Made in Richmond

After ignoring The Sore Throat Of Death, Woe, and Fire for four days, I finally went to the doctor today. This is what I always do: wait until I’m basically at death’s door before scheduling an appointment (which, thanks to insurance, costs very little). What can I say? I’m busy. And stubborn.

After looking me over, diagnosing me with (yet another) sinus infection that went medieval on my ass, my doctor started asking about whether I’ve been taking care of myself, specifically whether I’m getting enough sleep and drinking enough water. I do neither of these things, and he knows this — we talk about it every time I come in, and every time he gently reminds me that I really need to make those a priority. Today, he tried a different approach:

“You are not a vampire OR a camel! You need to sleep and you need to drink water! It will cut the numbers of times you have to come in by half!”

As I was laughing at him, he wrote me a prescription for a Z-pack which, according to him is basically pointless now because it looks like the infection has pretty much run its course.

“Just hold on to that and use it for the next one. We both know it’s just a matter of time and this will save you the co-pay.”