Summary: Before I start this post, please let me request that you hum some Beach Boys while you read it. Don’t worry about why you should do it, just do it. Anyway… I never thought I’d wish that I had strep throat. But I do. Right now I’d give just about anything to just have strep throat. At least then I could pop a pill and be done with it. About ten days ago my throat started feeling a little sore. About that same time my ear started aching. I just assumed it was an ear infection. I get them sometimes because I have a few grains of sand embedded in my ear drum from being pinned by a large wave while body boarding a few years ago. Those few grains were what the doctor couldn’t get out after multiple high pressure inner ear washings (which I assure you are super fun to go through). I tell you about being pinned by a wave only because I want you to think I’m an awesome surfer type. Now just assume that I have the chiseled body with six-pack abs and crazy nice pecs to go with it and my illusion is complete. Ooooh, and throw in some of those sexy v-lines that I, ummm, definitely would have in this over-indulgent imagination of yours. Now that I am a sexy surf god in your mind, perhaps I won’t sound so whiny as I finish this post. Or maybe that will make me sound more whiny. Hm. Overly beautiful people complaining can be annoying. Whatever. So, usually my ear infections go away on their own, but this time it was getting worse and my sore throat was getting worse alongside it. Finally I looked into the back of my throat with a flashlight. And I saw something that looked a lot like this, only the sore was much bigger. Think dime size. And now, since you don’t want every gory and overly boring detail, I will give you the short version of the rest of the story. I panicked. I’d never seen a huge sore like that in my throat. So, I coughed up the $100 for Instacare (pun intended). Before I ever saw a doctor, the tech ran a strep test. Negative. The doctor herself spent a total of 1 minute 29 seconds in the room with me. Two seconds were spent looking in my throat. Four seconds were spent telling me, “that’s just a canker sore. There’s nothing we can really do about that. You just have to wait it out.” One minute was spent telling me to go buy the spice Alum and rub that on my throat. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow,” she said. And the rest was spent coming in, looking in my ears real quick, and walking back out. I then sat there alone for a good five minutes just to get a little more bang for my hundred bucks. Well, that and to check in on my March Madness bracket (not to brag or anything, but I picked three of the final four). I only left because a technician finally stuck her head in and told me I could leave. It has now been five days since I saw the doctor. Here’s what I know. The sore has gotten bigger not smaller. I’m pretty sure I have more cankers down deeper in my throat. I can’t sleep. Eating hurts. Real bad. Drinking anything hurts. Real bad. Drinking beer feels like I’m drinking acid. I went from last place in my March Madness group (out of 25) to fifth place. If you go to page two, you can see my bracket. And you can then start calling me the come-back kid. In less than one week, you shall call me champion of the universe. Seriously. I think I’m the only one in the world who picked Michigan to win. And they shall win. And I shall end in first place. Alum burns like hell, makes it hurt worse, hits your mouth like raw lemons mixed with horribly strong pickle juice, and is useless against whatever I’ve got going on back there. If my heart rate goes above 80, my throat swells and I can’t breathe well. Which means no gym for me. Which makes me cranky. The Farmer’s Daughter is such a nice person to have around when I’m feeling crappy. She does things like make my bed, straighten my house, and let me snuggle away my sorrows.
