"How about an obscure virus, your majesty, one that fucks up your throat and makes you feel as though you're constantly drinking shards of glass?"
"That sounds right up my street. Have it delivered forthwith."
And so it came to pass that I have a virus.
I need to emphasise to you the depth of hilarity my doctor had when I went to see her yesterday. At one point you would have thought I'd just told her the funniest joke in the world. That was around the point where I accidentally punched myself in the kidneys falling arse over tit in the snow. As she said at one point, 'when your luck is out, it's really out!' She also apologised for laughing several times...
When described in a Phil-talks-about-Fuckwit-kind-of-way, the last 13 months could easily be turned into a stand-up routine. Man lurches from one misadventure at the doctor's to another. All without his trousers falling down or any custard pies landing in his face or midriff. When you go to the doctor's as sardonic as I was yesterday, I suppose you have to laugh or you might have wanted to operate on my face, without anaesthetic. I like this particular doctor; she's composed mainly of pragmatism with a hint of sarcasm thrown in to make you appreciate she has to put up with fucktards like me every day.
My moles are not melanomas. My lungs are not cancerous. My kidneys aren't going to explode. The blood in my sputum is from the pleurisy and might take a week to completely clear up (it had gone this morning...). As long as it doesn't become thick, dark red and coughed up in great chunks, I have nothing to worry about (did I mention it had gone this morning?). The blood in my wee is down to [guffaw] punching myself in the kidneys and she understands that I'm anxious about it so she's ordered a scan and a blood test to ensure there's nothing wrong with a) my prostate or b) I've not done any serious damage to my kidneys (through accidentally punching myself in them!).
She believes that I'm just Mr Unlucky. She conceded that perhaps I might have been given stronger antibiotics back in December 2011 and because that didn't clear up completely it had a cumulative effect on my autoimmune system, which meant that I suddenly became this beacon for illness. If there was something going around, I'd get it. The fact I work in a Petri dish of disease (a school) meant that those nasty virus germs saw me and I was a tasty treat. Let's head for Phil and have a party in his chest! It's warm, moist and we can go and hide in his head or bowels when the antibiotic police come along to try and stop our viral rave!
"Sometimes we just get unlucky and that's what's happened to you. Being a healthy vegetarian who does lots of exercise and has given up smoking doesn't automatically qualify you for good health. Even really healthy people get ill for no apparent reason." And there you have it. Five days of thinking I'm going to die (I am, just hopefully not next week) of some horrible disease (I probably still will) and I'm just a virus magnet. Some people attract money; others women (or men); I attract illness. Now all I have to do is find a way where this new-found talent can earn me some money!
But seriously, I woke up yesterday with a virus, which caused the doc even more hilarity. I have a throat like a skinned bear and nothing is touching it. I haven't had a sore throat this bad for 25 years (cos it was 25 years ago in June that I had my tonsils out) and the real bonus for visitors is my voice is giving up. My fingers are still working though...
Effercio et Ineptias
- Why has Facebook started making noises at me?
- It's snowing again (which wasn't forecast).
- I spent the morning in a slightly confused state.
- I must be ill, I'm not quizzing for a second week on the trot.
- Dave really is a bit of a twat, isn't he?
- Loft insulation probably shouldn't be mummified corpses.