Allow me to quote from my blog post yesterday:
The party itself was a blast. I danced and sang like a crazy lady. My legs and throat hurt so bad today. I can barely walk and I’m pretty sure I’m coughing up blood. I went downstairs to Danielle’s apartment and we both passed out on her couch for like two hours.
Ummm, so I felt like crap yesterday. I was coughing like a madwoman, like I did when I used to smoke, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. I thought I was just totally wrecked from all the Halloween partying, which was weird because I don’t usually feel that sick the day after going out. I don’t drink alcohol or do drugs, so usually I don’t get hangovers, but I thought maybe I just had one too many Red Bulls and was really dehydrated. Oh how I wish that was the problem! I woke up at 7 am this morning and felt like hell warmed over. I crawled out of bed and got my thermometer, which my grandfather kindly sent me after my last thermometer-less bout with the flu (”You have to know what your temperature is!”), and I had a fever of 102 degrees. I haven’t been able to move all day. I don’t know if it’s swine flu or regular flu. I don’t suppose it matters. I should have just gotten a damn flu shot. I never get that stupid shot, because I figure there are limited supplies and I should leave it for the people who could actually die from the flu, or people with children or people who have jobs with more social necessity than gossip blogging, but I am going to be really selfish about it in the future. Also I’m pissed because I usually get really really sick with the flu like this once a year, in mid-February, like clockwork. For a week. Then I don’t get really sick again until the following February. So I’m feeling very betrayed by my body, which knows perfectly well that it’s not scheduled to get sick in November.
Finally I called the hospital to beg for a Tamiflu prescription. They’re all like, “Blah blah blah you shouldn’t diagnose yourself — rather, you and your insanely contagious flu virus should drive all the way down here and cough in the middle of our urgent care waiting room for an hour, just so we make sure everyone in a five-mile radius gets the flu this week. Plus, is there anything more fun to do when you have the flu than sit upright in a waiting room for an hour, just so an overworked doctor can tell you that you have, like, the most readily diagnosable illness on the planet right now? I think not. Come on down!”
I did what any reasonable person would do at that juncture: I called a doctor friend and asked her to call in a Tamiflu prescription to my local drug store. Then I had my friend Emily go pick it up, because she is an amazing friend. Then I had my neighbor Kate (also amazing) meet Emily at the door to my apartment complex. I instructed Kate to leave the bag at my door, knock, and RUN. It was all very carefully orchestrated so that no one actually had to have contact with me or even share airspace. (”The eagle has landed,” texted Emily upon her arrival.) In this way, I acquired the medicine I needed without having to infect 200 other people with the flu. And it probably all got done in the same amount of time — or less — than it would have taken me to get it from the hospital. Do you hear that, stupid hospital? I can understand that you don’t exactly want to call in vicodin prescriptions just because someone asks nicely on the phone, but a flu medication during flu season? Come on. Just give me the meds. Silly.
Anyway. I still feel like ass. I want to be put into a coma until this passes. But hopefully the Tamiflu will help and I can shake this thing in a day or two, rather than lie in bed alone and isolated and miserable for a week.
