I Should Become A Doctor…

…because I make a terrible patient.  So says my wife.

I was uncomfortably cold on Monday, the kind of cold that makes you go down to the church basement and look for an old choir robe and wear it around the office.  We’ve all been there, right?  Someone walked past my office and stopped to ask “why are you wearing a choir robe?” and I said its because I’m both eccentric and cold, and these two factors collide perfectly in this moment.  They backed away slowly.

Looking back, I clearly wasn’t feeling well on Monday.

First off, I’m never the cold one.  Second off, I’m not one to ever go down to the church basement on purpose.  Third, I don’t remember how I got home on Monday.

Emily (I’m told) sent me off to sleep, which I resisted and countered with my idea: a trip to the gym.  Don’t worry — I left the choir robe in my office.  But she knew better than to allow me to keep going.  Just a quick nap, Adam.  I don’t want to.  You need to.  Fine.  For a few minutes.

I woke up on Thursday.  I lost three days.  Three whole days!

At some point in the lost days, Dr. Emily took me to the medical center for a second opinion.  She was right.  Treatment was prescribed.

—–

Rx: Zyrtec 10MG q12h po #20.

Dx: Drainage and an angry throat.

Diff: Choir Robe disease.

—–

It’s now Friday, and I want to thank the people I work with, the people who heard I was sick and wished me well, and, most of all, my lovely wife Emily, who would actually make a great Doctor, provided that the markers are patient care, patience, and a good grasp of reality while fevers rage in loved ones.

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