How I Spent my Boss's Summer Vacation

So where have I been, young man?

I have been sick on multiple, brain-numbing levels. Shorthanded: Horrible allergy attack knocked me on my ass for approximately 9 days. But no one likes a shorthanded story when the long version has inappropriate nudity and making a fool of Jason. So let's press onwards!

Two weeks ago, my boss went on annual summer vacation, leaving the running of the office up to me. Apparently the resulting stress led to the breakdown of my entire immune system so thorough that my body was like France in the face of an oncoming German army. (Shockingly Obvious Note #1: Jason performs poorly under stress!) What would normally be just a bad day or two of allergies and sneezing instead became the hostile occupation and destruction of my very being.

Most of the following, with the exception of Friday, (which stands out very prominently in my mind for some reason) is pulled together from conjecture and vague recollections of things that I sort of remember happening, but might actually have been very gripping hallucinations.

Certain facts I am aware of: early on in the process, I was left completely deaf in my right ear, due to some sort of fluid and/or swelling of my already large head. I want to say it was sometime around Saturday or Sunday, because by Monday I was sprawled out on the couch practically drooling from the level of antihistamines, allergen blockers, and assorted other cocktail-like shiny pills running through my bloodstream.

See, the normal level of drugs that I use to combat an allergy attack were woefully underpowered for this one, and despite how smart it seemed at the time, tripling the number of brands I was taking at once did very little in terms of fixing my outlook on life. (Shockingly Obvious Note #2: Jason lacks rational decision-making skills in the face of... well anything really.)

I made it through work on Tuesday and Wednesday, although I remember basically nothing that happened in that span, except for these really lucid fever-dream type recollections of pretending to be one of the X-Men with Frank (Less Obvious But Much More Shocking Note #1: This would later turn out to be all-too horribly real).

Thursday was when everything started falling apart, as not only was I deaf in one ear, I started losing hearing in the other ear and my voice began to mimic that of a 5 pack-a-day smoker with walking-pneumonia. I made it through work mostly by leaning manfully against large solid objects, sneezing on said objects, and saying "What?!" a whole lot. Included at no extra cost: the constant feeling that my head was so top-heavy that I was going to tip over like a reverse Weeble, a lack of appetite so intense that lunch consisted of 4 gummi bears and a glass of iced tea, and the continuous watering of my eyes at all times, so it appeared I had been watching the endings of Bambi, Titanic, and Old Yeller on a loop.

Came home at 6:00, collapse on the couch and am asleep by 9:00. Figured I must be getting over the hump, as there was no where to go but up from there.

(We now witness a tense shift, as I can actually remember Friday, so we move into the present tense. Marvel at my mastery over the English language.)

Friday morning comes, and along with it the true definition of rock bottom. Cannot hear anything beyond vague thumping noises, head is ready to split directly down the middle, and I spend the first 3 consecutive minutes of my day doing nothing but sneezing. Decide to call in sick to work and try a doctor. Doctor cannot schedule me an appointment for that day, but I can come in "as a walk-in" and should be able to get some face time at some point. Nurse neglects to mention that "some point" technically counts the year 2009 as "a point."

I spend, without exaggeration in the slightest, 5 hours in the grungiest doctor's waiting room I have ever seen. The bathroom reminds me of a gas station road stop, and not in a good way. There are, with slight exaggeration, 9 million tiny children running around, most of whom are wildly sick and spewing germs like a sprinkler system on a lawn (with me as a sneezing blade of grass.) By the time I make it into an actual examination room, I'm pretty sure death is a viable option.

Nurse comes in to do one of those tiny blood tests to determine if the allergies have yet reached the poisoned-blood-stream level of encroachment yet. She pricks my finger, and yet cannot get enough blood. Tries another finger, still not quite enough. Secondary nurse comes by, stabs my thumb and proceeds to try and milk it for every ounce of blood available.

To recap: By the end of this round of examinations, I am now: deaf, sneezing, and crying, with a splitting headache, three fingers throbbing and drained of blood, and am no doubt the latest incubator of child-ebola from the waiting room. Flawless.

Doctor comes in, explains that I do not have an infection, but instead am experiencing one of the most severe allergic episodes she has seen outside of a food allergy, or big cat mauling. Asks if I have been under much stress lately. After determining what she said via sign language/charades, I try to laugh, but instead go into another sneezing fit.

The best course of action is determined to be an allergy shot which cost approximately as much as my monthly food bill, but is not covered by my health care, as it is not "physically necessary." Apparently my survival is not physically necessary in the eyes of Aetna, especially when I could take an internal regimen of pills that could clear up the problem in, say, two to three weeks give or take.

Once the sneezing subsides, I fork over a credit card and beg for the shot. Nurse comes in, I roll up my sleeve. She laughs, and asks me to drop my pants and lay on my stomach. I sigh, not because I expected anything less, as God is obviously enjoying this a lot. I properly loosen my pants and attempt to assume the position. However, I misjudge the stepstool next to the examining table and end up tripping over it and crashing (stomach first) onto the table. Table has one of those disposable rolls of paper covering it, and starts spooling out upon my crash, rolling me directly off the table, pants now effectively lost, right along with any dignity that still remained.

Nurse looks over at me, on the ground, half-naked, eyes watering, sneezing, and largely deaf. Through the haze and the blocked ears, I'm able to make out her response to my spectacle: "It's just not your day, is it?"

-------------------------

And after all that, I still ended up going into work for an hour that afternoon. Because I am hardcore like that.

Aside: That shot was totally worth not eating for the rest of the month, I feel awesome now. And maybe, just maybe, someday I might get over the crippling embarrassment that was its administration.