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But I Still May Be Pregnant
I finally broke down and went to health services this morning, which all of you familiar with my dislike of doctors (not personally, just the fact that they often want to jab sharp things into my arm) know is my absolute last resort.
My stomach has been bothering me for the past couple of weeks. Usually it just sits there, rumbling uncomfortably, and this I can stand. However, occasionally it erupts into an unbearable wave of nausea which is only silenced by sleeping. I have no other symptoms, so first I just paid a visit to the always-cheap and always-friendly Dr. Internet, who never wants to jab sharp things in my arm. He suggested that I eat smaller and more frequent meals, which I tried but doesn't seem to be working.
Dr. Internet also had a flowchart to help me try and diagnose my own illness by answering a series of questions. It was like a Choose Your Own Adventure Book: Is it Painful to Urinate? If Yes, turn to page 10, if No, turn to page 14. Unfortunately it ended the way most of my CYOA books ended: You die.
No, no, it actually ended with "we don't know what's wrong with you, go see a doctor", which was what I was trying to avoid doing in the first place. This is how I ended up in Health Services this morning, finally getting some return on my $250 student health investment. After 30 minutes in the waiting room, during which they occasionally summoned me to the desk to verify that I was still a student. The whole "graduate school" thing seemed confusing to them.
Them: "So you filled out a health survey?"
Me: "Yes, back when I was a freshman."
Them: "But you graduated right?"
Me: "Yes, but I still go here, I'm getting a Master's Degree."
Them: "Fill out this same health survey again."
But finally I was able to see a doctor. I must've been her biggest challenge of the day, since she had to immediately rule out uberdiagnoses 1 (mono, which I had sophomore year) and 2 (pregnancy). She didn't even ask me if I smoked; apparently she deduced from the fact that I did not smell like a tavern that the answer would be no.
So after a few minutes of looking in my ears and throat, feeling my lymph nodes, listening to my stomach, and taking my blood pressure, she said those magic words: "I'm not going to recommend any blood work unless it doesn't go away by next week". Instead, I walked out of the office with no holes in my arms and with a prescription for Zantac 150 (take that, Zantac 75) and super ultra-drowsy dramamine ("don't drive after taking this").
Unfortunately, though, I can't eat any spicy foods, which are the staple of my diet, for the next few days. That won't stop me from Sundays NFL kickoff barbecue though...
Comments
I still think you're pregnant. I mean, think about it. You get tired easily, you have nausea every day (especially when you get up in the morning), and you don't have another explanation for it. And all those weird cravings for cheese cubes... You must have forgotten to take your estrogen pills or something. But just think how lucrative this could be. The movie studios (not to mention the Jerry Springer show and the Fox network) will be knocking down your door. It's a whole new twist to Apartment 12: the Movie.
Posted by: Eileen at September 5, 2003 5:11 PM
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