I finally gave in and saw a doctor. A couple of deep breaths later and the doctor thought he heard something in my lungs, pneumonia. Oh, joy. He sent me for a couple of chest x-rays to confirm.
For some reason the x-ray technician had me change my shirt for a couple of hospital gowns, one to tie in front and one to tie in the back. Either cotton acts as an x-ray amplifier or else they have had a rash of people wearing lead-lined clothing. For the record, my shirt was not made in China.
My lungs are so big and so strong they had to take an extra set of photos. (Like Superman I can freeze a margarita with just my breath.) After the x-rays were over and I waited to see if more were needed, I asked the technician, “Still two, right?”
Hard to believe she never heard that one before.
I’ve learned over the years not to have the doctor call in the prescription. At some Walgreens at an undisclosed location there is a prescription for high blood pressure medication with my name on it. No, I never had high blood pressure.
However, Walgreens will not let you call in your own prescription, which is completely stupid. I either have a prescription from the doctor, in which case they’ll get their copy when I pick the prescription up, or I don’t have a prescription, in which case I will not have the proper paperwork to pick up the medicine.
Option C is I could find the appropriate Mexican grocery store and not worry about having a prescription to buy antibiotics and cough syrup with codeine. Dealing with the whole prescription rigamarole at times like this makes me almost ready to join the Libertarians in line for free pot, except my lungs hurt too much. Coughing up a giant ball of phlegm would really harsh my mellow.
Update! Scott Feldstein's pneumonia continues, making me wonder if I should organize a Waukesha blogger field trip to Lourdes.
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