Monday afternoon, I started feeling a tickle in my throat. No biggie, I'd missed my daily dose of Claritin, so I doubled up. I then spent the evening sniffling, sneezing, and coughing, and woke up Tuesday morning feeling even worse. Again, no prob, I'll take DayQuil. I downed some oatmeal, got in the shower, and coughed so hard I vomitted on my toes.

Things didn't get better from there, in fact the sore throat went away only to be replaced by a worsening cough and a wheeze to rival a dying person's death rattle (it's a real thing, and it's terrifying). So, I had to skip out on work again on Wednesday. When I called out sick on Thursday, my boss called back and said I needed a doctor's note, so I put on some pants for the first time in days, shuffled my wheezy ass to the bus stop, and rode to the nearest Minute Clinic, where I was informed I have bronchitis at the best, pneumonia at worst, and to go see a real doctor. Excellent use of $59 bucks.

I managed to get an appointment to see my regular doc today, and my in-laws drove me to the appointment. I must now refrain from making nasty comments about them, because that was damn nice of them to do, driving 45 minutes each way and waiting around for me.

My doctor is a vivacious Argentian woman, so you have to imagine her saying everything with a thick accent and an eh- before most words. For instance, I have depression "because of eh-stress." So she comes in any before I get a hello out, she announces, "Oh Becky, what happened? I see your name on the list, and you don't come in unless it's really really, bad, so this must be really, really bad!" She listens to my lungs, looks at my oxygen level, sighs dramatically and says, "So you go to the clinic and they say 'you have the bronchitis, go see a doctor?!' UGH!"

I got x-rays done, managed to make only one mildly inappropriate joke to the tech, and went back to to room. My doc comes back in prescribes a nebulizer, prednisone, and antibiotic, and says she'll send the male nurse in for that.

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I've been seeing this doctor/nurse combo for years, so we're pretty comfortable around each other, but when the nurse came back to give me the shots, I warned him that I might tell him I hated him. He was okay with that. The shots had to go. In the interior part of my hip, toward my belly, so I was pretty sure it would hurt. He stuck the first one in, and I dropped the line no man ever wants to hear: "Is that it? It's in??" He chuckled, gathered himself and did the second shot. I apologized for the comment, and he said he was absolutely not offended. He then told me a couple of his jokes he'd heard working in the medical field, and they were NASTY. It was awesome.

So, I gathered up my goodie bag of a brand new nebulizer and fashionable accessories, and I and the in-laws head for home. We get to my door and are saying our thank you's and goodbye,s when my father-in-law, a retired oncologist, yells out, "Watch out for the yeasty-beasties!" Wait, WHAT? So I asked him to reiterated, and he instantly slips back into stoic doctor mode, and warns me that with the combination of my diabetes, the prednisone, antibiotics, and albuterol, I may end up with a yeast infection in my moth or in my, and I quote, "ahem." I start giggling and ask him if he has any idea how funny it is hearing that from your father-in-law. He turned pink and stammered, "Well, that's why I hesitated to say anything..." But it's fine to yell casually out the window as someone's walking away...? I asked how I'd treat an oral "yeasty-beasty" infection and he ran down my list of options, but frankly, that just made it funnier.

And that, my friends, was my day.

If anyone has a good remedy or preventative for oral thrush, I'd much appreciate your suggestions.