Sanity's Blogtober TIP parade: 10/13 To go or NOT to go?

Last month I had a really sore throat for almost a week...now I am NOT a baby when it comes to pain! Remember, I am the one who had the 11 lb baby! But, I was actually spitting in the sink instead of swallowing b/c it hurt so bad that my entire body would flinch.

Just about the time I was ready to go to the doctors it went away. Then, I got a pretty bad cough...lasted a week then when I had peed myself one too many times from the strenuous hacking, I was ready to call the doctor. Then it went way.

This went on for a month. A WHOLE MONTH! My mom was calling every day to see if I had gone to get some meds but it was a strange pattern of events...just when I thought I had had enough, the symptoms would go away. I would feel REALLY good for a day and then BLAM! I would come down with some other symptom.

So, after not seeing my brand new baby niece for 4 weeks, I broke down and went to the doctors. He heard my plea for meds, jotted down some stuff I said, listened to my chest and said, "WHY on EARTH did you wait a month to come in?"

I had no answer. Like a 10 year old being asked why she has toilet paper in her training bra, I said, " I dunno."

"Well, Michelle, you have PNEUMONIA!"

Nice.

So, I grabbed the Z-pack and the Advair disc (that is disgusting, btw!) and I was as good as new in about a week.

So, this weekend I came down with that same spit-in-the-sink sore throat. Was up by 5am drinking tea and doing shots of honey all the while downing 1/2 a bottle of Advil to kill the pain.

I call my doctor and tell the nurse that I am being proactive and I want to come right in so I can get on some meds and NOT be sick for another month! Of course they can't see me right away and I have to wait a day.

So, today I head in with my responsible big girl panties on. Call my mom from the parking lot and tell her what I am doing! "Yes. No, I am NOT kidding! I am standing in the parking lot! I swear! I will text you a picture!"

I tell the nurse that I was playing it safe and not letting my I-don't-need-a-doctor-I'm-a-mom pride get in the way. I was there for medicine so I could get back on track!

Dr. Lou came in and I sat up straight, took some deep breaths, fished for the pat on the back deserved for coming right in and not waiting.....

He sits back down and chuckles.

"Your throat is barely red."

"WHAT?!"

"I hear NOTHING in your lungs."

"WHAT?!"

"You just have a cold."

With my tail between my legs, I walk out to the nurse's station to turn in my diagnostic paper (after writing SCARLET FEVER and WHOOPING COUGH across it with the red crayon from my purse) and then head to my car.

What a waste of my time.

Today I NEED THE TIP...cuz apparently, I got nothin' out of this lesson!

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOU REALLY SHOULD GO TO THE DOCTOR AND WHEN IT'S JUST A COLD? I had the SAME FREAKING symptoms both times!!

Leave your comment/tip along with your blog link. Go back and blog an anecdote or tip for your readers and leave a link to me. Invite your readers to play along and enjoy a whole month of MOMMY TIPS!

Peace.

The dreaded paper gown...

So, I am mole-ly...you know...I have moles. Lots of moles. Not the wart-y, hang off your skin kind...ewwww...more like the freckl-y, flat kind but still, I have a ton! One of my old boyfriends used to call me his chocolate chip girlfriend. So, once every so often a year I head to the dermatologist to have them all scoped out. It's an in and out thing. But it is H.U.M.I.L.I.A.T.I.N.G! The humiliation has nothing to do with the moles, I am comfortable with my little brown friends, they keep my occupied when I am bored...you know, connect the dots... The humiliation begins with the dreaded paper gown, my mismatched bra and panties (I don't actually OWN a set that matches at the moment) and my goose-pimply skin... because it is apparently a dermatological requirement that the exam rooms be refrigerated. And the humiliation doesn't stop there...oh, no...it gets better... there's a gentle tap at the door warning me to hide my imperfections behind every inch of the blue napkin they call a gown. According to Webster's Dictionary, a "gown" is a loose flowing outer garment... I check, nope not loose and as tightly as I am grasping it's edges it CERTAINLY ain't flowin'! My voice cracks as I chant softly, feeeeel skinny, feeeeel skinny say, "come in." And yesterday, that's when I lost all hope for this being a "comfortable" visit. In walks a stick figure with lungs...I couldn't SEE her lungs, they were apparently FLAT, but it is the only answer to how the top 1/2 of something that skinny could be buoyant enough to stand upright. THIS is the woman that will check my moles? Did I order Dr. Waif? Am I accidentally on the "doesn't compare herself to others" list? Get me off that freaking list!! She introduces herself with a COLD handshake...nice. Cold hands. This is going to be a blast. Then...the dreaded unveiling and violation of my chub. There is nothing...let me spell it for you... N-O-T-H-I-N-G... more disturbing than having to be TOUCHED by someone you wish you LOOKED like...seriously...she had to move parts of me out of the way to get to parts that may have had moles in question. Now, I am not obese by any means but come on...could I lay in a dark room on a table with a super-sonic laser that scopes for irregular edges and darker colors? I'd pay extra. I'd pay HER! Puh-lease!!!!! And as if that wasn't enough humiliation for one day, she asks me to stand. I scoot to the edge of the table holding the top of my napkin gown on my front with my right hand while whisking my left hand around so quickly to cover my bum that I kinda smacked Dr. Waif around a little...accident? Hmmmm, that's a psychological question...maybe I am at the wrong office! She, of course, needs to remove a mole at the small of my back that will be sent away for testing. I should be a little unnerved about the possibility of atypical cells, right? Well, I would be if I wasn't panicking about how I was going to get back up ON the table ON my stomach so she can stick me with Novocaine and dig this spot out of my back all while staying covered by this little blue napkin that I am so annoyed with. Three r-r-r-rips later, I gave up. HERE I AM!!!! Black undies, pink bra and all my moles and rolls looking at you Dr. Waif! Whadda think of that?! Now, DIG Sistah! I need a Starbucks! Now, in hindsight...this skinny minnie could have potentially saved my life by spotting an irregular mole I couldn't have seen with 3 mirrors and a magnifying glass no matter HOW skinny I was. It was in the dead center of my lower back, right above my...ummmm...rhymes with back. So, thank you Dr. Waif, and yes, I will be making an appointment for next year...here, have some cookies...or 10! **If you have any moles or age spots that change in color, size or shape call your local dermatologist, it could be the best call you ever make...now, the visit...not the best...but QUITE worth it!