My, time flies when you're having fun! Let me give you an update since I last posted to this blogsite (you might want to get a vessel of your favorite beverage & some snacks before you begin reading).
I went to DS for a second time. Upon greeting me, she mentioned that she had thought a lot about me since our last meeting, which immediately set me to wondering about HER. After chatting for awhile, she decided the best thing for me was to make an appointment with my physician, tell her everything I told my counselor and go from there. Since it was pretty much lights out in my head at the time, I agreed, went home and made an appointment. A few days later, I crawled into the doctor's office and after they called me into one of the "rooms", I slithered and collapsed onto the "table" to wait.
After what seemed to be a few months later, my doctor (not actually a doctor, but a P.A.), came bouncing into the room, all cheery and almost very pregnant. She asked me how I was doing and I proceeded to tell her the sordid details. I explained that my chronic cough had developed into the pulmonary equivalent of the elephant man, sending people screaming into the streets each time I had an "episode". For this and other reasons, I felt I was becoming more than a bit depressed (This idea occurred to me when I realized I'd been in bed so long the seasons had changed). Finally, I confessed that I had developed the ability to chug 5.5 liters of Peter Vella wine every one and one-half days. When I looked up at her it occurred to me that she may have been in a mild state of shock, since her mouth was open as wide as humanly possible. She managed to stammer something that sounded like "o...k", "I need to go talk to the doctor" and immediately fled down the hall.
Another couple days passed and she reluctantly re-entered my room. She announced that she thought I may benefit from a 14 day stay in the "hospital" and that she needed to get some blood work on me. She left the room again, this time informing me that the nurse would soon be in to draw my blood. Things began to move swiftly now and after only a few hours, the nurse waltzed in, laden with her little tote full of needles and vials to take my blood. She was a friendly older lady who attempted to strike up a conversation with me until she saw my face. Leaving the room immediately then became priority one for the poor thing.
As I was finishing the epic War and Peace, the doctor returned for a third time. She reported to me that the blood tests revealed my liver count was way up, my kidneys weren't doing well, and I was suffering from anemia. Did I want to go to the hospital right then, she asked with a fervent hope in her voice. I replied that I really did NOT want to go to the hospital. I had a few things to tie up (not the least of which was calling Wall St to inform them that profits in the Vella Wine Corporation were about to take a serious downward spiral). I pled with my doctor to give me one week to try and end my affair with Peter Vella on my own. She reluctantly agreed to let me do this, put not before she wrote out a prescription for something to reduce the number of pink elephants I would surely see while carrying out my little "experiment". I made an appointment to return to her office in one week and unceremoniously crawled home.
I went to DS for a second time. Upon greeting me, she mentioned that she had thought a lot about me since our last meeting, which immediately set me to wondering about HER. After chatting for awhile, she decided the best thing for me was to make an appointment with my physician, tell her everything I told my counselor and go from there. Since it was pretty much lights out in my head at the time, I agreed, went home and made an appointment. A few days later, I crawled into the doctor's office and after they called me into one of the "rooms", I slithered and collapsed onto the "table" to wait.
After what seemed to be a few months later, my doctor (not actually a doctor, but a P.A.), came bouncing into the room, all cheery and almost very pregnant. She asked me how I was doing and I proceeded to tell her the sordid details. I explained that my chronic cough had developed into the pulmonary equivalent of the elephant man, sending people screaming into the streets each time I had an "episode". For this and other reasons, I felt I was becoming more than a bit depressed (This idea occurred to me when I realized I'd been in bed so long the seasons had changed). Finally, I confessed that I had developed the ability to chug 5.5 liters of Peter Vella wine every one and one-half days. When I looked up at her it occurred to me that she may have been in a mild state of shock, since her mouth was open as wide as humanly possible. She managed to stammer something that sounded like "o...k", "I need to go talk to the doctor" and immediately fled down the hall.
Another couple days passed and she reluctantly re-entered my room. She announced that she thought I may benefit from a 14 day stay in the "hospital" and that she needed to get some blood work on me. She left the room again, this time informing me that the nurse would soon be in to draw my blood. Things began to move swiftly now and after only a few hours, the nurse waltzed in, laden with her little tote full of needles and vials to take my blood. She was a friendly older lady who attempted to strike up a conversation with me until she saw my face. Leaving the room immediately then became priority one for the poor thing.
As I was finishing the epic War and Peace, the doctor returned for a third time. She reported to me that the blood tests revealed my liver count was way up, my kidneys weren't doing well, and I was suffering from anemia. Did I want to go to the hospital right then, she asked with a fervent hope in her voice. I replied that I really did NOT want to go to the hospital. I had a few things to tie up (not the least of which was calling Wall St to inform them that profits in the Vella Wine Corporation were about to take a serious downward spiral). I pled with my doctor to give me one week to try and end my affair with Peter Vella on my own. She reluctantly agreed to let me do this, put not before she wrote out a prescription for something to reduce the number of pink elephants I would surely see while carrying out my little "experiment". I made an appointment to return to her office in one week and unceremoniously crawled home.
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