Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Please be strep.

Please be strep. Please be strep. Please be strep.

Ready, aim, swab!

It's all on you, Lil' Guy. Come on, Q-Tippy. Do me proud. I gave you my best.

Here's the thing. I don't think I've had strep, or even the possibility of strep since I was a kid. (And I get Scarlet Fever... ah, yesteryear...) Now here's something that surprises me: It still takes 24 hours for a stupid strep test. Really? It's not 1985 anymore. You'd think there had been some advances in the field of growing cultures swabbed from the back of someone's throat during the last, oh I don't know, TWENTY FOUR YEARS.

I'm disappointed in you, Medical Field. You could have come through for me on this one. Not only can you still not prevent miscarriages or cure cancer, but you can't give me the FREAKING results of my throat swab from nurse Stabby McStabberson until tomorrow morning.

Patience is just not my thang. Do I even have a thang? No, don't think so.

What do I do when I'm stuck in the room waiting for the doctor? Take iPhone pics, of course. You know, they left me in there with my little Q-Tip of possible strep-ness for almost 15 minutes. Too bad I couldn't find someone roaming the halls with an infection. I totally would have yoinked some infectious cells, just to be safe. You don't understand. I have to "pass" this test. My throat FREAKING HURTS. If I have strep, I get some Zithromax. Some lovely Zithromax. Two days of that and I'll feel better. If the test comes back negative, all I get is a RRRRiiiiiiiiiccccccooooooooooooooolllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaa and a pat on the back.

Anyway, back to the room of fun in Medicine C. Apparently this doc (not my regular) doesn't believe in decoration. On some levels, that's okay. You know, I don't want to see all those ladies grinning down at me from the clipped tampon ads and Ladies Home Gardens, looking all vapid and veneered on the ceiling when I've got my legs in the stirrups for my yearly appt... and neither do I want to see a room that looks like Joann's entire collection of puppydog scrapbooking supplies puked all over it. Where's the balance? A nice landscape on the ceiling is always nice for distraction. But this room was pretty minimalist. Not in an uber-cool, Scandinavian sort of way. More in a scary, mental-institution, independent film sort of way. So there's that. Don't believe me?

The patient bed, in Clinically Depressed Beige. Walls are painted a lovely shade of Dirty--or is it just a little too off? White. Check out the lime green decoration above the bed. Wait for it...

In case you were unclear. Do you think they've had a rash of people coming in and laying their heads down in the stirrups? Personally that's a place I'd rather avoid. But why all this talk about stirrups? Sorry. Unintentional. I was there for a throat culture.

This boy. Mmmmm... Love him. Okay, I'll stop saying that. But the pigeon toes? The baseball hat? I'm done. I'm just done. And thank the Good Lord for Gameboys.

See, no photos of specifically-chosen, ethnically-diverse children, no landscapes, no cutesy posters, no "Hang in there" Cat. Nothin'. A bit depressing. I may need to seek treatment for post-doctor's office visit blah syndrome.

I'm trying hard to occupy myself until tomorrow, because this is like some kind of warped Christmas morning, wherein I either have an infectious diagnosis and antibiotic present waiting for me, or not. I'll try not to see a viral diagnosis as a metaphorical lump of coal from Kaiser.

After our medical escapades this morning, the boy and I hit up Target for a new kiddie pool (One-nut Cal ate the old one a few days ago) and then Costco for such lovelies as Bucket-O Laundry Detergent, Bucket-O Beef Jerky, Bucket-O Excedrin, and Bucket-O Edamame. When we got home with 100 pounds, collectively, of dog and cat food, and E helped schlep it into the backyard, he showed me the SHOPPING CART that is gracing the sidewalk in the court across from our house. Yeah, shopping cart. From the nerds who live at the end of the court. They push it to the end of their property, like nobody is going to notice. And then they whistle and walk away. It's like a bad Warner Brothers Cartoon.


I swear to you. These people. This is not the first time they've pulled the shopping cart shenanigans. The last time, they pushed the cart to the end of their property, and it sat there for a week until another neighbor returned it. I'd be embarrassed, but that emotion seems to escape some people. These are the same awesomes who had the party last year that ended up in our street getting shot up in the middle of the night. Trust me, we live in a nice neighborhood. This is not normal behavior for our other neighbors. They've been laying low since last summer, because the entire neighborhood was set to get them out, but the shopping cart thing has GOT TO GO.

I love renters. I really do. Renters for the win.


  1. Hmm, your doctor must be defective, or else mine is. Last time I had strep (a few years ago) I went in for a test. Test consisted of me opening my mouth and the doctor saying "yup, you have strep, I'll write you a prescription."

    Do you have the nasty white crud in the back of your throat? If so, I think you'd get the "yup, you have strep" too.

    This is kind of a gross comment I guess. Oh well.

    ps- you have way more followers than me, I'm jealous. ;-)

  2. It wasn't strep, and after all the drama of them losing the test, I wish I'd just skipped it. Started getting better the day I went to the doctor anyway. Figures.