Paisans

I do not want to jinx myself, but I think I am finally better. After the last post, I was still sick for several more days. In fact, I only started feeling like myself just yesterday. I even went to the gym on Monday and Tuesday. I know how I got back to normal; it was the mere act of calling a doctor that made me better. That's right. I did not even have to actually visit a real doctor. I just had to call one, find time in my schedule for an appointment, and arrange a sub so I could leave early to make this appointment. It is a good thing, in fact, that I got better without an actual visit to the doctor because when I got there for the appointment, I was too afraid to go in. Let me explain.

If I blindly have to choose a person from a list of names, say to pick a doctor, I always try to find a person with an Italian name and select him/her. I have to resort to such an arbitrary means of selecting a doctor because I grew up in the suburbs and so did many of my friends. So while most people might choose a doctor based on a referral from a friend, I could not do that because I want a doctor near my home in the city. That explains why I had to go about finding a doctor based on whether or not his/her name ended in a vowel. I went on my insurance company's website, and I found a list of doctors within a 5 mile radius of my home. In Chicago, a 5 mile radius of anywhere can encompass the richest and poorest neighborhoods in the city all at once, and Bucktown, my 'hood, is no exception. When I looked at the list and found a Dr. Mario Silvo* 11 blocks west of my house, I hesitated because it is a shady neighborhood. But Dr. Mario Silvo? How can I say no to Dr. Mario, a paisan? I cannot say no to Dr. Mario. In hindsight, I probably should have been struck by a few things when I called for the appointment. First of all, I called to make an appointment on Monday, and I got one for the following Wednesday. That is unheard of, especially if you are a new patient. Second, the receptionist did not ask if I had insurance. When I offered that information, she seemed surprised that a potential patient actually had insurance. Finally, she did not ask for what reason I wanted to see a doctor. Sure, it is a general family practice, but I kind of expected her to ask what event convinced a healthy 30-year-old woman that she needed to see a doctor. None of these facts registered as odd at the time, but when I pulled up to the office today, it all started coming together. Not only was my doctor's office in the ghetto, but I have a hunch that Dr. Mario Silvo himself is, in fact, ghetto. Again, I knew that 11 blocks from my home was a rough neighborhood, but I also know that is an "up and coming" neighborhood* that is getting many new businesses and restaurants. I was hopeful that Dr. Mario Silvo was part of that wave of nice new businesses establishing themselves to revitalize this struggling neighborhood.

Not so much. The mere fact that I was not hit by a pickup truck or a stray bullet on my way into the "office" was a miracle in itself. Sure, I was hesitant, but I wanted to keep an open mind. When I walked up to the office, I looked in the window and saw three alarming things;
1. A man in the waiting room who looked just a little too close homeless for my taste***
2. Trash strewn on the waiting room floor
3. The receptionist seated behind a cage

Yes, you read correctly, the receptionist was seated behind a cage. I opened the door, looked in to see this mess and walked right out. I am not that sick folks. I keep telling myself that Dr. Mario Silvo is probably Latino to ease the guilt I feel for skipping out on an appointment with a paisan.

* I have made only a minor alteration to his name to make a half-hearted attempt at protecting this doctor's identity
** to be fair, it is more "coming" that "up" but still...
*** not to be a snob, but I have insurance and a steady job; there's no need for me to have the same doctor as a homeless man

mmm... generic

After bragging in a recent post that I rarely get sick, I fell ill last week. "Fell" puts it mildly by my standards of illness. It was actually more like a dive, maybe even a plunge, into illness. I found myself working out and going about business as usual one day and a prisoner of my couch the next. Everyday I went to bed ill, I said to myself, "Well thank God that's over" because I have never been sick for more than two days much less the six days I was this time around. And if you read that recent post, you will not be surprised when I tell you that I did not have any of the necessary medications in the house when this illness struck. So I got my tired, be-fevered body off the couch, and I made a trip to Walgreens, where I became even more ill when I saw the price of the brands familiar to me. NyQuil, Advil, Tylenol... no thanks. Why would I buy Advil for $7.29, when I can buy "Wal-profen" for 2 for $4? It's a no-brainer.

However, I learned the difference lies not in subbing generic "Wal-profen" for Advil, but in subbing "Wal-quil" for NyQuil. NyQuil comes in cherry. You have options with NyQuil. "Wal-quil" however, comes only in green, which when I selected it, I was hopeful might signal mint or perhaps something in the apple family. I brought it home and waited eagerly for bed time to come so that I could take NyQuil, sorry "Wal-quil", which would knock me out allowing me presumably to wake up cured because, god knows, I had awaken in a pool of sweat enough times that I should be cured by morning. I digress... Guess what flavor green "Wal-quil" is? No, not mint. No, not apple. Black licorice. I cannot think of a more polarizing flavor than black licorice. You either love it or you hate it. There is no neutral in the realm of black licorice. I am in the 'hate it' camp, and downing my nightly dose of "Wal-quil" for the past week ranked up there on the miserable meter with the cold sweats and pounding headaches.

The only good thing that came out of this was having my parents take care of me for a few days. For the first several days I just stayed at my apartment, where my roommate and boyfriend kept me company. Because I was on winter break, I just couched it all week and assumed the illness would be gone by this Monday when school started. And on Sunday morning, I even woke up feeling okay (albeit clammy) so I thought I was safe to go hang out with my parents, stay there and go directly to work in the morning to begin the new semester. But by 6:00 that night, the fever came back to the tune of 103.4, which according to my dad, is .1 away from a trip to the hospital (which I interpreted as .2 away from brain damage).

Anyway, I am almost 100% now, and I am even going to attempt going to the gym tomorrow, which is probably where I caught this thing to begin with. Better wear my skull cap.

Post Holiday Blues

The holidays are over and that makes me sad because I enjoy the holidays. Here is something else that makes me sad...

That little emoticon sad face kills me. On Yahoo Instant Messenger, this sad face is even more pitiful because it is animated, and its little eyebrows raise up and down to emphasize just how sad he is. There are a few other things that make me sad, such as Tom Robinson in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird and when my boyfriend leaves and I know I will not see him for a few days.

Besides obvious things like death, war and break ups, what makes you sad?