I started feeling sick when we were in San Diego. I thought maybe I was just allergic to one of the many (many) plants in bloom. The pollen count was high.
When we hit the desert on the way home, I was expecting to feel better but it didn't happen.
Then this week, I've had a bunch of errands and appointments. I didn't have time to stay home and be sick so I didn't.
Every time I talked to my mom on the phone--with my really hoarse voice--she would tell me I should be in bed and that I needed to go to the doctor.
But I didn't.
When I was getting the oil changed in the van and I could hardly talk, the guy pantomimed for me when it was time to sign my name. I've noticed when you can't talk, people think you can't hear either. Mark has been making up sign language on my behalf all week.
Finally yesterday I realized I was feeling no better and was probably worse. My strange cocktail of medicine I was taking at night to keep me from coughing (including but not limited to out of date prescription cough syrup) wasn't working. I decided to give in to my mom's advice--and Adam's too--and go to the doctor.
Last night at 8:30, Adam asked me how late the walk in clinic was open. I looked it up and they were open until 9:00. "We're going right now," Adam said.
The place was empty. And I have bronchitis. I was prescribed an antibiotic and a steroid. The doctor asked if I wanted cough syrup with codeine and I said yes before she could finish the sentence.
Everyone (except me) laughed. I guess I answered sort of fast.
But I like medicine.