A Plague Upon Thee, Hippocrates

Woke up this morning to discover that I no longer had the ability to breathe, and could only wheeze in pain. This is always a bad sign. Either I was very sick or I was turning into Darth Vadar (and frankly, I think that I would have been a far better Darth Vadar that Hayden Christensen). It was a day of four dog walks in sweltering heat, and when I finally dragged my coughing and hacking self to the doctor's office, I felt sure that relief was at hand.

Relief, technically, was another hour and a half away. If I should have the good fortune of having some doctors in my audience, I implore you to please, please a) be on time, or knowing the inevitability of doctor lateness, b) get magazines other than Autoweek and Soap Opera Digest in your waiting room. Seriously. If you're going to make us wait, fill the place up with junk reading material

I was just starting to simmer with anger and frustration--when I wasn't hyperventilating or doubled over coughing--when the doctor finally saw me. In additional to the Hippocratic oath, all doctors must swear some kind of allegiance to the Ford Motor Company, because I have never seen such an efficent assembly line. I was stripped, stuffed into a gown, poked, prodded, re-dressed and sent on my way within 10 minutes. The whole thing was smooth as silk, except for the few minutes I spent waiting for the doctor to re-enter the room and laugh hysterically at the sight of me in the blue paper robe. To kill the time, I began reading about travel innoculations, particularly since I am still thinking about my Egyptian archaeological vacation. There were the usual warnings about typhoid and malaria and yellow fever, all of which I am on more than passing acquaintance with, having taken the usual truckload of pills every time I go to India. But then, disturbing in its simplicity, was the word "Plague."

Um...plague? I've got to worry about the Plague, on top of everything else? What kind of plague--black or Bubonic? Aren't they the same thing? Is this related to The Red Death? Didn't someone think to take care of this in the Middle Ages? I tried to read more about where the plague might be of concern to me, but it was remarkably unhelpful. Just 1 dose every 3 hours, or some nonsense like that. I decided to ask the doctor, but she was working that assembly line so fast that I didn't even get the question out. I just starting coughing away, which inspired her to give me a tuberculosis injection. Fabulous.

But, really, I'm not complaining. After an hour and a half wait, I was happy to bustled out of there, prescriptions in hand, into my local pharmacy. And let me tell you something--sure, they make you wait at the pharmacy (usually behind some guy with an expired insurance card), but they have good sense to locate it near the magazine rack. Reading about Angelina/Brad/Jen and Tom/Katie and Ben/Jen (the Sequel)...well, time just flew.