Digging for Treasure.

I get sick again!

"Remember how often I got sick my first year as a doctor?" the DNB asks.

"A lot," I reply.  "I wonder whether you've just built up better immunity to hospital germs."

And then he says this: "I think it's because I started using foaming hand sanitizer before I pick my nose."

"Ok, what?"

"They don't teach you that in medical school," he says, a touch indignantly. 

"Um, yeah, because they teach you to quit jamming your finger up your nose in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL."

The DNB's Illness Progression (TM)

I think I have the flu.

That's why it's an excellent day to dedicate to discuss the stages of sickness the DNB manifests. Whenever I feel like I'm whining a little too much, or feeling a little too sorry for my sick-ass self, I just think of the DNB and remember that OH MY GOD HE IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I AM.

The DNB's Illness Progression (TM)

Stage 1
The DNB thinks he might be getting a little sick. There are no physical manifestations at this stage, so he needs a way to justify his suspicions. So he takes his temperature obsessively, hoping for a low-grade fever. Usually by the 23rd try, he's worked himself up so much the thermometer will register somewhere in the neighborhood of a 99.8. Triumphant, he waves the thermometer in the face of everyone nearby.

Stage 2
Exhausted by the thermometer antics, and feeling justified, the DNB begins whining. "I don't feel well," he'll moan from the couch. "Can you get me a magazine and my slippers? Baby? BABY?! Can you hear me??? Are you ignoring me?? I NEED MY SLIPPERS!!"

Stage 3
The DNB's throat begins to get a little sore, and he thinks probably his head hurts too. This development amps up the whining considerably, since now he has something specific to whine about. He begins taking an arsenal of medicines, many of which he disparages in his normal, healthy life for lack of "clinical evidence."

Stage 4
The sore throat resolves, and now the DNB is left with an obnoxious, hacking cough. This cough will last for approximately 2 weeks, during which time the DNB will be made to sleep on the couch 4-5 times, and will consume 86 cough drops. His morning head-clearing ritual will make me want to punch him in the face approximately 3 times.

Stage 5
The DNB is now, technically, completely recovered. He will still mope around the house for a few more days, for good measure. It is this Stage at which I will begin feeling ill. The DNB, with a wave of his hand, will advise me to take some Tylenol, and will ask what I'm making for dinner.

Pluck My Eyes Out, Also You May Have Noticed I Can Code Strikethroughs Now

Many of you know that I'm not much of a whiner; when things go badly I keep a stiff upper lip and deal with them like the strong, independent woman I am.

In related news, comments on this post will be closed.

So for the past two weeks, I've had what can only be described as the Headache From Hell (hereinafter, HFH). It has been severe and constant. My brother once expressed pain by wailing, "Cut my head off! Pluck my eyes out!" At the time, my family was all, how cute, he's so dramatic. Now those phrases pretty much sum up my existence.

Although the DNB is a doctor, he didn't offer me any narcotics is totally unhelpful has been lovingly clueless. Especially when I started feeling nauseous last week, and then having bouts of vertigo and vomiting over the weekend. His best suggestion was that I take a pregnancy test. And by "best," I mean "only." Not "winner of an idea."

"THIS HAD BETTER NOT BE WHAT PREGNANCY IS LIKE," I yell from the bathroom.

I stare at the stick. It provides a helpful guide: two lines for pregnant, one line for not. Nothing happens. I wait the proscribed 3 minutes. Still nothing.

"There aren't any lines!" I holler. "Am I a dude?"

After that failed doctor-recommended effort, I turn to my most trusted source for medical information: Google. I run a search of my symptoms and take careful notes on the results.

"I have to go take my temperature," I explain to the DNB. "Because I might have dengue fever."

"Yes. Dengue fever is definitely the most likely cause," he replies.

"Whatever, you thought I was pregnant. You no longer get input."

My temperature is shockingly low.

"Is dengue like a reverse fever?" I ask the DNB, forgetting about the no-input thing. "Like a super low fever?"

"No. It's like a super high fever."

"Okay, so maybe that's not it." I continue my internet search.

Below is a non-exhaustive list of what I probably have:

• toxic marine poisoning (I don't really eat fish, but those little bastards are tricky, so you never know)
• brain tumor
• stroke
• tension headache, described in the following way by the Mayo Clinic, which was clearly channeling my brother, "in its most extensive form, the pain feels like a hooded cape that drapes down over the shoulders"
• dengue fever
• hypermastication - chewing too much? (I'm going to try to eat without chewing today, and see if it helps)
• meningitis (possible, although one of its symptoms is problems tolerating loud noises, and I haven't noticed that other than as it relates to the DNB's voice)

"I'd go with the toxic marine poisoning," the DNB comments, looking at the list.

"Yeah, that or the hooded cape one."