I'm Pretty Sure Hick Is Trying to Kill Me

Hick stayed home from work yesterday and commandeered The Pony as a chauffeur for a doctor run. He returned with a steroid and a Z-pack. Can you believe my sweet baboo did not even ask for a complimentary cough medicine for Val?

He seemed much better when I got home from my full day of work at 4:00. He even popped up out of the La-Z-Boy with nary a sign of the dizziness that kept him home. "Here. You can have the recliner." Alas. I was so miserable that I eschewed that grandiose offer, and went to lay down in the bed. For 20 minutes, I told Hick and The Pony.

Five minutes later, Hick was in the bedroom telling me tales from his work, WHICH HE HAD NOT EVEN BEEN TO THAT DAY! So much for a power nap. After 13 minutes had elapsed, I told Hick I did not feel at all rested, so I was getting up. He chose that moment to go out and feed the chickens and ride around on the Gator. I'd say he was healed.

Last night I went to bed at 12:30 and got up at 4:30. Sleep is impossible when your head is full of yellow snot, and you cough every 12.3 seconds. I'm sure the night was not enjoyable for Hick, but he slept away, breathing the breath of the breather. I heard him get up to get ready for work at 5:30. Then I slipped off into slumber, or a short coma.

I was awakened by Hick lecturing me that I needed to go to the doctor. I pooh-poohed the idea. "All I need is rest. Which I am NOT getting right now, after I finally managed to fall asleep." Hick left for work, with a backwards comment that I needed to take care of myself and have The Pony drive me to Urgent Care. I do not want The Pony to catch a glimpse of his future of trimming my bunions with a razor blade and changing Hick's catheter. Not that he has one yet. Hick, a catheter...not The Pony, a future.

Do you know how much time there is from 6:00 a.m. until 9:00 a.m.? Too darn much. I toyed with the idea of Urgent Care. No. I was feeling better after a chair nap. No. I was worse. No, they wouldn't do anything for me. No, I might get sicker over the weekend. No, I couldn't breathe. No, I just needed to get in the shower and breathe the moist air.

After my shower, weak as a kitten, I sat down at my laptop, Shiba, and looked up the hours of the Backroads Urgent Care. They're usually Not-So-Urgent Care. Rarely are they open the hours painted on their door. Still. Hick had told me they were open yesterday when he went to his pharmacy courtesy of The Pony's non-lead foot. Not sure how he knew this, because you can't see it from the road. Perhaps he was talking about two evenings ago when he picked up Hot & Sour soup for me because I thought it might cure what ailed me. They're right next door, you know. The Chinese restaurant and Urgent Care. I'm sure that speaks volumes.

I noticed that Urgent Care swore they would be open from 9:00 to 2:00. So is my pharmacy on Saturdays. And it's on the OTHER side of the Chinese restaurant. Nothing like having everything in a one-stop mini-mall. I figured I would need time to get a prescription if they gave me one. Oh, and there were the new patient forms online. I could kill four birds with one stone and fill them out at home, in the comfort of the La-Z-Boy, without toddlers coughing in my face.

By 11:20, I was ready to go Urgently to town. I put on my Jackie O/Elaine B sunglasses that I bought at Walmart about 10 years ago. I left The Pony home. I parked way down past the Urgent Care door, where there has been, at various times, a karate school. a safe secret (?) haven for battered women, and a warehouse. I went inside and saw that I was the only one in the waiting room. A toddler could be heard ruckusing in an exam room, but I paid no nevermind to that. The receptionist called me Honey, took my two insurance cards, did not charge me a copay, and gave me three papers to fill out. I showed the ones I had completed, and she said they were not for Urgent Care, but for the regular doctor's office that runs Urgent Care. They get you comin' and goin', those doctors.

I filled out the new forms with info from my completed forms. Then I was called back so the receptionist could take my vitals. Within minutes, a woman I could only presume was a nurse practitioner came in. She looked me over and quizzed me on symptoms. Apparently, the only thing red that Val was lacking was a Rudolph nose and a baboon butt. The throat, both ears, and both nostrils were flaming. NP saw on the form that I was allergic to ampicillin.

"Can you take amoxicillin?"

"Um. I'd rather not. Because I'm pretty sure it's still in the penicillin family, and my son had an ER visit after a reaction to that, like I had one after my reaction to ampicillin."

"Yes. I didn't know if you were allergic to ALL the -cillins."

"I pretty much think so."

"How about azithromycin?"

"I've had it before."

"I'll give you that, and a steroid to help with your ears and the cough and the sinus infection."

"Okay. So if the steroid will help with the cough, I won't need cough medicine?"

"No. In fact, I can't give you anything stronger than over-the-counter for the cough."

"Okay. So what kind should I get? Because of the high blood pressure."

"WAIT A MINUTE! I'm glad you said that. I forgot you had high blood pressure. Forget the steroid. It will make your blood pressure go up. You can get Robitussin. That should let you cough it up and keep it from settling in your chest for pneumonia."

You see? They can't give cough medicine to someone with a cough, because they are too busy giving it to people who dip their little cigars in it, and pour it in soda for a cocktail. I remember the day when I could CALL the doctor, and he would write out a prescription, and my mom could pick it up and get the medicine for me. Those days are long gone, my cough-medicine-jonesing friends!

I walked down the min-mall to get my Z-pack filled, and pick up some Tussin, the pharmacy's brand of Robitussin. Then I headed home to lay in the La-Z-Boy and rest, drink some more water, and think about what to make for lunch. I decided on a Hot Pocket Philly Cheese Steak, because they've been sitting in Frig II's freezer for a long time, and I can't taste anything anyway. I opened the Z-pack, read the instructions, and took the first two pills.

And now...for the evidence when I turn up dead with no explanation...

Hick called me from over by the BARn about an hour ago. The BARn, where he's been since he got home just before noon, without even checking on my welfare.

"Did you get medicine? Do you feel better?"

"I got a Z-pack and Robitussin. She was going to give me a steroid, but I have high blood pressure."

"I have high blood pressure. And I got a steroid. So...do you feel better?"

"No. I feel pretty bad."

"Did you take your medicine?"

"Yes, with lunch."

"Did you take all six pills?"

"Um. No. I took two. Like the directions said."

"That's why you don't feel good! You were supposed to take all six! That's what is says to do."

"No. Two the first day. Then one each of the next four days."

"No, that's the steroid!"

"I didn't get a steroid. THAT'S what you take the step-down doses of! Six, then five, then four, and so on. I had that when I had my ampicillin reaction."

"No, you're confused. You were supposed to take all six."

"I ONLY HAVE SIX! I know I'm not supposed to take them all."

"Well, you must have a different kind of Z-pack than me."

He's trying, people. Trying to knock me off with faulty dosing information.