I’ve spent the week feeling moderately horrid, since I’ve caught/recaught the plague from my husband, who has himself been arguing with it since February or so. My usual action would be to stay home the first day, but since I’m still training in my new, hourly job where calling in sick means you might as well just not come back, I’ve had to drag my ass into a small room with no air circulation and cough all over every one.
The burning pain of my throat-you’d think it was strep, you really would.
Today, convinced by said husband to go to the clinic (I always harass him but rarely take my own advice), I get asked if I’ve been to Mexico on the phone making the appointment. I can’t help but giggle as I tell her no.
“Gotta ask!” she chimes merrily
When I get there all the chairs are empty, and the office quiet. We’re shown right into the office, Vivian dragging some toy behind her. I barely have time to wash my hands when the doctor comes in.
And immediately starts lecturing me on how I should know exactly what my allergy to Penicillin is.
I tell him I really don’t know, and frankly, I’m not too eager to figure it out.
“Ask your mother,” he says, distracted, “She should know.”
I’d love to I tell him, except for her being DEAD.
He doesn’t skip a beat. Tells me to ask my father. I glare at him, wondering if he’s actually serious.
Call where your original doctor’s notes would be. Because it’s really hard to treat someone who is allergic to penicillin.
Which it really isn’t, since no other doctor in the last 20 some years has EVER stated that this is an issue, regardless of the infection. They might say we have less options, but they’ve never made it sound like it’s my fault that I believe I’m allergic to something that could fucking kill me, and that I’m unwilling to confirm this by taking the drug.
I rarely get antibiotics because I don’t want to build up any type of immunity to drugs that I can avoid, and because I don’t like to. I usually go to the doctor only to confirm, and check that nothing very serious is going on. I’m a good patient. Yet in 5 minutes, this man managed to make me feel like I was being irresponsible for not getting my mother to write how I was allergic to penicillin as she was dying.
When the lecture was complete, he donned a mask and took a sample from my throat. Just in case.