I’ve been a bit poorly this week. I had what I thought was a migraine so I took some tablets and went to bed. But the next day it hadn’t shifted. My head hurt, my jaw hurt. Vomiting. More tablets. The next day I had to call the GP to cancel an appointment my daughter now couldn’t make. I still felt pretty dreadful so I asked, seeing as we had the appointment already, could I swap with my daughter and take her slot? They allowed it and I went to see Dr S.
Now there is no getting away from the fact that Dr S is a dish. This always happens to me. There was the time I dislodged my pelvis when I was pregnant and had to strip off for the hot 24 year old osteopath from New Zealand. There was the smear test with the doctor that looked like Jaime Lannister from Game of Thrones (KILL ME NOW). And not forgetting when I was struck down with tonsillitis in Paris and was attended to by a doctor that looked like a French movie star. My husband still does impressions of him (there’s a lot of Gallic shrugging involved). Even our dentist is handsome. Think Idris Elba but Swedish. Honestly. It’s just absurd.
The last thing you want when you’re looking and feeling your worst is being confronted with Dr Gorgeous. I’m a big believer in medical professionals being ugly. Preferably with a hump and a wart on the end of their nose.
I don’t just get the gorgeous doctors. I am convinced that my husband gets better looking when I’m ill. When I’m unwell he swoops in like a knight in shining armour to look after me. Nothing is too much trouble. And the sicker I am the more handsome he appears. I remember being in hospital, having just had our daughter and I’d been ill all morning (this was nothing new, turns out I’m not great at being pregnant) and I kept saying “Don’t you think my husband is handsome? Isn’t he just gorgeous?”. The nurse just smiled “Yes, he’s very handsome” she said as she injected me with more morphine.
Anyway back to Dr S. I thought I just had a virus but that I should probably get my ears checked in case it was actually an ear infection. I’d ruled out tonsillitis seeing as I had my tonsils out 8 years ago (after my episode with Dr Magnifique). Dr S said he wanted me to have blood tests immediately. He was erring on the side of caution but it could be something quite serious. The blood would be rushed through as urgent and if it came back positive I’d need to start a course of steroids straight away. Oh! I wasn’t expecting that.
Anyway, the results were inconclusive. Raised levels but not high enough to warrant starting the drugs. So it’s most likely just a nasty bug. And although I’m still washed out, I feel much better than I did. If anything changes I have to obediently trot back to Dr S which is fair enough.
Having not eaten for a few days I suddenly got my appetite back with a vengeance. My husband ran out and came back with a Stromboli. I’d describe a Stromboli as the lovechild of a Philly cheese steak and a pizza. Steak, onion and cheese wrapped up in pizza dough with a pot of marinara sauce on the side for dipping. It’s all kinds of gooey cheesy deliciousness. “We’re supposed to be on a diet!” I wailed. But he reckons the days of not eating balances it all out. Who am I to argue? He’s bloody gorgeous.