Two weeks ago, I called the doctor’s to ask about getting a flu shot, with the gut feeling I needed it *now*, knowing I’d never pass the screening questions at the drug store–they won’t take the liability. The nurse who answered the phone didn’t know me from Adam and couldn’t be moved, permanent chemo or not; one week’s wait for an appointment, no cutting in line. I stewed a little and debated simply showing up and telling them I would leave only when I got that shot; had I known what was coming, I would have. I should have. I did get my shot, but by then I’d been exposed to the flu three days before.
The doctor yesterday prescribed me some Happy No-Cough Sleeping Juice and offered a chest X-ray, and I told him let’s wait till we’re sure I need it; no pneumonia yet, but he made me promise to run back if it got any worse at all.
I was feeling a little sorry for myself.
Till we got a phone call this morning, and I have nothing! to complain about whatsofreakingever.
Imagine a fight between a car and a kid’s unprotected body that totals the car. Miraculously, no brain damage. He will heal. It’s simply going to take time.
I’m sending a card to the kid’s mom. She’s already got one of my shawls from when her husband slipped into a coma this past summer. And once again I passionately wish I could knit cures.
