So… I got a phone call this morning.
My doctor told me I do not, in fact, have the plague. Instead, I have a mystery! Let’s go back to the beginning!
*checks Caller ID and it says it’s the doctor’s office so answers*
*some verbal sparring takes place as I test them to see if they’re telling horrible lies and not really aliens pretending to be my doctor*
“No, David. You don’t have the plague.” The doctor lied.
“How do you know I don’t have the plague?” I cleverly responded, still in test mode.
“I know you know that’s not how science works.” He feinted left.
“Something theoretical, then. I can work with that.” I said, trying to keep my options open.
“I have other patients, David.” He said, trying to find excuses to leave the arena.
“How many of them pay full price and cash?” I asked.
“David, you have mono.” He said, completely ignoring my brilliant riposte.
“Don’t you lie to me!” I coughed, cutting him completely off mid-sentence.
“… and appear to have the common cold.” He finished, completely ignoring me at this point. I’m not sure why I pay him.
*time passes while I pretty much make him read WebMD to me, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s actually doing*
“I don’t have a rash and I’m old. I should not have mononucleosis!” I decided.
“The tests say you do. I need to go.” He said, admitting defeat.
“But you said you didn’t run the tests personally AND that it was just some nameless lab tech that isn’t a doctor! I don’t know who they are, or what they have for credentials.” I said into a now dead line, the dirty rotten bastard had hung up on me.
Yup… Somehow I’ve contracted mono and the common cold. I’ve collected not one, but two, viruses – minimum. Y’all are fucking a disease vector, General Public. A disease vector!
I have no idea how I got mono. I did do some meet and greet – but I didn’t actually stick my tongue in anything strange. I couldn’t. The missus was watching.
They also don’t know that with 100% confidence – I checked! They want me to go get some tests and they’ll confirm it with greater certainty.
I decided to get a second opinion. I called my daughter. She wanted no part of it and told me to stop being a baby and that mono certainly isn’t an emergency. She did tell me she loved me, before she hung up.
In fact, she was quite emphatic about telling me that she loved me. The phone went immediately dead after that, so I assume it was an emotional experience for her and I’m probably going to die.
I have to drive a long ways if I didn’t want to see a doctor that isn’t actually a witch doctor that graduated from medical school back before I even had children. I’m not sure I believe a word they say.
Trust me… I’ve inspected every inch of my body and I have no rash. Since that dirty rotten liar doctor told me that I’d have a rash, everything itches. I’m thinking this might be his subtle revenge, or it could be the mild dose of opiates. I’m not yet sure.
The fat bastard doctor didn’t even make my lab appointment for me. “Just show up during their regular business hours, at least 72 hours before your next appointment with me.”
I should probably remind people that I live in backwater Maine. The nearest medical services are many miles away. They aren’t very good. They’re actually particularly good at thawing people out, not kidding, but I’m not actually frozen. So, while I admire that skill – it’s not actually very beneficial to me until such time as I’m frozen.
They pick up major problems with a helicopter. They don’t usually take that helicopter to Farmington. No… Farmington is where you go for medical service when you have no choice in the matter. Let’s just agree that it’s obvious these doctors couldn’t get much more remote and there’s probably a reason for that.
Thus, I don’t have the plague. At least he seemed pretty confident of that. I asked!
I have the common cold. That makes sense.
He told me my spleen was swollen. I told him I had a concoction of weed and opiates in me, and that frankly I didn’t even know I had a spleen. He told me we’d discussed this when I went to his office. I don’t recall that, but I’m gonna guess he was the more sober of the two of us.
He was recommended to me by a fairly shady character that I, of course, consider a great friend. He came with an endorsement something like, “Yeah, he is probably the better one of the lot and writes a lot of prescriptions.” (Good enough for me!)
So, the fucker could be wrong – and I could really have the plague.
I shouldn’t have mono. I’m old. Mono is not actually all that easily transferred. My whole body hurts. My whole body is not a spleen. I don’t notice anything swollen in particular, but he tells me it is. I ain’t even sure how to check for that. Nobody was willing to tell me. I’ve tried poking and prodding myself but it just kinda hurts everywhere I touch.
It’s a goddamned mystery, is what it is.
Wait until the missus gets up! Oh, she’s gonna be so mad! (‘Snot like she’s gonna have sympathy.) She’s not gonna let me kiss her for weeks.
Actually, I can use that to my advantage. I’ll get her a nun’s habit and our new sex game is going to be called “Catholic Sex.” There’s no reason to let a fortuitous situation go to waste.
I don’t fucking know. They tell me I have a pleasant blend of the common cold and mono. They want to run more tests to confirm it. They bribed me with stronger drugs, if I go into Farmington to pick up the prescription. That’s a pretty good bribe. I’ll almost certainly make that trip and stop at the lab while I’m there!
He said he’d email me and, as I write this article, I see that “he” (his damned secretary) has emailed me and it looks like they straight up cut and pasted that shit from something – probably WebMD.
He also told me that I’ll feel “somewhat better” in “probably” a “day or two.” (I forget the words between those ’cause they aren’t important.) I’m pretty sure he’s just making that up. Seems a wee bit vague and like maybe he’s assuming a few spherical cows – but I’m not the one with a medical degree.
If he wants to have a penis fight, my degree is higher than his! His lack of rigor is just not okay! Yeah, I’m probably going to die.
I’m supposed to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids, and probably stay away from people. Fat chance of any of that happening, but the advice was nice. The dirty and diseased General Public has given me this. I will give it back to them. I will continue to perform. It’s my job.
I have decided to use this to my advantage. I’d like to sing less and concentrate more on the guitar. I don’t actually like singing. I will foist such duties off on the band. They’re all very capable.
Boy, won’t they be surprised! We have a show this coming Saturday! I can’t sing! (Awesome!)
In all seriousness, I’m not gonna die. I’m just going to be tired and sore, for an indeterminate amount of time that is ‘up to six weeks.’ And, if we look at it with the right eyes, my doctor told me to get high and shitpost online! (Eat these drugs and stay in bed!) He also gave me the chance to be even lazier on stage!
Damned right. It’s pretty much the best day ever. I ain’t even gotta write anything for the site. “Oh, I can’t. I’m resting today!” Ha! That’s right, doctor’s excuse, if I miss a day!
Umm… I will probably write. I mean, this is me we’re talking about. Not saying it’s gonna be any good, but I will probably do it. You might get pure drivel, such as this article.
I will note that this goes back to my rules for performing musicians. This is a clear demonstration of why you need to keep yourself healthy. If I’d not been healthy when this hit, that’d suck even more. I have a job to do, contractual obligations. I can’t get sick and take the night off. Well, I can – but I really shouldn’t.
It does explain the energy drain and lethargy. It does explain the ague. The common cold bit explains much of it – but the mono is probably why my throat is horrible. (Side note: It’s that weird sort of horrible that makes doing Axl Rose impersonations kinda fun.)
So, you’re not getting an article today. Instead, you’re getting the most appropriate song I could think of.
Until next time…
Shut up and play us a song!