There Comes A Time

There just flat comes a time when you have to go to the danged doctor. And be glad you have him. I wouldn't have to bother if my mama were still alive. She didn't much know what to do with a stronghold but she knew what to do with the croup. I'd have to sit on a stool by the stove with a towel over my head and breathe in some wild vaporous concoction that made me heave until I came to my senses and decided I'd better get well or else. My family was too big for you to get a whole heapin' helping of attention. You got your moment then you got on with it. A week later you'd be snorting your head off and coughing your back out and someone would say, "Child, what on earth is wrong with you? What are you doing still sick? I thought I told you to get well!" I had a really quirky family and sometimes if you'd been sick a long time they'd say, "I'd a thought you'd a died by now!"

Sometimes my sister and I got to stay home when we were sick and watch soap operas with Mom and Nanny (my granny who lived with us). If we'd act nearly dead, even three in a row. We were so far in the birth order that we got away with more than the older kids. Especially when it came to playing hooky. If we'd lay really quiet on the couch, Mom and Nanny would act like they didn't know we were there. It never occurred to them that soap operas might not be the best steady diet for adolescents. How we didn't grow up to be like Erica Cane on "All My Children" who's never met a man she didn't marry is beyond me. Goodness knows we did our part.

I was supposed to get to take the day off to finish my Christmas shopping but no!!! I have to go to the danged doctor. I've had something for three or four days but I tried to treat it with internet advice. I bet you know what I'm talking about. I thought it was working till I could hardly get out of the bed this morning. I had to drop my legs over the side of the bed, slide down, and hope the rest of me followed. When I finally got to my feet, I coughed really loud so Keith would wake up and feel sorry for me. Then I was sorry he'd seen me because I got a glance of myself in the bathroom mirror and nearly went into cardiac arrest. The only words that would come to me were "Woman, thou art loathed!" I didn't have to take my take my temperature. My hair clearly had a fever. And it looked especially dark. I'm one of those weird people who enjoys making fun of herself so I had half a mind to have Keith take a picture of me to post for you...but then I was afraid I'd give you a spirit of fear. I kind of looked like Norman Bates' mom in Psycho.

Keith's car was packed for the deer lease but then he felt bad (I love that when you blog you don't have to use good English like "badly." It would be so lame here.) about leaving me this morning. I made him go though. I didn't feel good enough for him to stay home. I think you understand. Well, you helped me pass the time to my appointment. Gotta get in there. I'm sorry this is so random. I'm sorry for everything. Even things I don't know I did. I'm so sorry.

I'll let you know in the next day or two how my appointment went. I hate that they're going to ask me if I've had my dad-blasted mammogram this year. And how my delicate digestive system is doing. Good grief. How personal can you get? Did I tell you about having that colonoscopy last year and, as it turned out, several of the nurses in the wing had done the Bible studies and we got to visit through it? No, I didn't tell you because I didn't want to talk about it. Still don't.

If my croup kicks pretty fast, I'm gonna wish I could retape my rousing chorus of Happy Blog-aversary To You. I know it's not the flu because I had my flu shot. And it's against the law to get the flu after you get your flu shot.

I love you. So sorry I put you through this post.

PS. Back from the doctor. Bronchitis. May need iron lung. Not really. Just a mammogram and colonoscopy.