Back from the cyber-grave:
Well, yup. I've been out of it for the last two weeks, at least. I finally dragged my sorry carcass to the doctor's office, where I was pronounced alive, but with a bad case of bronchitis. "Ohh! Is that what all of this not being able to breath, and lethargy is about," I thought? (I was still too weak to talk). Anyway, I really, really hate going to the doctor because they're always pushing unecessary female-type exams. I'm sorry, I know it's a gross subject, but when I tell the woman (of course it has to be a woman doctor) that I do not do drugs, and live a chaste life (I had to explain the term "chaste" to her because it's not found anywhere in her medical dictionary), she gives me that doubtful look, like, "sure, honey. That's what they all say."

I'm pretty darn insulted every time she asks me if I need to renew a birth-control prescription, whenever I go in for a throat culture. I'm thinking, why is "virgin" a dirty word, yet you can assume I'm a slut, and I'm not supposed to be offended? I finally asked her to write "VIRTUOUS, NON-DRUG ADDICTED WOMAN" at the top of my chart so that everytime I go in, I don't have to have the same discussion. It didn't work. She still asked.

It reminds me of the time that I went in for a work physical during my summer-job, (that's right, the "exam" they give you to verify that you're not about to drop dead on the assembly line floor, costing the fortune 500 company millions, that consists of a pulse rate, blood pressure, temperature and weight), that the nurse insisted on "putting me on the pill" because even though I wasn't "active" at the time, you never know. Well, I have to disagree with that. You do know. At least, I know, and I finally convinced the company nurse of that.

Anyway, as you can probably tell from my rant, I'm still not feeling all that well, and it makes me cranky. Pity my poor sisters, with whom I live.