march 26. 2000
I think I finally figured out what's wrong with me. After consulting many different websites this evening (the Oscars didn't hold my interest past Billy Crystal's usually hilarious introduction), and reading all the symptoms, I think I am fairly sure of what I have.
Oddly enough, when I was six, I had my adenoids removed, but not my tonsils. As I understand, they're usually both taken out during the same operation. Go fig.
Fever? check. General malaise? oh hell yeah. Difficulty swallowing? uh huh. Inner Ear Pain? yep. I looked in the back of my throat with a flashlight (I knew it would come in handy eventually, Mom). You know that little hangy ball in the back your throat? My tonsils are so swollen I can't even see it. You can all thank your lucky stars that I don't have a digital camera at this moment, because this entry would have been graced by a picture of the back of my throat. Delightful, yes?
I took a nap after I got home from work yesterday. Woke up feeling like I was going to die. After about two hours, around 9 o'clock, I started to feel better. Kewl. I woke up this morning, felt okay. It got progressively worse as the day went on, which was complicated by my parents visiting. I don't know how it went, don't ask. I do remember it ended with me bursting into tears as I said goodbye to them. I don't know why, either.
Of all the stupid times to get sick. I have a ton of work that I haven't done because the slightest exertion takes a lot out of me. I had to sit down for twenty minutes after hauling my laundry two floors up to my room. And it's just starting to get crazy. I only have about a month of classes left. Fuck.
I worry about having to get my tonsils removed surgically. I haven't had an operation since I was six (aforementioned adenoid removal...unless you count wisdom teeth in 10th grade), and the idea of it does not appeal to me. At all. Minor surgury, I know. Entering any kind of medical establishment, whether I am a patient in it or not, scares the living fuck out of me.
I hurt. I want a backrub. Takers, anyone?
all writings, (c) 1999-2000, BRR