If you’re over the age of oh, 15, and you had your tonsils removed as part of some childhood procedure or fishing accident – please take a moment to rejoice right now. Although I managed to see the inside of an emergency room more than the average adolescent, tonsil yanking was never on the menu. As a result, this whacking great hanging heap of useless flesh, which I have named “Kevin Federline”, becomes an autumn haven to streptococcus bacteria about once every three years and I am right in the middle of such a party.
The difference between strep throat and a more run of the mill sore throat are symptoms including: red and white patches in the throat, tender or swollen glands (lymph nodes) in the neck, lower stomach pain, fever, general discomfort, uneasiness, or ill feeling, loss of appetite and nausea, rash. All a big affirmative in this current situation. Unless I’m mistaken, and this is just a bad case of the garden variety, I’ll have to go to the ER in Smiths Falls until some kind doctory soul gives me penicillin. But I’m actually pleased to have a mission, even if the ride is going to be uncomfortable (did I mention the full body buzz?) because I have been bedridden for 2 days and the novelty has definitely worn off at this point as Heather Hunter isn’t in here with me.
I get out for one little Halloween party and now I’m bloody quarantined with strep. It’s tough to have fun in the sticks I guess. I’ve gone from worrying about the stray bullets, crazy cabbies and Sox parade mob tramplings of the inner city to things like dysentery and deer ticks and making out with the skinny chick in front of the Smiths Falls methadone clinic. Oh Mr. strep, will you please stop haunting me so!