Cough!

I don't do sick. I don't know anyone that does really, but SERIOUSLY!! I have the most irritating tickle in my throat that makes me want to cough...ALL. THE. TIME and no amount of coughing actually scratches the cough. In fact it just irritates it more so I cough and splutter and act rather lady like.
I am close to overdosing on cough mixture.

I don't feel sick though. That makes no sense at all, I know... It's just the tickle and cough and phlegm. Yummy.



I thought some retail therapy would work. Apparently not, but now I have 2 pairs of really HOT shoes.
Here they are...







I'm going for dinner tonight with a mate that used to work with me and I'm looking forward to the catch up. No red wine for me tonight, although it would make for an interesting evening on my cocktail of cold medicine.

So...I started writing this yesterday afternoon and never actually posted it...

I have woken up this morning, not feeling terrible, but feeling as if someone has punched my chest hard. I am going to the doctor because this cough is getting worse and I can feel it in my chest now. I'm going to the doctor today at 11am. Apparently my doctor is away so I have a substitute male doctor. I hope he is a McDreamy or McSteamy. What are the chances right? I am yet to find a hot doctor. Well, no, that's not true. I do know one and he is a very good friend of mine, so it doesn't count. I think it should be part of the "So-you-wanna-be-a-doctor" requirements you know, like: Must be good looking.
I wouldn't have a problem then when they say: "Miss Blogshell, please get undressed." or "Miss Blogshell let me check your pulse.... wow, it seems to be racing. I think I'm going to have to check on you personally and make a house call to you later."
Um. OK!
Reality will most likely set in as soon as I walk in and he'll be dweeby with ice cold hands.

Dinner last night was fantastic... 4 Indian gals and myself caught up on all the gossip and it was only when the food arrived that I felt like a typical Westerner. My Indian friends all ate curries and I had a good ol' fillet of steak with mushroom sauce.

Right, let me go get ready... I need to make sure I make "sick" look good. Just in case.

Sorry for TMI, but hey...whatever.

What a couple of days I've had. Goodness. I was nearly arrested yesterday and today I have spent a good few hours in the doctors room, to sort out the wonderful sensation that feels like I'm pissing a combination of rusty razor blades and shattered glass.

Let me start with yesterday. After a fairly chilled out weekend, I was driving to meet up with Twin for breakfast when I drove smack bang into a road block. Ok, I didn't literally drive into it, but you know what I mean.
Now, I still have not got my drivers license or ID book since it was stolen in my Smash and Grab. Not for the lack of trying, let me tell you, but please don't get me started on Home Affairs or the Traffic Departments.
So, there is little Blogshell driving on her merry way looking forward to a Sunday brunch of poached eggs, bacon and coffee.
Ha!
I suddenly saw the traffic and thought there was an accident up ahead but the blue flashing lights turned into a road block and I honestly shat myself. I tried the postive thoughts like:
Please don't stop me.
They're not going to stop me.
I'm going to sail straight through with a smile and a wave.
Don't stop me.
PLEASE don't stop me.
Oh My God, what if they stop me?
They won't stop me.
This went on and on and I pleaded with the universe even more desperately, the closer I edged to the front.
The Metro cop waved me on and I nearly blew kisses when I realised that he was actually waving at me to pull over. My heart sank.
My license disc has also not been attached to my window purely because I don't have a sticker-thingy so the piece of paper sits on my passenger seat.
I'm already making excuses for this ; already on a losing streak. The conversation went like this...word for word, this will be forever tattooed into my mind.
"Can I have your license please?"
"Yes, um, about that...well..um...I was smash and grabbed and it was stolen."
"Ah madam. You are not serrrious! Ah madam, but now? Show me your ID book."
"Well, that was stolen too. I can show you my passport, it's the only form of identification I have. It's in the boot of my car. I don't leave my bag lying around here anymore."
I step out, get my bag, hand him my passport.
"Ah, but now? Where is your Affidavit to prove you have a case number and that your license was stolen?"
"Huh? I wasn't given one. Didn't even think of that to be completely honest."
"Ah, you are lying! You lie to me this day!"
"I promise you right now I was smash and grabbed and I do have a valid drivers license. I got it when I was 19. I've had it for 6 years now."
"Madam, you cannot prove this! Please step out of your vehicle!"
"Why? Um..." I get out and he calls the female Metro officer over in his African language.
The woman told me she was going to search me. I couldn't believe it! My voice started to wobble and I wanted to know why.
"We have to arrest you." The male officer said.
"WHAT?? Oh. My. God! You can't arrest me! I can't have a criminal record. I'm a victim of crime! I can't be arrested!"
"We have no way of proving you own a license."
"Wait, wait...you can phone the Douglasdale police station and get my case number. You'll see I'm not lying - it's all stated there!"
He took his handcuffs off his waist belt and I saw my future flash before my eyes. Poof went my clothes; instead ugly prison outfits flashed across my eyeballs. Poof went my 2.4 children (or whatever the stat is), handsome husband, golden retriever and home in a gated community; instead I wondered if my overweight hairy sweaty prison cellmate would want to spoon at night in a teeny tiny dark and damp cell.
Eventually I managed to tell them I would personally drive over (with them if they wanted) and get the case number and Affidavit.
They agreed I could go (on my own) to the police station as long as I came back. To ensure I did they took my registration number, ID number and all the good things they needed. I was almost waiting for them to take blood; a urine sample and eyeball scan, they were so thorough!
I shat myself.
I went to the police station, got the bloody piece of paper and case number and drove back. They took my name off the system so that I wouldn't be arrested.
I wept. In the safety and "privacy" of my car of course.
I need to get my drivers license immediately!

