Quote of the week:

“They'd have to shoot me to get me back to Illnois."

~Abraham Lincoln upon going to WDC to become president

Monday, February 11, 2008

Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen With a Floor Tile

Colonel Mustard, in the Kitchen, with a Floor Tile

WASTHTR*-2008, Vol 2

My birthday wasn’t supposed to suck this year! I know, because I specifically placed that order myself. SOMEBODY’S NOT LISTENING!! I had all these plans of documenting the festivities of my birthday here in this blog.

Instead, I spent February 6, in bed, all hot and sweaty—and NOT in a good way--alone. From a recent post, you already know about me masking up for the airplane trips. I got home. A week goes by, no ailments nor infirmities. YAY me! YAY masks that made me look like a geek. You did your job. Last Monday at work, I was exhausted--just wiped out. Enough so, that I thought to myself, “When I go home tonight, I’m going to walk the dog, nuke some dinner, and crawl in bed.” This is so much NOT my SOP. My neck was really getting stiff on my right side. I didn’t make any connections. In the middle of the night, Monday night/Tuesday morning, I awaken with my right neck lymph gland swollen up like a goiter, with the left side trying to keep up. My throat feels like there’s a gangland rumble going on with switchblades and bowie knives as the weapons of choice. It hurts to swallow. It hurts to breathe. Every action sends a stabbing pain in my throat. Additionally, my whole body aches from head to toes. I have a low grade temp (99.2 F)I wait it out until 10:00 am, to call and try to get an appointment. with Dr. K, that day. They can get me in at 1:40.
He comes in. I tell him I feel like shit, and that I think he needs to do a throat culture. He quizzes me about when my last IgG infusion was (mid January). He looks at my throat and says, “I don’t need to do a culture. You have strep.” I argue with him that I cannot accept that diagnosis, as I’m not going to be sick this year on my birthday (tomorrow). Stupid body. Stupid throat. Fucking strep! CVID, I loathe you! My three month run without antibiotics, is about to end. As par usual, I get a shot in the ass, and put on orals (Z-Pack this time). For the next three days and nights, my temperature roller coasters between 99-103 F. I keep drenching the sheets.
Now, to the part of the story you’ve been waiting for. Thursday morning, I decide to take a steam shower, to see if I sweat out the rest of the toxics myself, and break this fever for good. Fifteen minutes taking a regular shower and the steam shower. I get out, dry off, and wrap the towel around me. I don’t put on the robe yet, as I’m still damp. I go to the kitchen, deciding that I want to make a protein smoothy, as I’ve not really eaten in 2 days. I’m standing at the counter, adding blueberries, banana, and orange to the Waring Blending. All of a sudden, I realize, that I need to sit or lie down. I start wobbling toward the bedroom. The next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor of the kitchen, naked, towel behind me, feeling really, really dizzy and a bit disoriented. I pull myself up, holding the wall and furniture, until I reach the bed. I call my neighbor, and ask her to check in on my in a bit, as I almost fainted. It was then I touched my forehead and pulled back a bloody hand. Blood wasn’t running down my face in rivulets like it did on the back side in this post http://randomthawghts.blogspot.com/2007/11/professor-plum-in-dining-room-with.html

I guess I must have passed out after all. I don’t remember hitting the floor, especially hitting it with my head. I’ve got a nice goose egg that’s now turning purplish-greenish-yellow (too bad it’s not closer to Easter) and nice bloody scab, dead-center just above my right eyebrow. It doesn’t throb, but hurts even if lightly touched. If it leaves a scar, I figure it can only enhance my butch factor. “Kitchen floor, you wanna piece of me?!” Who the hell am I kidding? You got a piece of me. Just out of spite, I’m NOT washing up the blood stain. This birthday totally sucked wad.

*Weird Ass Shit That Happens To Randy

© rle/wtf


Dead Nurse said...

Yuck...sounds like a truly crappy birthday. Hope you're feeling better soon and are able to have a belated birthday celebration!

ebeing said...
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kathleen comalli said...

dear gcg,

hey, i discovered your blog from sid schwab's blog. is there any way i can email you without leaving it in comments? it's about my fascination with cme's. yes, i'm a dork. :) it's part of my charm.

i am also perhaps a big silly because i can't figure out this email thing whereas i have a few advanced degrees, but i trust you will forbear me that in anticipation of my many gifts of loyal friendship and sparkling chatter. :)

all the best to you and i'm looking forward to reading more,


ps big hug for your dog. my dog is my guardian angel.

kathleen comalli said...

Proving I Am An Even Bigger Dork (yet ineffably charming)

er, yes, if you DID want to tell me how one emails you, you would want to email bluevireo55@yahoo.com.


kcd :)

TitansFan said...

Ouch, that sounded like a oops moment. What kind of Steam Shower do you have? The highlighted is what I have.