Give a Girl a Break

I’m sick.
We all knew this, but there are levels of sickness.
I can be sick without feeling bad.
Now, I feel bad.
I need a break.
Someone needs to give a girl a break.
I didn’t think it was scientifically possible to have as much bad luck as I have had.
It’s the law of averages. Something has to give sometime.
But, no. It hasn’t.
I haven’t gotten better.
I’ve just started taking more prescriptions (flurocette and an extended dose of augmentin) that haven’t helped.
We’ve also ruled out the obvious culprits for my suffering: pneumonia & sinusitis.
My nasty sputum? NORMAL!
This is more frustrating than being diagnosed and stuck in the hospital.
It’s probably a virus. This option sucks. There’s no pill to make me get better and heal more quickly.
I’m ready to start chugging juice full of antioxidants and infuse myself with German hydration therapies.
But wait. I can’t get those, because I can’t leave my house!
This experience may just turn me into an agorophobe (someone who is scared of EVERYTHING, well specifically, the inability to escape situations). Then I’ll never leave my house by choice.
Alyea, has suggested, maybe, I should get my PET scan a little early.
I don’t like what he’s saying with this suggestion.
Also, my son’s best friend, the one he sees every morning and afternoon, was diagnosed with scarlet fever.
Worse, Jenn, X’s surrogate mom and my friend, lives in fear she may expose me to something.
I’d just coaxed her into my house this week.
I was so excited, Jon set up his first playdate with her for Colin to come over.
We like her. We like Jerry, her husband. We like the kids. They live close.
Now, I may not see her again. I’m going to have to call her and insist she didn’t hurt me. Then she won’t believe me.
Maybe, I’ll get a note from Melissa, my NP, that says her kids did not infect me, she didn’t almost kill me, and I NEED to see her for support.
Then, she’ll have to hang out with me despite her fears.
In good news, Jon and X got me presents. My “Fight Like a Girl” shirt came in the mail. Jon’s “My wife is a Hot Mom” shirt came in.
I had suggested the “I love Hot Moms” shirts for him and my son, but he chose the wife slogan.
I didn’t think he should discriminate.
Who doesn’t like hot moms?
Let’s be honest here.
Even I do.