I’ve got a fever of 103. Well, I did Sunday night. Twelve hours later my temperature was 96, and I don’t know which is worse. But don’t worry, it’s just bronchitis, and it’ll go away in a few days. How do I know? Because I’ve had it every year for the last ten. And no, I’m not going to the doctor. Why? Because here’s how it goes:
Me: “I have bronchitis. I know there’s nothing you can do to cure it. Give me codeine cough syrup”
Someone in a White Coat Who Isn’t Really a Doctor But Charges Like She Is: “Well, hang on. What are your symptoms?
Me: “The symptoms of someone with bronchitis”
DoctorLite: “Uh huh. And what is your “icky stuff” like?
Me: “Like the “icky stuff” of someone with bronchitis”
DoctorLite: “And are you having trouble breathing?
Me: “Much like someone with bronchitis, I am having trouble breathing”
DoctorLite: “Sounds like you have bronchitis. That’ll be $94”
Without it being officially prescribed, I have gotten plenty of rest in the last 24 hours. Watching TV has been hard, because I’m too brain dead for anything intelligent, and laughing hurts too much to watch anything funny. Luckily “Mr. Deeds was on.
I also learned that all it takes to get a show on cable access TV is a working video camera, and after watching the end of a show about butt implants and the start of a show about Russian mail order brides, I decided the Discovery Health Channel is probably misnamed.
And I’ve learned a new maxim. If it hurts to talk, everyone you know will call you on the phone, and a potential employer will set up a phone interview. If they’re looking for someone with extensive experience in a coughing and wheezing environment, I’m their man.
<a href=”Hastings, however, has never been happier. Hot and sedentary is just the way he likes me.