When I asked Nick what he wanted for Father's Day this year I got a very simple and to the point answer. "Cook my favorite meal and give me a toe-curling blow job." Hey, this was something I could do easily, inexpensively, and without leaving home. Awesome! So he got his chicken parmesan and not just a toe-curler, but an entire body wrencher, and was snoring in my ear about 30 seconds later.
The next morning I woke up feeling like my tongue was wearing a fur coat. It was, to say the least, uncomfortable. Throughout the day the feeling spread to include my inner cheeks and the roof of my mouth. I thought maybe allergies were just giving me an intense case of cotton mouth and so I drank like I was in the middle of the desert. I pissed like a race horse, yet I still coughed all day feeling like I had been licking my dog. And my mouth was getting this whitish coating. By bed time my throat was a little sore and I was considering seeing a doctor the next day.
That would be today. Today I woke up and there was a thick white sherpa covering my tongue and roof of my mouth. I used a tooth brush to remove it and immediately began to bleed. I though maybe strep, but I'm an old hand at strep. I have strep at least once a season and this was not like strep. No fever, no pain up into the ears, no gradual progression, no real swelling that I could tell. And what the hell was with the white coating? And then I remembered something I had heard of before. It was called thrush. Which basically means a yeast infection in the mouth and throat. And I recalled that my husband is a rather large, sweaty, uncircumcised man who has been known to get male yeast infections from time to time that come and go and are, essentially, symptomless. And he had shot a load down my throat the night before the white crap appeared.
I looked up all the symptoms online and, sure enough, they fit. Right down to pictures. I made the doctor appointment for the afternoon. But, by the time I got there, it felt as if my throat was closing up and my chest was beginning to hurt. I hadn't eaten all day and could barely swallow saliva. The physician on duty took a good look, listened to what I managed to choke out, and said she thought I had thrush. But I also had two huge lumps in my throat which concerned her. She gave me two options. Go to the hospital, or wait and see the ENT when he arrived at 4PM. Either way, I needed an endoscopy. Also, she made me call Nick home from work because I was in no shape to deal with the kids. The hospital visit was ER only and would cost $300 to walk in the door and I would have to wait my turn. The ENT took my insurance, would definitely see me first, and is a sadist. I grit my teeth and chose to see the ENT. For practicality's sake it was cheaper and probably faster.
So Nick took me home and we waited for 4PM, left the kids with my parents. and made our way back to the clinic. He did the endoscopy, rolled his eyes at me, and informed me that my throat was not going to close up. Then he said it was an infection. Really? No shit Sherlock. I came in telling you I had an infection. I asked him if he was going to do a culture and he looked at me like I had several heads and one had just vomited on his shoes. Then he wrote me a prescription for a "powerful broad spectrum antibiotic" and a "corticosteroid". He then asked if I had any questions. I again asked him what it was, exactly, that was wrong with me. He told me, again, that it was an infection. I asked if it was strep, or something else, or thrush as the other doctor thought. He said all infections are different and this was an infection. I hate this man.
Just as an aside, this is the same asshole that did an endoscopy on Alex when he was just 5 without even the preface of an explanation to the poor child of what was about to happen. He just sat the kid in a chair, pushed his head back, and shoved this long uncomfortable tube all the way down his throat via his nostril. Then complained when Alex cried out, pushed away, and nearly threw up. For anyone who's even gotten one of these things, they're scary and invasive enough when you're prepared for it. When you're 5 and it's just done to you while you're being chastised for not sitting still, it's downright abusive. Then the guy had the nerve to say my kid must have ADHD and, furthermore, most kids do, since so few sit still for it. He then stuck him on steroids for six months for allergies despite my protests of sticking a 5-year-old on steroids for an extended period of time. Luckily, Alex's pediatrician called a "What the hell!?" on him and I filed a complaint. But then, maybe that's why he doesn't care to find out what's actually wrong with me now and just wants to give me steroids.
Anyway, after I didn't find out what's actually wrong and did get the prescriptions to basically nuke it out of me, he goes on to casually say that should my throat close I should call 911. But I thought he'd just said it wasn't going to? Asshole. Nick picked up the meds while I glowered and reconsidered whether the hospital wouldn't have been a better choice. The steroids came with all sorts of fun warnings. Of of which was that the contraindications were that it shouldn't be used if a fungal infection was present. Thrush, which the original doctor who examined me (without my suggesting it mind you, just by my symptom description and examination) said she believed I have, is a fungal infection. Apparently, the ENT said "fuck that I'm smarter" and gave me a drug that shouldn't be used for what the initial physician believes me to have. Another serious risk factor? Depression and psych meds. Did this asshole even glance at the chart right fucking in front of him? Probably not. Because it was also too much work to take a culture to determine what was actually wrong with me as well. His approach is to throw steroids at everything. And then I opened the antibiotics. Keep in mind I can barely swallow my own spit. These pills are roughly the size of a small continent. Now he's just fucking with me. Oh, and, not that he thinks there's anything wrong or can be bothered with me, but I have another endoscopy tomorrow. For some reason. Probably because he wants to see me choke and cry and almost vomit again.
Despite all this, and my feeble (since my speech sounds like that of a deaf person) protests, Nick got me to eat soup and melted ice cream and take all the fucking pills. Along with my regularly scheduled med routine. But if, for any reason, they don't miracle cure me, I'm never giving him head again. Because I still blame his evil penis. Next year he's getting a tie.
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