Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Val's blog, the JAWS music starts pumping. Another calamity has befallen our author, and left her trying to garner more sympathy than a mere partially-severed pinky-toe can elicit. A pinky-toe with a black stripe in the middle, threatening to turn completely blue if I stuff it into a shoe again tomorrow.
I have a virus spread by Typhoid Hick and his breather. It's been pummeling me from the inside since Friday, and chose today to bring me to my knees. I feel like I have an elephant sitting on my chest. Not a so-ugly-it's-cute baby elephant, like the newest pachyderm at the St. Louis Zoo. Nope. A big ol' pregnant elephant in her 22nd month. Making me wheeze like a fireplace bellows blowing into a bagpipe.
So under-the-mercurial weather did I feel that I called the doctor's office between classes. That's right. My morning plan time had come and gone. My condition deteriorated. No peace for Val. Amidst the hustle and bustle of class changes, I punched the outside line and begged for drugs. The girl who answered was most likely giving me a subtle clue to the eventual outcome when she mocked, "You want some cough medicine called in?" Yeah. I spelled my name. Last. And first. Mocky named my pharmacy. Except she used the old name, the one before it was taken over. Hostilely. She assured me that they knew which one, but that this is how they kept it straight. I believed her.
It was already 2:00, so I assumed I wouldn't get my breath-giving elixir until Tuesday. But no. Mocky said, "Oh, that will be easy for us to do." As in, it would be called in TODAY. I had a meeting after school. Then I called the pharmacy. No record of a new prescription. Okay. I did some work. Stopped for gas. Went by the pharmacy. No record of a new prescription. I should have known something was up when Mocky didn't ask me for my date of birth so I could reveal it for students trickling into the room. Those medical folks ALWAYS ask for date of birth.
Funny how the pharmacy tech did not ask for date of birth, either. They ALWAYS ask for date of birth. So here I am up cough creek without a paddle to whack this hacking into submission. My voice was already starting to go this afternoon. So sick was I that a student with whom I normally wage spirited battle looked at me and said, "You're SICK!"
Somebody has some 'splainin' to do tomorrow. I predict the fault lies with the pharmacy. Hick dashed in there Saturday to grab a jar of Vicks VapoRub for me. He pronounced the counter girl rude and insolent, and declared that he would never, EVER go into that establishment again.
I hope they understand mime. Because I'm going to scream my hands off. I may even don a beret and a black-and-white striped mime shirt. If I remember, in my sleep-deprived, fevered delirium.