When doctors become patients...

We whine. I’d throw a tantrum too, but no one is around to witness it. So instead, I shall just whine. Using improper English. (I’m entitled.)

Snot everywhere. And not nearly enough tissues. Despite taking enough decongestant medication to kill a small cow, I remain simultaneously congested and drippy. I might be somewhat amused at the paradox of how one who continues to drip remains congested (even though I know the physiologic reason for it, it still seems like a sick prank Someone is pulling on me)…but I’m much too distracted by the cocoon of bedsheets, already-used tissues, and pathetic self-pity I’ve swallowed myself in.

I would normally declare that I should stay in bed today, but as I live and barely breathe, my best friend, my Dochechka, is having an operation on her herniated lumbar disk. So eventually, I must scrape myself away from this congealed cocoon of mine, put on a face mask so as not to contaminate the other patient (since this whining patient is clearly already contaminated), and pay a visit.

But before then: I shall gargle with warm saline. (Die viruses DIE!) Take my vitamins. Drink some tea. Get some work done. And, though I cannot smell myself, I could probably stand to shower before going out in public. Will do. But not before whining some more. And not before trying for the bazillionth time to unclog my left ear which has not popped since landing back in SF yesterday, rendering me half deaf. Ughhh.

[Whimper]

(Remind me to let Dochechka whine as well. As she, who is a pediatrician, probably hates being on the patient side of the patient-doctor equation as much as I do…)