strew those lilies about the room, please.
I'm going to cool it on the running for a bit.
I figured whatever is wrong with me was the same thing that's been wrong with Darin, who's been suffering some kind of low-grade problem for the better part of a month, with exhaustion and a sore throat being the main symptoms. I wasn't having the exact same symptoms: instead of a sore throat, I'd been feeling a lump low in my throat for a week or so, I felt ooky, I've been reading a lot more because I've been sitting in bed.
During the weekend the lump blossomed into a sore throat. Aha! Incubating germs, perhaps!
Yesterday morning, I passed on running because I felt so terrible. I cleared my throat and coughed up little bits of green phlegm, a good sign of some sort of infection, but what was weird is I didn't feel it coming out of my lungs but out of my throat. Well, whatever, I thought.
Darin was, after a month of suffering whatever he's been suffering, finally going to make a doctor's appointment. Did I want him to make one for me as well?
"I don't need to see a doctor," I said.
After my shower, I coughed up a huge piece of phlegm.
About half of which was blood.
DIANE
Will you come visit me in the
sanatorium?
DARIN
You don't have tuberculosis. Stop it.
This is hypochondria.
DIANE
It could be tuberculosis.
DARIN
Yes, it could be. It's not.
DIANE
I hope it's not the drug-resistant type.
(beat)
I guess I should see the doctor too.
Of course, I decided I did have tuberculosis and if I was going, I was going high: I was going to lie around languidly on chaises longues, strewing lilies about the floor, listening to the passionate outpourings of young men in starched collars--you knew the title of this entry was going to fit in here somewhere--and generally suffering from the Hollywood Disease that causes you to grow more beautiful as you come closer to death.
I wrote my friend Pooks, who said she thought having lots of young men in starched collars milling about might make up for having tuberculosis, but it more than likely wouldn't. And I should let her know immediately as to what the doctor said.
The doctor's appointment was for this morning.
After I waited 20 to 25 minutes in the cold examination room, the nurse practitioner took all of about 5 minutes with me. Listened to my chest, asked me my symptoms
The upshot: it's either bacterial (strep throat or bronchitis), or it's something viral, in which case I just have to hang out for a while until it goes away.
She gave me a prescription anyhow for some kind of antibiotic, in case my problem is one of these bacterial infections.
Darin's verdict: hang out and let the virus run its course.
When it came time to settle the bill, the clerk attempted to convince me that my insurance had a $2000 deductible and we had to pay full fare. "Could I speak to the insurance company please?" I asked sweetly. She was wrong, of course; we have a $35 co-pay for office visits. We do have a $2000 deductible for all non-office things, like blood work, which is annoying.
But we didn't get the insurance for the run-of-the-mill stuff; we got it for the emergency stuff, the tens-of-thousands-of-dollars stuff.
Insurance remains one of the big bummers of being self-employed. I wonder if it gets any easier when (gotta remind myself: when) I join the WGA?
|
|
|
|
Copyright 1998 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com