Please do me a favor though. If our path's cross, please do not step away from me in horror. I may look like warmed over death but doesn’t that sum up my appearance most days?