No, don’t really.
I’m just being dramatic, as usual. And this post is medical, and I’m in a hurry so that was the best I could do for a title.
But since I’m being basically forced to write a blog post, thanks to Beth and Karen who are demanding new material (which is very flattering, actually), I thought I’d stop censoring myself and just sit down and do it. For some reason my real life, however boring, can sometimes be funny. Or so I’m told.
Like my medical woes. I am just so over everything medical and I completely flaked out and kept canceling my regular doctor’s visits for a few months. Fast forward to this week, when I saw a pre-scheduled checkup on my calendar. I seriously made every excuse I could think of to skip it, the number one excuse being that I might catch the flu in the waiting room.
And when I say that I worried about getting the flu, I need to clarify: I was flat-out paranoid about it. I messaged friends asking for their opinion. Like, “hey, can you help me justify canceling this appointment for the third time this year because I’m afraid I’ll catch the flu?” No one really went for it. Thanks friends.
So then I spent the entire morning imagining all the flu germs I would encounter in the waiting room and how they would invade my system and put me on my deathbed and ruin my workflow and cause me to miss deadlines and also royally screw with my 3-day weekend. And then I started plotting how I would use hand-sanitizer every 5 seconds, and wear one of those masks that people with compromised immune systems wear.
As it turned out, it didn’t matter.
Because right before my dreaded foray into the land of flu virus, I had scheduled a home tour for an article I’m writing for Kentucky Homes and Gardens magazine. So I meet this nice lady at her house, and she’s telling me all about her gorgeous, expensive furnishings and how hard it was to choose paint colors with her personal decorator, etc. I’m pretending to be really into it all, of course, and I must have been pretty convincing because by the end we were BFFs, laughing together about dinner parties over her custom marble countertops. Oh sigh.
But then she dropped the bomb. “Don’t mind the laundry. My husband’s been on his death-bed with the flu for the last four days.” I had to force myself not to grab a bottle of bleach from under her sink and RUN out of her house screaming while pouring it over my head.
Yes, it seems it wouldn’t have mattered if I had licked the floor of the doctor’s office waiting room. Because unknowingly, I was exposed to the flu in every single room of this woman’s house, as I touched every doorknob, every countertop and every bathroom fixture during the tour. Thanks for that, new BFF.
So somebody call 911, or at least a shrink because I am definitely having a panic attack now.