Three weeks ago this coming Sunday, after threats of bodily harm by my wife, I headed to the local walk in clinic and was promptly diagnosed with bronchitis.
As I'm leaving, the very nice Doctor lady says "If you get to feeling bad again after your medicine runs out, just call and I'll call something in". After feeling no pain for roughly a week after the medicine was gone, I woke up Monday morning feeling like a road grader had ran over my while I slept. Stupid man that I am I tell myself "It'll go away if I don't think about it"; you can see where this is going, right?
At 10:30 this morning while I'm at work laying a layer of manure so deep you needed two sets of hip waders to just walk in it I call, leave a message and receive a call back in about 15 minutes that I had seen a WEEKEND doc and not a WEEKLY doc, and they would need to see me before they could help. I calmly tell this very pleasant young woman that I work all the way across town, IN RETAIL, and it's 2 days before Christmas AND on commission so she promises to ask again.
An hour later? Same exact message; you've got to come in. Look, I get the game; get 'em in, charge 'em the co-pay, make 'em wait JUST long enough that they are beginning to think about tearing up the office, then check them out, write a scrip, and send them home. Today, however, I wasn't having it; I called my ENT, begged his head nurse for some help, and currently have pill one of 20 inside my stomach and on the road to recovery.
I told you that story to tell you this one. While I'm alternating between hacking, chills, and legs that ached like I'd leg pressed 1,000 pounds my first born child, the daughter that I love more than life itself, is at home transforming Trot into the following:
It's not like he didn't have enough issues to deal with already.
And now this.
Surrender the Farmhouse Sink
1 day ago