I’ve contracted a stomach bug. I won’t go into the details. It has the usual conglomerate of malaise, aches, abdominal abominable, fluid loss, and personal guilt. Happily there is no fever/chills or throwing up. I feel decrepit.  What I want to do is still home, crawl into a ball, and have some nice intern insert an IV tube and periodically check on my wants.

 

Doctors usually are near death before they call in sick, and I am no exception. Between GI flu and lack of sleep, my bedside manner wasn’t so jolly. When tired,  I tend not to suffer fools.  A handful of patients came in in hysterics and I was in no mood to do the empathetic hand holding routine, given some of them have been this way for years. “Don’t you want to hear about my problems?” one said, repeating the same catalog of complaints for the umpteenth time. As I lay dying, faded from dehydration and tedium, I had to bite my tongue to thwart the felicitous reply “No, not really”.   I will be better after the Christmas season is past or when I can eat again.

 

Meanwhile the sun is low and sits still on the horizon for the winter solstice. This is supposed to be a quiet time, of darkness, serenity, and lit candles of meditation. I will avoid all drama, including MSN, CNN, Yahoo, and (worse of all) Facebook.

 

Provided The Mayans were wrong and I don’t develop dehydration induced orthostatic hypotension I will write some more anon.

Time for bed and my beauty sleep….

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