My day by Dr. Blues

It went something kinda like this: I woke up and dozed for a bit but got annoyed with the alarm clock and couldn’t get back into my happy snoozing. I phoned my boss, which I loathe doing, to tell her that she wouldn’t be seeing me today or tomorrow and consequently not until Tuesday week as I start annual leave on Friday. She said that I sounded awful. Yeah, thanks honey, I thought I was totally faking. I tried to nap again but was too restless and feverish and getting out of bed was just too much effort so I phoned my mother. She chatted about sundry items and also told me that on my alleged holiday I was to take the cat to the vet. The cat who would not die now seems to have developed behavioural problems and is to go onto Prozac. Yes, I know. I think I dozed for a bit, or maybe I got up, I did get up eventually to go and have some fluid and lie upon the couch. It all got to be a bit much at around 1.30pm so I set my alarm clock and napped. I had to get up as the doctor’s appointment [that apostrophe feels misplaced] I’d barely managed to arrange yesterday was at 4pm. I upped and dressed and showered and contacted the surgery, as is procedure for this establishment, to make sure they were running on time and took myself off to the doctor. I left the doctor with a certificate saying that I’ve been suffering from a medical condition and that I was unfit for work/school for the period 28th June to 29th June inclusive and that I’d informed the doctor that I’d been similarly unfit yesterday, and a prescription for Augmentin Duo. The bits missing here are the actual examination – they do still do those, don’t they? and my knowing what’s wrong with me. I mean, sure, I can self-quack with the best of them but I do wish the doctor had done a bit more checking [and also, if this is how he works that the surgery proscribed addictive drugs which their little sign explicitly says they do not]. By the time he’d finished asking me what I did, for a family history [don’t ask this of a sick person, I couldn’t remember a thing], and for what was wrong he’d already written me a note and a prescription. It wasn’t until I’d received those and signed the Medicare form that he decided to look at my throat [for the record it’s slightly swollen and pussy – but I’ve seen it a whole lot worse and it doesn’t hurt much]. That was the extent of the examination. I think it was me mentioning that I thought something was infected and that there’d been several instances for bloody/mucus-y chunks originating from my respiratory tract that did it… Man, if I’d had to pay for that I’d be so pissed off. Viva free healthcare!