Skip to main content

Well, am I or not?

Finally went to the doc this morning. Feeling much better but cough is still present and in danger of waking up the neighbours at night, such is its volume, so thought I had better submit to some kind of meds so I can be free of it. A pesky thing, carrying a cough around with you 24/7. Plus people look at you in a strange way (no manners, some folks) which makes me come over all leper-like.

So off I trotted to the clinic. Doc did the usual prodding and waving around of stethescope then announced that I needed to be tested for H1N1. But, I spluttered, I don't have a temperature and I'm almost better, it's just the pesky cough I need you to sort out. No, he pronounced, you have all the symptoms of H1N1 and a temperature is not always present. Oh, I said, deflated, then meekly allowed myself to be taken off for blood extraction and the rather over-vigorous (in my opinion) probing of my left nostril with a q-tip.

This was three hours ago and I still haven't been told if I am swine-ridden or not. The clinic number is constantly engaged all of a sudden and I'm feeling even crosser than I usually do (Alpha will tell you this is no mean feat).

The cynic in me says that it's a bit of a cash-cow (or should that be cash-pig? ha ha), this H1N1 testing thing, since docs can now be justified in charging anyone with a sniffle a whopping AED350 to have their nostrils violated and their arms used as a pin-cushion. Still, I'm pretty keen to know for sure...especially as the Small(er) One is asthmatic. Call, you b*ggers, call!

Comments

sweetpeabart said…
Oh! Good luck and keep us posted on the results. Feel better soon!
Jane said…
Get better soon! Really hope you don't have H1N1. My neighbour had it and was really sick.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...