Been pretty much flattened out for the last several days by swollen glands in my neck and the resulting soreness and pain there, in my throat, in my ear, and all topped with a headache that makes my scalp sore to the touch. None of the pain is that bad but it’s the relentlessness of it that wears down the will.
While I’m not one to scurry off to the doctor (just got established last year with my first GP under pressure from the gynegologist and cardiologist) I had gone on Monday for a 3-month checkup which she insists upon and I’ll have to wean her off that idea and since I hadn’t fasted, agreed to come back on Wednesday for bloodwork. Well, you know how the doctor–no matter what type or what they’re looking for–automatically inspects your neck for swollen glands and finds nothing? When I went in for the blood draw I asked to see the doctor for a minute figuring she’d be thrilled over a case of swollen glands. She felt, poked, had to use a stick to keep my tongue down (why does one’s tongue have the instinct to wrap around whatever lands on it?) and suggested I go see the dentist. Then, after five unsuccessful attempts to draw blood (without any of the testing purposes noted for the gland problem) I left.
So I’m self-medicating because I know that if the lymph nodes are swollen it’s a response to infection and I know that there’s nothing wrong with my teeth right now. I’m taking painkillers and slightly out-of-date penicillin (men can always be counted upon to not take the full 10-day regiment of antibiotics) and feeling a little better today. Not good enough, however, to go back uptown and let a nurse who doesn’t seem to know enough to keep the draw-point on the hand below the level of the heart and let gravity help, stick five more holes in me.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology