Last night was decidedly not magical.
The doctor’s last phone call to me- around quarter of four, I think it was, which means at least three different parts of me had been rolling around and growling for the seven hours it had been since my initial phone call- went approximately like this:
Her: “So, hello, Caroline? Yes, you do need to go directly to the emergency room to get treated for rabies, and you should also have them give you a tetanus shot. Oh, and you should describe all of your other symptoms because there’s definitely something else going on there. Okay? Okay, great. We’ll go ahead and order the rest of the rabies shots and call you tomorrow. Oh, do you happen to have a picture of the monkey that bit you?”
Me: “What?! Oh. Um, yes, I do. I have a video, actually. Do I need to take that with me?”
Her: “No, you just go ahead and get there right now and bring us that picture tomorrow so we can have it for the CDC’s investigation.”
This was all of a sudden sounding very “Monday night cable line-up 2009”, so I got a little overwhelmed and teary and shuffled dejectedly out to my car.
In the waiting room at Brighton First Care, some nosy little bugger was spying on me so I decided to mess with him in order to distract myself from my woes… which ended up making me feel worse because I was scaring a child. Regardless, while he was “whispering” to his mommy a play-by-play of my every breath, I turned around and asserted myself:
“Hey! You know why I’m in here? A monkey bit me. Yeah, that’s right.”
He quickly crawled under a chair and my intestines and I were left speaking only with each other until I was called back behind the curtain. Weighed. Temped. Blood pressured.
Now, back in Japan, I was sitting in a science class with two other American students, and since we didn’t have materials for the lesson, we were sort of chatting about, I don’t know, breakfast or some other ridiculous banality. And out of nowhere, one kid was like, “You know what I do? Sometimes I weigh myself. And then I go to the bathroom and think- huh- I’m going to weigh myself again.”
At the time, I responded appropriately with snorted laughter and a faux-adult “I’m above that” attitude, but it was all I could think about after my first emergency room emergency, after which I wanted to burst out of the restroom saying “weigh me again! Weigh me again! I’m totally skinnier now!”
It was the last kick I got out of any of the proceedings.
I desperately texted away my last battery line in an effort to ignore the anaphylactic shock and the wailing child and the frantic all-calls happening around me. Nothing like being nervous about your health and having someone almost die not ten feet away.
Overall I spent about five hours in the hospital. Pretty much everything that has ever been in my body was collected and labeled, and I’m not going to go into detail about that because it was terrible and embarrassing and gross. My psychosomatic personality disorder reared its ugly head the first time they grabbed my wrist and tried unsuccessfully to draw blood, and I had a horrifying panic attack that involved hysterically crying and failing to explain why I can’t have people do that.
So now I can’t go back there, like ever.
The nurses then pinned me down and punched shots in both my arms, both my legs, and both of my butt cheeks, after which they explained that I’d have to do that three more times in the next two weeks.
It was not the most excited I’ve been about my trip to southeast Asia.
After a horrifying talk about what might be causing my intestines to violently secede from the union, they sent me on my way with a promise to call in 48 hours. With a diagnosis for my symptoms, which are thankfully outside of the rabies because once you show symptoms of rabies, the shots don’t work and you’re dead in a week. Dodged a bullet there, y’all.
Hopefully, the doc will also provide me with a non-disgusting treatment. Meantime, I’ll just be sittin’ here, drinkin’ Ginger Ale and not eating solid foods.
Sooo… anybody know any jokes?