I’d Kill To Be Able To Eat A Hot Wing Right Now

I never get sick enough that I need to call out from work, but this week has been more time at home rather than in the office. And it’s not nearly as fun as it was when I was in high school and my mom would baby me back to full health.

Being a genuinely horrible adult, I have no doctor of any kind in NYC. I’ve lived here almost 2 years now, and I’ve not even bothered checking what my insurance offers me, never mind setting up an appointment for a general health physician. For all I know, the coverage offered me is comprised of hugs and travel sized bottles of Advil, partnered with a monstrous co-pay. Why? Because I’m a horrible, horrible adult.

So Monday night I went on to WebMD and input my symptoms. After they told me through several caution notices that I should go and seek emergency medical attention, they told me my diagnosis…

So according to WebMD, I have either strep throat, thyroid cancer, the scarlet fever [?] or a cold. I guess it’s always nice to have options.

Also, can we take a moment and notice that one of the possible symptoms is “Involuntary head turning or twisting”?!

That’s fucked up.

So after things started to get worse, I finally decided to find a doctor and perhaps pay a visit. Which I did. And lo, I have strep throat. Which was, surprise surprise, a delight to hear, because for days I was concerned Lucifer had taken up residence in my body and was going to force me to spew all the soup I’d been eating all over my room, right after giving me a wicked sore throat and a case of the grumpies.

I’m on antibiotics now, 3rd day of 5 of the infamous Z-Pack. And I still feel like shit. My goal is to get better by Sunday so I can swallow solid foods and attend my friend Andrea’s Superbowl party, which is one of the pinnacles of my culinary calendar. And if I can’t make that, most likely I’ll be in my bedroom with my head involuntarily turning and twisting. Kick ass.