Smells Like Strep pt. 1

I first noticed my sore throat on election day. The celebratory drinks burned a bit more than usual going down. All the screaming and cheering probably didn’t help, either. What the hell, I figured, I don’t give a shit about my voice. Obama won! Whoooo!!!

I met Chris at Dunn Brothers the next day for our triweekly coffee date. Each bite of my italian sub caused a grimace as I swallowed. I wondered if he noticed. Working at the Tea Garden that night, I began to drink Fellini’s Folly, a tea that is supposed to help cure sore throats. I must admit that it was soothing.

I started to drink lots of OJ and get more sleep than usual, hoping I could will the sickness away.

On Thursday I decided to visit Health Services, now located in the brand new Leonard Athletics Center. I walked in, swiped my card at reception, but had second thoughts as I walked past the weight room. It’s just a sore throat, I told myself, nothing to get upset about. I abandoned my plans to see a nurse and bought a mango smoothie at the juice bar, instead.

Chris and I met that night to make pizza. The buffalo chicken creation was our best effort to date, delicious, but tempered by the fact that each bite felt like swallowing a handful of gravel.

Friday afternoon I went to Health Services for real. Told the receptionist my throat had been bothering me for a few days and that I wanted to see a nurse to ensure that it wasn’t anything worse than a simple sore throat. She asked me a couple simple questions. Did I have a fever? I don’t own a thermometer. Did I have white spots on the back of my throat? I don’t know, I was kind of hoping that’s what a nurse could tell me. Apparently I couldn’t see a nurse. The nurse gave me a plastic baggy filled with ibuprofen, lozenges and table salt. She told me to come back Monday if I wasn’t feeling better. I left with the utter feeling of being swept out the door.

I planned on going to Non-Fiction that afternoon. I walked out the door, but about fifty feet down the sidewalk I decided I was making a big mistake, so I turned around, went back inside and crawled into bed, sleeping right up until my shift at the Tea Garden was to begin. Rested and with ibuprofen running through my system, I began to feel a little better. Maybe the worst was over. I drank a lot more Fellini’s Folly that night. I kind of felt like I was losing my voice at some points. Tiarr ordered cheese fries from the Italian Pie Shoppe. I gulped a few down as best I could.

Travis and Will were hanging out when I got home. I was hungry again. Travis and prepared some tacos, though we only had two tortillas and no corn chips, so really we ate piles of ground beef topped with pepperjack cheese sitting on top of a single flour tortilla, doused with plenty of Frank’s Hot Sauce. And it was good. I fell asleep as we watched Adaptation, my energy was sapped.

I slept fitfully that night, unsure whether I was sleeping or awake, trapped in a fever dream that I was working for the Obama campaign and was tasked with solving problem after problem that confronted our local field office. It was nerve wracking.

Unbelievably, I woke up feeling refreshed. After a quick shower I hopped on the bus to the Rosedale Mall where I wanted to buy a couple of pairs of jeans before going into work that afternoon. I found two nice pairs of Levis on sale, paid, then stopped by Potbelly for lunch before taking the bus back. I think the chicken salad sub with hot peppers I ordered was good, but the toasted bread so irritated my throat that I couldn’t tell you for sure. I really should have ordered a shake with that meal.

I felt wiped by the bus ride back, dozing off with my head leaning against the window.

Work that evening was miserable. I could feel my voice fluctuating in and out. All the tea in the world couldn’t sooth my throat. I rushed out the door so quickly after getting off at 7pm that I left my iPod plugged into the cafe’s stereo system.

Stephen and Will were making sloppy joes for dinner when I got home. I had eaten a painful day-old sandwich before leaving the Tea Garden, but I was still hungry, so I had one for myself. It was excruciating. I should have learned my lesson about toasted buns earlier in the day. It wasn’t masochism, I just really wanted a sloppy joe. The three of us bundled up and biked through the bitter cold to Dupre where Meg was performing in a one-act play. The show was just about the start, and the only seats left were in the very front row. We took our places and the show began shortly.

The play was intense, about four men living in a group home for the mentally handicapped. Much of it took place about a foot in front of us. I felt awful, but I couldn’t help my self from dozing off briefly once or twice. Meg had two roles, and was especially great as a golf novice who unwittingly signed up for a lesson with a schizophrenic man who believed he was a gold pro. Hilarity ensued.

After the play Will and I went back home. Will made plans to go out to a party. I said I was going to stay in and do homework. I went to bed instead. It was only 11pm. I was pooped and I hoped a long night’s sleep would do me good.

It didn’t.