I’m worried I’m about to die quite often.
There’s no good reason that should happen, really.
I’m healthy. I’m a man. I’m 40. I’m white.
Everything’s just fucking great.
Shit.
Well when I got the fucking flu on Friday it didn’t feel so goddamn great.
It felt like the world dropped out from my guts and the symphony decided to stuff their instruments with every age of antique cutlery and then trammel that shit inside my head, somehow for over 48 hours straight.
So I went to the ER.
Well I actually went to the ER because I kept downing Tylenol Extra Strength by what felt like the recommended dosage but by the time the second morning rolled right on around I couldn’t fucking remember what the dosage was.
Tylenol is so goddamn sneaky when it fucks your life to shit, or so I’ve read.
Anyhow, between that and the feint reminder of taking enough sleeping pills to certainly do the job back in 2015 I figured it probably be best to take myself to some sort of professional and figure this out instead of relying on my track record of intelligence and god-given manhood impulses…
Did I mention I absolutely love nurses?
Mmmmm……
So caring, so feminine, so willing to touch me because they have to. But probably also because they____want to???
Well they certainly did take care of me over at good ol’ UCSF, though it did take 7.5 hours. Pretty interesting to go to the ER and it takes 7.5 hours to test for toxicology, get an IV drip, and have a couple medications injected into you and then get a Benadryl.
Anyhow, right before I was discharged this dude sittin’ beside me happened to see me looking at footage of the protest demands won in France and asked me what was goin’ on…mainly to make conversation I supposed. But, ya know, maybe it’s because he wanted to show solidarity?
Nah - He thought it was ‘cuz immigrants. I told him it was cuz’ student stuff like ‘learning’ & ‘future society participation’ and bullshit.
Anyway, he asked me what brought me in today [at the time, because I’m in the future now…dumbass who’s reading this…you don’t know me] because he’s a gentleman.
I told him that apparently I have the flu.
He mentioned that he’s been through a fair share of bugs in his life, and he learned over time to douse em’ in tequila and honey. Of allll the regimens he’s tried, and BY GOD he’s done ALL of them, THAT is what does it.
I told him I was thinking about some hot tea and honey afterwards. He tripled down on his pronouncement as a wise elder brother that he somehow immediately earned the title of because he forced both of us into a conversation only one of us wanted to have in the first place. He said why would he trust anyone other than a true Mexican to give the best guidance.
Then he said one time he got pneumonia.
Only thing that made it worse was he was tripping major balls on acid at the time, and that was wildly intense.
“Wow, that is absolutely insane man” is all I could think to respond….which is really the only response you can have to that admission.
Then I got my discharge instructions.
I’ve never been so glad to be interrupted by overly beaurocratic paperwork and process instructions in my 40 year lifetime than that very moment.
I gotta find a better way to hydrate myself when I get sick as shit, or find a new girlfriend.
;)
Still though, this guy’s surfer-tweeker grunge aesthetic was kinda charming except for the having to sit right next to and talk to him and all for 3 minutes.
I’m also glad the free market could let me choose which way I wanted to receive my emergency visit and drive myself instead of getting an ambulance because who the hell knows what that bill would be after insurance.