I don't know if this ever happens to you, but it is often immediately after a stressful period in my life that I get sick. I tend to be able to keep myself together through finals or a play or whatever else might come up, but the moment I have an opportunity to rest and relax all of that calm and collected feeling goes straight to hell and there I am, sick as a dog and steadily working my way through my parent's soup supplies as I burrow into blankets on the couch and blearily watch MGM musicals of the 40's and 50's. As one does. However, considering that the past several weeks have included a whole new level of stress for me, what with the graduation and what have you, it is not really surprising that the valley after such a peak would be especially low. And indeed it is. I think I have strep throat.
Now, this in and of itself would be bad enough, because, you know, strep throat isn't exactly the joyride of illnesses. However, to add insult to injury, the truth is, I'm not actually certain exactly what is wrong with me, because I can't get a hold of my doctor. Let me preface this by saying that I have nothing but the highest respect for the medical profession. My friend Jenny is going to be a doctor, and she is going to be the best doctor ever. My friend Lisa's father is a doctor, wonderful man, lovely human being. There are many fabulous doctors out there, I believe that, I watch Grey's Anatomy and House and everything, and I recognize that this is a very difficult job that requires a huge amount of sacrifice. I even love my own doctor, I really do. DOCTORS aren't the problem here. It's the practice of medicine itself that drives me crazy.
In the space of the last 24 hours I have called my doctor's office four times and spoken to an actual human being once. I have left four messages and only one has led to an actual conversation with my doctor. I might have strep, I might have a cold, hell, I might have swine flu, who can say, really? All I know is, as much as I respect my general practitioner, every single person around her needs to learn how to relay a message. While I wait for the hospital to get it together and enjoy a life lived in flannel pants, my temperature continues to rise and even my parent's new kittens want nothing to do with me. As vacations go, this one is already shaping up to be a winner. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go stare at my phone and try to will it into ringing.
Leah Franqui is a fairly interesting person/director/writer/reader/eater/drinker. She likes ugly dogs and dislikes her hair in the morning. She's a sucker for environmental causes and plays hardball with deals on chewing gum. She is a struggle.