I’m still sick. This thing is morphing. The headache’s moved on, though the stomach thing is hanging around. But I now seem to have some gross eye infection that glues my eyes together in the morning. My editor has done well to disguise his disgust: ‘Can we help you get a doctor’s appointment?’, read ‘Get the hell out of my office with your pus-ridden peepers.’ Plus my throat feels as if it’s on fire on one side every time I swallow. This bug is nothing if not idiosyncratic.
The upside of all this is that I’m going to the doctor. An American doctor. There’s a part of me that is terrified that they’re going to make me hand over a gold bar on my way in. But mostly I’m excited. Don’t American doctors know everything? Do total body scans at every appointment? See through your body like the Beano’s X-Ray Specs to locate sinister growths? Officially I’m booked in for my stomach upset/headache/earache/eye grossness/inflamed throat (here you need to tell the receptionist what you’re seeing the doc for, or maybe my doctor’s receptionist is just really fricking nosy.) But I’m tempted to wheel out my years-old ailments. Achey foot, useless back, grim-oid psoriasis (scalp, foot, elbow if you’re interested. Oh, you’re not?) And while I’m at it, maybe I could book in to see an all-American dentist before I leave. Though I don’t want to scare them.
Normal blog service will be resumed next week. I’m headed to Charleston this weekend and I’ll be writing about that come Sunday night. No more pus, I promise.