....... the irises have started to bloom, the columbines are going nuts, and the peonies are just about ready to pop. I was down in the gardens last night, puttering around, pulling weeds, and it felt so damn good to be outside for a little bit, instead of in bed, or on the couch, or at the doctor's office, or in line at the pharmacy.
Final (for now) diagnosis? "Viral infection of unknown origin". The nurse called this morning to see how I was doing, and she was relieved that I had gotten my voice back, although a little dismayed that the only way I can eat is to wait for the Vicodin to kick in. She laughed a little and said, "you know, when you were in here on Wednesday, it looked so bad that the doctor and I were afraid you were going to end up in the hospital!"
Ha, ha ........ ha? Sorry, I'm still a little ways away from being able to laugh about the fact that my throat swelled to the point that it was almost totally shut before the steroids stepped up to the plate, but then again ....... excellent blog fodder, no? Hey, SOMETHING good's gotta come out of this whole thing, right?
So! I pick up another Vicodin prescription tonight, and hopefully get some hanging baskets done this weekend. And some weeding. And maybe a get a little sunshine in the backyard - it just feels good to be somewhat recovered. And hopefully this will be the end of this grisly little story.
I was talking to my sister Texas last night, and I was wondering what on earth people did when they got sick back in the 1800s, back before antibiotics and steroids and all that good stuff. And she said, simply, "They died."
Point taken, sis. Point taken.
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2 comments:
Yup. Lots of people died of "putrid throat."
When my son was younger, his tonsils used to swell so badly he could rub them together. Now that's a disgusting sound, but he thought it was a great parlor trick.
"Putrid throat"??
Ewwwwwww ...........
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