Annnnnnndddd: it’s not COVID.
Seriously. Last night I got the news from the Doctor’s Hottie that my ‘Rona test had come back negative. And so much for that.
What I actually have — WE THINK — is a simple, nonspecific upper-respiratory tract infection, so today I start a Zithromax “Z-pak” treatment regimen which as explained to me is like shooting fish with a scattergun in that the drug targets “infections of the lungs, sinus, throat, tonsils, skin, urinary tract, cervix, or genitals.”
If we exclude “skin, urinary tract, cervix, or genitals” for obvious reasons (none of those bits hurt, or I don’t have them), that means that this little pink pill should address my sore throat, congested lungs and full-to-bursting sinuses, and about damn time.
And I’ve had that pennies-in-the-mouth taste over the past three days for nothing.
And I’ve also been feeling shitty for the past week for nothing — without the ever-popular COVID blocking the national consciousness, this would probably have been properly diagnosed on Day 1 had I said to the doctor — as I’d said to New Wife — that I’ve been dealing with this shit for most of my damn life.
Posts have been set up for the weekend (normal fare, btw), so I’ll see y’all on Monday.
Goddamn and fuck.
Closeup view of my throat, this morning: