The good news is, if my temperature stays at 102 now that they've got it down and if the test shows tht it's really trichinosis, they're letting me out of Irvine General with meds tomorrow. The bad news is that I shall never, never, return to another doctor, nurse, pharmacist, chiropractor, therapist, medical assistant, x-ray technician, or anyone associated with the practice of medicine for as long as I continue to draw breath.
( ((medical imagery triggers. I know I triggered MYSELF)) ) I think I screamed. I KNOW I screamed, and I don't even know WHAT the hell all I was screaming and apparently no one in the room knew either because they all sounded insanely confused, while they tried to finish up and stitch it and get me back to my lovely little observation curtained area where I proceeded to call my mom at work and sob at her for fifteen solid minutes, in a bid that's just set MY maturity back a good fifteen years or so.
Later, I am going to be even more humiliated than I am right now, but I have never, ever felt anything quite like that. And I never want to again. So doctors, sorry, I am DONE with you. It isn't you. It's me and all of my secret phobias coming out to play and it will make all our lives a living hell if I don't walk away.
Consider this our breakup letter.