If you’ve been following me on Twitter/FB you probably know I’ve got con-chitis or con crud or the motherfuckin’ plague. (No, Amy– tell us how you really feel.)
I’ve ingested so much cold medicine at this point I’ve got stomach cramps. Which means A. I’m getting old, and B. Since I’m using less than the recommended dose of both kinds of medicine, I’m probably really sick.
Mate and I had a rather academic conversation about what drove me over the edge here–was it going to swim on Wednesday or taking ZB in for his T-Dap and his new Concerta prescription on Thursday. He’s rooting for “Mom was doing too much too soon” and I’m rooting for “A pediatric medical practice makes a hotel in Dallas look like a recently bleached stainless steel sink in terms of germ mutation.” Both of us decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that if I have another night like last night (wherein I slept sitting up in the living room while coughing so much that band of muscles around my ribs ache whenever breathe deeply, which I still can’t do without coughing) I’m going to the doctors, which, if you know me, you know this is like my action of last resort. Some people are like, “Oh, a hangnail, I’m going to the doctor!” I’m like, “I can dump bactine on that and I’m not bleeding that badly.” Four years ago, I fell down and probably gave my wrist a hairline fracture, and I just put up with that fucker in the pool for the next six months. Doctor? I don’t need no stinking doctor.
Unless, well, you know.
I can’t breathe anymore. Then I might call a doctor.
So anyway, when my mom called to take ZB and Squish out on a healthy jaunt to the lake, I was all for it. All we were going to do was take in a movie, and seriously. They didn’t need to see Fury Road anyway. (I’m glad we didn’t take them to see it. They’re gonna grow up to be little psychopaths anyway.) But I needed to see Fury Road because AWESOME.
On the way to the movie theater, as Mate and I were debating whether I was well enough to go see it (because nobody likes to hack through a movie like a plague dog, right?) I realized I was having the following conversation in my head:
“You’re not sick!”
“You’re not dying! You just can’t think of anything better to do. Now man up, take an aspirin, and come over here and pick me up!”
Yeah. Ferris Buehler, you’re my hero. You got me out of the house and into the movie theater (where cold medicine B lasted just long enough to keep me from hacking up a lung during the movie!) And you kept me from lying on the bed instead of working, eyes open and glassy like a dead fish, wondering when my lungs were gonna stop working.
Cause nobody needs that, right?
Oh! Watch this space tomorrow– there’s a scavenger hunt that I still need the rules to, and I need to figure out wtf I’m doing. I may want to wait between cold medicines, because right now, it’s pretty baffling.
Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll have it figured out. Right now, I just need some ice and some water and some more Cold Medicine B.