Montezuma's Revenge

It has been almost a week since my last post and I'm sure that many of you are wondering if I went back to Mexico. Why, no, I didn't. I've just been dealing with a stomach bug I got there. For the past two weeks I have been constantly nauseous and basically living in the bathroom. Over the weekend I was so violently ill Ryan said it appeared I was doing a rendition of "The Exorcist." I'll laugh at that one later.

Despite my wretched condition I was hesitant to go see a doctor -- simply because I really don't like them. I have never met a doctor that doesn't instantly assume you are lying to them. I always feel like I am pleading my case to a jury or trying to explain to my Mom why I'm out past curfew. All that for antibiotics? I don't think so. However, on Tuesday I was tricked into medical intervention. Ryan said we were going fishing, but then he took me to Instacare. I felt like the dog.

The doctor at Instacare pretty much fulfilled all of my expectations. He made me wait on a paper covered table for about a half and hour and then questioned the validity of my complaint. So I told him all about Mexico and my symptoms since returning, the nausea, the vomiting, the frequent trips to the bathroom. I told him Pepcid and Immodium hadn't touched it. And after listening to everything I had to say he settled on a diagnosis: I was pregnant. I found that interesting since at that very moment I was having my period -- but he would have none of it.
Him: Are you sure you aren't pregnant?
Me: Well, I'm bleeding out of my vagina right now.
Him: But have you taken a test?
Me: Yes, this morning. My husband thinks like you do.
Him: And it was negative?
Me: Yes.
Him: Well, let's give you another one.

By this time I was ready to pee on anything just to shut him up. So I went into the washroom and did my thing (I'm getting really good at it now) and then went back into the room to wait for another half an hour. Apparently they don't have the three minute tests at Instacare. Then the doctor came in to deliver the stunning news. I wasn't pregnant. After getting over my shock and dismay I grabbed the prescription and headed out the door -- vowing never to go back.

I had to go back.

After two days of antibiotics I still wasn't feeling better and my body was not behaving any differently. So, here I was, facing the same doctor. I was really hoping he would ask me the pregnancy question again -- but he took a different tactic.
Him: Have you been eating?
Me: Yes. Nothing crazy, but yes.
Him: Well, that's your problem.
Me: Eating?
Him: Yes. You should only be taking in clear liquids.
Me: That's it?
Him: Yes. Nothing else until you feel better.

Well, at least wine is clear. And I can have it since I'm not pregnant. Doctor's orders.