Mrs. Nurse Boy here.
So, it turns out I am THAT patient.
You know the one. Crabby. Cranky. Sick. Tired. Grumpy. Wimpy. Demanding. Impatient. And, have I mentioned Demanding?
I went to Urgent Care on Monday. That was my first mistake. You see, I LOVE my doctor. That is a whole other post. I went to Urgent Care because it is affiliated with my husband's hospital; therefore, it is free. Free speaks volumes to me. I love free. But, I forgot. I hate Urgent Care.
I already confessed that I didn't want them to swab the back of my throat. MY doctor would have listened to me, taken a look, and probably just wrote the script. You see, she trusts her eyes. I am no medical expert, but I don't think it is that hard to see the puss pockets hanging out and happily waving at the back of one's throat. Those darn puss pockets. Evil and selfish little boogers.
The doctor at Urgent Care came into the room with a thick accent and sweet smile. He was way too jolly for someone who just had a cotton swab shoved down their throat while being laughed at by her daughter and husband. (No, forgiveness is NOT one of my strengths. No sirree.) Once the strep test came back positive, he wanted to look down my throat. I told him I didn't think that was going to happen. You see, I was in pain. Why else would a mother of three be spending the day in Urgent Care? Didn't he know I had bigger fish to fry? But, he insisted. I decided not to argue. I didn't have the energy. I wanted to scream, "Is the positive strep test not enough for you?" But, I didn't. I let him gag me. I politely explained that it felt like I had a golf ball at the back of my throat and my gag reflex was in full swing.
He prescribed an antibiotic that I had never taken before. I just wanted my quick little Z PAC. Like I said, I was demanding. I'll own it. "Oh, no," he says. "This is much too bad for a wimpy little Z PAC. I must prescribe you some horse pills. We have simply NOT seen you gag enough today. And, just for the memories, can I have another gander down in that inflamed throat of yours? Oh, yeah. That looks really bad."
Don't even get me started on what a wimp I am when it comes to taking pills. Both of my parents and my husband could dedicate an entire blog to this topic alone. Again, I'll own it. It is simply who I am. Just give me those little, adorable pink pills in the Z PAC carton. I wanted my Z PAC.
So, for the last two days, I choked down my horse pills. Whatever it takes to get rid of that golf ball. However, 24 hours later I started noticing that I had an awful taste in my mouth. I mean AWFUL. Have you ever had the stomach flu? You know that awful taste you just can't escape during that illness. Yep, that's the taste.
Gross, I know! TMI, I know! Sorry about that.
After day 2, the taste was just more than I could bare AND the golf ball was smaller, but still there. Not feeling better. Still gagging. Really grumpy.
Nurse Boy promises me that I can just call the Urgent Care this morning and they will call in a new script. HA! HA! No such luck. Oh, no. They wanted me to come in again. I tried to politely argue. Still no. Then I thought I just might cry, so I abruptly got off of the phone.
You see. I am THAT patient...to them.
Long story short (too late for that), Nurse Boy fixed the problem and I HAVE MY Z PAC!
The golf ball already feels like a grape. Here's hoping my little pink pills do the trick!
7 hours ago