Attack of the Throat

College is awesome, apart from the whole going to class and doing homework thing. Luckily, I managed to find a way to skip three consecutive weeks of class, turn in no homework, and suffer major consequences in only one of my four classes. The way I discovered is called "contracting tonsilitis and Strep type C."

THE BEGINNING

It all started the week I got back from spring break. I felt a scratchiness in my throat, but I just figured it was from too much hookah or something like that. Not too long after, the scratchiness transformed into a stinging pain. Being away from home, I went to my makeshift mothers' room and complained. While Mario Party was rubbing my head and putting up with my incessant complaints, Nurse Chicken Noodle went to get a thermometer. After discovering that I had a fever of 101.3, I was happy to discover I didn't have to go to class. I still felt as though there was a tampon stuck in my throat (Jake and Amir Reference). While I was lying on their love sack, I distinctly remember telling an absolutely hilarious joke that I can't remember any more. Now that I think about it, I probably just yelled (which was painful) to get their attention and then farted really loudly, and then laughed for a good minute or so.

Anyway, I went to the Health Center the next morning. They tested for Strep (only type A), Mono, and probably HIV. They could clearly see that my tonsils were swollen, so they put me on some antibiotic that was a distant cousin of Penicillin. My mother and my brother are both allergic to Penicillin. My parents came up to get me and I spent the next few days at home.

NOT FUNNY

Not even 24 hours after I started the medication, I developed a pain between my chest and my lungs. Again, I ignored it for a while, assuming it was caused from how I was lying on my bed for the whole day. WRONG. Allergic reaction. I had to complain to my mom at one in the morning because it started to feel as if Hannibal Lecter had tried to get at my heart and gave up halfway through (probably because I don't have one). A trip to Wal-Mart and two Bennies later, I fell asleep, got a new prescription, and got back to the cities in time for the weekend. I felt well enough, so I drank. Don't act like you're surprised; we all know I have no sense of responsibility. Anyway, Monday came, I went to classes, and everything was fine, just like December 6, 1941.

DARK NIGHT

Tuesday was a good day. It was sunny, beautiful, and warm (it was probably in the mid-forties, but it's Minnesota after winter; mid-forties is t-shirt weather). I was about to go to class when I discovered that someone was offering free burgers, so I got those instead. It was around this time that I noticed it felt awkward to swallow. I ignored it because I'm a man, and I insist on toughing it out until it gets scary. We ate the burgers, had a beer, enjoyed the day, and called it a night. Then four A.M. came around.

I woke up because swallowing felt like forcing a handful of thumb tacks down my throat, and, surprise! I had run out of pain killers. I had to suffer through half-sleep until eight so I could get more drugs.

Apart from the intense pain of swallowing, I didn't feel THAT bad, which is why I was mildly surprised when the doctor told me I had a fever of 102.6. They took another throat culture, gave me some Tylenol, some steroids to reduce swelling, a new prescription for an antibiotic (number three), as well as a prescription for Vicodin. As happy as I was to hear Vicodin, I eventually found out that it just gives me a mild headache -- No hallucinations, no dizziness, and I can't even be sure it killed the pain. The fun part about this trip to the doctor was that I had the privilege of utilizing an IV for the first time in my life. Unfortunately, the nurse that tried first had to dig around two separate times for a minute each. I don't know if any of you have had needles stabbing around underneath your skin, but it feels kinda like this:

Ok, it wasn't that painful, but it's definitely not comfortable. Once the IV was in and working, I had some saltine-steroid sandwiches and some Gatorade. Finally, I was starting to feel better and I could return to class and catch up on whatever I missed. But not before finding out that it was Strep type C, which apparently makes normal strep look laughable and asinine.

LOLOLOLOLOL NOT!

Remember how this all started right after spring break? Yeah, well, now it's Easter. I get home after feeling healthy for about five days. My parents take me to our church's Good Friday service (I'm unsure if it's a service or a Mass, but that's just a technicality so who gives a damn (pun)). My throat is hurting again, and I'm about to launch into a fuckin frenzy because of how absolutely absurd this illness is getting. Luckily, we caught it before it tore my throat asunder, and today marks the day I finished my fourth and (hopefully) final prescription for this infection that clings on harder than most women.

Fun Idea: Next time a loved one angers you, call them a filthy insipid little prude/wench/harlot/simpleton/etc. It will show your superiority and make them love you more.


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