My medical history is an interesting read, to say the least. I was highly prone to accidents and infections when I was a child. I had my first head injury and stitches when I was five (fell off a bunk bed ladder). My second set of stitches when I was eight (slipped on my sister’s unmade bedcovers and hit my temple on the corner of my desk) left a lovely scar next to my right eyebrow, which I carry to this day. I have had sprained ankles, torn tendons, and mystery shoulder injuries. My favorite ER visits include the time I broke my thumb at a Halloween party, the time I got plaster dust in my eyes in a theatrical mask making class in college, and the bronchial spasm when they pumped me so full of Albuterol I didn’t sleep for almost two days. My only surgeries to date include a tonsillectomy and having my wisdom teeth cut out, both of which have hilarious anesthesia stories attached. I had a polyp in my sinus cavity a few years ago, and got to keep a copy of the CAT scan.
(This is what the inside of my head looks like!)
I was beginning to think my list of remaining medical milestones was short indeed. All I need now is my first major surgery, first overnight stay in the hospital, and first mamaogram, and then there will be no more medical firsts to look forward to.
Or so I thought until yesterday afternoon.
As I’ve mentioned before, a couple of times, I have been dealing with a rather fierce stomach bug for about three weeks now. I went to the doctor yesterday, and in addition to the other lab work she advised, she handed me a baggie with a biohazard label containing a little white plastic container.
That’s right, friends. I can now say I have pooped in a cup…for SCIENCE.
She also diagnosed me with a sinus infection, and gave me a round of prednisone along with the antibiotic. In addition to the energy boost and increased ability to breathe, I have a convenient excuse for any of the dumb shit I do for the rest of this week. Whether it’s the constantly flushed face, the inability to concentrate, or just about any ridiculous behavior which I may in the future come to regret (for example, writing this post), I can simply put on my most serious professional baseball player face and sigh:
“The ‘roids, man. It was the ‘roids.”