Just give me the drugs please, ma’am

In Other on February 16, 2011 at 2:00 am

Considering I live in a petri dish of a college town, it’s not surprising I got sick about a month ago. Sore throat, swollen glands: the works.

Vitamin C, garlic-packed multi-vitamins that seemed sized for horses instead of humans, and Zicam weren’t doing the trick. I did not feel better.

After two weeks, I visited he Student Health Care Center hoping for an easy prescription for antibiotics. The symptoms were all the same as an earlier upper respiratory infection, thus I felt almost assured of a Z-pack.

I arrived at 3:55, ten minutes after my scheduled 3:45 appointment.

“Hi. I have an appointment.”

“You had an appointment,” the receptionist said.


“You’re more than ten minutes late.”

“It’s 3:56.”

“Exactly. You’ll have to make another appointment.”

“Seriously? And is there a charge for this appointment?”

“Oh, just a moment, looks like I can pencil you in for 4:15. There would have been a charge if I had canceled your appointment, but now you’ll just need to fill out this form.”

And so I pouted my way to the waiting room where it was clear that my odds of recovery were better if I had decided not to expose myself to the kids who were really getting it taken out of them and subsequently hacking all over the walls and furniture of that tiny, tiny room.

At 4:05, I was called into the back where I was asked a battery of standard questions and told to wait for the doctor.

I was clearly in the wrong place. People behind the curtains were dying. I was just dragging ass a little bit.

Overheard conversations:

Nurse: “I was trying to draw blood doctor, but I can’t get any.”

Doctor: “You’re clearly dehydrated son. You’re blood is dry.”

Nurse: “I’ll just keep trying. I know I’ll get it soon.”

Patient: “Unnnggghhhh.”


Nurse: “Just spit as much mucous as you can into this tissue, and we’ll test it. I know you can feel a bit silly, but just go for as much as you can.”

Patient: “Waooocccchhhhh...”


Finally it was my turn.

“Do you still have your tonsils?” the doctor asked.

Expecting a diagnosis of tonsillitis, I quickly answered that I did.

“Oh, haha, I can’t find them. They’re small.”

Relieved that I didn’t require any major or minor surgeries and please that I had small tonsils, which I took as a compliment, I figured I was overreacting. The doctor told me my throat wasn’t that pink, but I could take Tylenol for the pain if I wanted. I explained that I had the same thing a year ago, and I got antibiotics. She said she would test me for strep (even though I told her I had an infection). A nurse tested me for strep. I didn’t have strep.

The final solution of the day: “Would you like a Gatorade.”

Why, yes, I would. Thank you Gator Nation.

But unfortunately I will have to turn to Canada for my antibiotics as it’s now been four weeks, and I am still not fully recovered.

Damn you, Albert.


But seriously, it’s annoying that with an extensively systematized operation like we have here at UF, I can’t get properly treated. While I know how annoyed doctors are these days with self-diagnoses and an app for every symptom around, there’s also something to be said for being familiar with one’s own body and the types of illnesses that it is prone to.

To me, modern medicine shouldn’t let treatable conditions linger.


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