This morning I woke up and felt like I had the mother of all pee's on board. I was absolutely bursting. Sorry for TMI, but hey...whatever.
I went to the loo, as you do, when you feel the desperate call of nature screaming at you. No gush....just a small trickle. A small but excruciating trickle. Oh. Fuck.
Bladder Infection. How? No idea.
The whole morning I kept feeling as if I was desperate to wee and dreaded going for that burning trickle to bring on a bead of cold sweat on my forehead, goosebumps and a clenched face.
I sat in the doctors rooms waiting to see the doc while I had spluttering kids with runny noses and coughs that could rival Great Danes around me.
Breathing on me.
I sat, clenched legs, wishing the doctor would hurry the fuck up. Finally I got to hop up for a urine sample and to lie on my doctors bed for her to prod and poke my kidneys and tummy.
She gave me a 2 page script (I have so many pills to take, that if you shake me;I'll rattle) and told me that one of the pills would give me instant relief.
Yes, yes, yes!!!!!!!!!
I wanted to kill. Perhaps I would have been arrested. Thank goodness we can't be arrested for our thoughts.
The queue at the Pharmacy was ridiculous and the pharmacists took their sweet time!
I needed to pee/trickle sooo badly and now I couldn't. It was making me break out in a new sweat.
I finally got through to the front and waited for the stupid pharmacist to s-l-o-w-l-y decipher my doctors handwriting...OK, well maybe she's not stupid if she can decode that and well, yes, she is a pharmacist...but seriously lady, I. am. in. pain. Hurry. up. before. I. force. feed. you. lethal. doses. of. pills.
She took 15 minutes to fill my script. No exaggeration. I watched the clock behind her head purely because if I looked directly at her I may have turned her into ashes.

I feel much better now...I'm much calmer and there's no urge to pee every 5 seconds and the passing rusty razor blades/shattered glass sensation seems to have died down too.

Note to self: Blogshell, don't have natural child birth. You will never survive the pain.

I'm NOT dying!

Well, well, well. A nurses head rolled this morning. I have to admit, I'm not boasting this fact, I'm really not and I actually feel rather terrible but at the same time, she made her bed and has to lie in it....I just don't feel fab knowing that I was the one to put the final nail in her career coffin.

Let me explain. I called for my results yesterday. Dr. Smit had left but a nurse gave me my results. The results of doom and panic. I had a very restless night last night from all the stress.
Dr. Smit gave me a call this morning and gave me my results. Completely different results.
My iron level is NOT devastatingly low. It's low but not low enough for an iron drip. My liver is fine but I'm basically fighting a serious infection and my body has been fighting it for a while ( a few months -lovely) and is getting tired hence the migraines, vomitting, dizziness plus other symptoms I don't feel like sharing...that TMI story again, you see!
Dr. S has put me on antibiotics for a general infection but they're doing more tests to see where the infection is coming from.
I'm not dying, my organs are not failing and I'm actually alright. I'm sick and I'm not out the clear because we have to actually find out what's causing this infection/where it's started, but I'm alright!
Hip Hip Hooooray!!!
Turns out the nurse was not allowed to give me my results as they wouldn't be relevant without the interpretation from the consultation. She was giving a text book version without knowing the history, the symptoms or anything about me and why the tests were being done in the first place so they were wrong. Problem is I'm not the first and after several warnings and notice she received the boot! HECTIC!

I am taking so many tablets I feel like I could hire myself out for baby parties: Shake me and I rattle!
Awesome career opportunity right?
BUT. I have a complaint. If I am taking so many drugs I feel cheated. No awesome feeling, no floaty airy feelings, all stuff I would imagine one gets from being drugged up. I've been cheated. Unless, this is what being "high" is in which case: What's the big deal?

Going for catch up coffee with Blondie 2 tonight...can't wait! x