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Here, gathered in our beloved South Dakota, are a few members of our Williamson / Mattson Clan. Charles and Luella are to be blamed (be kind, they didn't know what they were doing). We're generally a happy bunch and somewhat intelligent (notwithstanding our tenous grasp on reality). I'm also proud to say that most of us still have our teeth.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Returning to the Land of the Living.........

Hello Clan,
Let me start by apologizing for not updating the blog for a few days. I know you all wait by your computers with baited breath for the next installment of self confidence and ancestral pride. My excuse is worthy of your empathy. Let me explain.

Today I fought and clawed my way back into the world of the living thanks to modern science. I reference my post from this morning when I broke the news of being struck down in the prime of life with the heartbreak of strep throat.

It was Monday evening. I was laying in bed enjoying my nightly dose of British Comedies, laughing at something Rene said in Allo’ Allo’ when a swallow brought pain. The next morning my throat and the Olympic flame in Vancouver had one thing in common - FLAME! I knew that pain. It was the pain all teachers know - Strep Throat! Most likely passed to me from some small human visitor to the Space Center who sneezed in my face or covered his stations with droplets of mucus swimming with the bacteria.

I called my doctor who was kind enough to squeeze me in for a check up. My temperature was 102.5 degrees.
“There’s a nice pus pocket,” he said in reference to one of my tonsils. I nodded. I didn’t need him to tell me my throat was seething in strep.
“Hows your gag reflex?” he asked.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, mine is 15,” I replied. Meaning I start gagging as the cotton swab passes my front teeth. “I’ll be quick about it then,” he replied.

Out came this elongated swab on a wooden stick nearly long enough to be used as a fireplace match. I closed my eyes thinking that if I didn’t see it entering my mouth I wouldn’t start gagging. It was a good strategy. I was find until the cotton came in contact with the pus pocket.
“Sorry, Sorry, Sorry but I need to be sure to get enough,” he explained in believable sympathy.

He put the swab into the autotester, put in a drop or two of some magical liquid and, as if by magic, a red + appeared in the window. I left with a prescription of some form of penicillin I couldn’t pronounce but was gratefully for nevertheless. I didn’t spare the gasoline as I raced to Smith RX in Pleasant Grove to fill the prescription. I couldn’t get that first pill into my mouth fast enough.

Now, a confession of my stupidity. I had this strange delusion that once that adsuthflwohgjriuieoeillin (or whatever it was) entered my blood stream those little strep bacteria would sound a full scale retreat. I sat in my car waiting for relief. I drove back to the school, worked on a few things, drove home and still nothing. I wondered if Smith’s Drug had pawned a bad batch of the stuff on to me. Either that or my medicine was years past its sell by date.

I woke up Wednesday morning feeling just as bad. Then the worry set in. I just knew, using my imagination as proof, that my doctor had misdiagnosed my infection. Instead of strep, I convinced myself I had that flesh eating staff infection that kills in a day or two. It had taken root in my tonsils and was in conference, planning a break into the main artery that supplied my brain with blood. I could almost hear the oooAhhhh’s from the little marine bacteria as they gathered along the artery wall, waiting for the breech and invasion. Yes, all of this was passing through my mind as I sat at the Kitchen bar struggling to swallow spoonfuls of cottage cheese.

I continued to take my dkgjrufkdlmvnfjejecillin and went to work. All day I waited to hear the faint sound of a bugle as millions those little staffs got the order to “ATTACK”. Strangely enough, around 6:00 P.M. I started feeling a bit better. I was able to eat a semi normal supper of soup and ice cream. At bed time I felt good enough to laugh at Rene in Allo’ Allo’, my 10:30 P.M. nightly stop on Channel 7.

This morning found me feeling somewhat better. The fever is gone but my throat still hurts like the dickens. The good news is that I’m getting a bit better as each day passes.

I want to thank the staff of the Space Center for being kind enough to help me work through this illness. I’ve not taken a sick day in all my 27 years of teaching school. The reason is simple. During my actual teaching years taking a sick day was more painful than coming in not feeling well. You should try planning for a sub. You wouldn’t like it either. And, to be honest, I was always lucky enough not get ill enough to required absolute bed rest.

So, why don’t I take a sick day today? I’m not teaching school any longer. Well, If I take a sick day, then we have to cancel a field trip. Can you imagine calling a teacher and telling her that her field trip was canceled - on the morning of the trip!?
She’s standing there with her kids bouncing off the ceiling in excitement, lunches are delivered from the cafeteria and everything is set to go and suddenly its called off. Where will I put her? Every day on the calendar is booked with field trips. Those two classes would be out for the year! That is something I can’t do.

The solution is to train our younger flight directors to run the daytime field trip missions so I have someone that can fill in for me. Believe me, I’m working on that. That is a story for another post.

Anyway, I’m feeling somewhat better. If our paths should cross within the next day or two please do not step away in horror. I may look like warmed over death but doesn’t that sum up my appearance most days?

Simply,
Victor

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