The poor school nurse.
In the last few weeks she has had to search for infected treasure in my
ear and provide me with Tylenol for migraines (more for the placebo
effect). Today she has to listen to my
lungs. She's more familiar with me than
most of my dates.
It is recommended that I go see the doctor, so I leave work
early and head directly to the grocery store.
That's right. The grocery store.
Wait. I can
explain. You see, my team is hosting the
luncheon at school on Friday, and I need a list of stuff for it. I also need soup badly. Chicken noodle. Tomato.
Maybe even some croissants.
Vegetables. Dip. Bread.
Sandwich meat. Tissues. Toothpaste.
Meat to make pulled pork.
Milk. And the fixings for
Friday's soiree. Much as I would love to
put off the shopping, I cannot. I am too
low on supplies, and we are due for a major snowstorm. That means if I go to the doctor first, I'll
be vying for food with all the Crazies later.
The first logical stop is Market Basket.
Toward the end of my shopping, the aisles are starting to
clog with desperate pre-storm troopers.
I pick a short line but discover a useless bagger. Poor girl.
It's obvious she's not all "there" (or even
"here"). She spends most of
the time staring blankly into space while the elderly cashier rings and bags my
order. I now understand why this line is
so short -- the people here before me either abandon it from sheer frustration,
or they die of old age and their bodies are relocated to cold storage behind
the deli counter.
Eventually I make it home with barely time to spare. I unload groceries and put away refrigerator
items. Then I run to the beautiful and
exciting (not) city of Lawrence to meet yet another medical expert who luckily
has an afternoon opening. Uncertain if
my lungs really are clear, she emails in a prescription to help quell the dry,
wracking fits of cough-gagging I have going on and another prescription for an
inhaler. I am sent off to the new building
next door for an x-ray.
I am both surprised and relieved when the film comes back
clear. Yay! No antibiotics … this time. But I am still stuck with the inhaler and the
pills, and a strict admonition to call my primary care physician the very
second I feel worse.
Except Wednesday. I
cannot be calling them Wednesday because they're closed. For the storm. The snow storm. The storm that sends me to the grocery store
before doing something that is without exception more dire and urgent than
soup, paper plates, and dish soap, the dire need for medical attention.
Right now, though, I am tired, truly and deeply so. I'd love to stay up to hear the weather
report. I'd love to sleep for longer
than ninety minutes at a clip because of the coughing. I'd love to stay out cold later than 4:00 a.m.
because that's the time I happen to have lung spasms that rival a cat trying to
hack up a dried furball. I'd love to do
all these things, but, to be perfectly honest, I think the meds might actually
be working.
When I see the school nurse, which I most assuredly will,
I'm going to thank her profusely for looking out for me. I'll tell her what the doc told me, and I'll
let her know how much I appreciate her, and I'll promise not to bother her ever
again.
Until next time … which, with my luck, will be next week …
if I can just slip into her office before she has a chance to lock her door.
