Quit Yer Bitchin'

 

Breakfast, Sunday June 6, 2021: wowthatsapileofeggs.

I have an immune disorder. It requires that I take immune suppressants. A lot of immune suppressants. Whenever I have a fever, it could potentially be a medical emergency. (Now that I look at it, I wonder about that phrase. What other kind of emergency could it be? Not a national emergency or a public health emergency. How about this:) Whenever I have a fever, it could be a sign of a life threatening illness. (Not much better.) A bad case of flu could kill me. With this covid thing, I have barely left the house. Since too many jerks won't get the vaccine, the US is unlikely to achieve herd immunity. I'm stuck, at home that is. Covid will kill me, can't stress that enough, WILL. 

Anyhoo. Friday night I start getting chills. I check my temp, 101.3. Damn. Take some acetaminophen and see if we can control it. Besides, no one wants to go to the E.D. on a Friday night. (Another annoying side note: it's E.D. not E.R. It's a (D)epartment not a (R)oom.) FF to Saturday morning: still have the fever, now add nausea and malaise. We head to the E.D. FF again to Saturday afternoon, I'm admitted and sleeping off a really bad reaction to one of the medications they gave me for the nausea. Finally let's move ahead to Sunday morning. The picture above is breakfast. It's nothin' fancy and yes those are the prepacked frozen hash browns deep fried. Yet for what it was, it was well prepared and it was hot. Plenty of people pay good money for a plate like that at many a diner. 

That's hospital food today. It's time for a new joke.