This past week I’ve been feeling somewhat delicate in my tummy area. I won’t go into details, because that would be gross. After looking up my symptoms on the internet (note, don’t do this, it is almost always cancer) I decided to go to a NHS walk in centre, just to make sure everything was ok, and so as not to bother my GP if it was nothing to worry about. The nurse was lovely and said most likely it was gastroenteritis. Score. But he wanted to rule some things out and so hey yo, go pee in this cup for me, k? And I had high levels of ketones in my pee, and he suggested I go see my doc, just to be on the safe side.
I felt pretty rough last night, so I made an executive decision not to go to work today. It seemed wise to stay away from people (I seem to have already infected one colleague), and close to my own bathroom. So I spent the morning curled up in bed with Sam and Dean Winchester. Oh if only. I blame the watching of Supernatural for my being happy to sell my soul to the devil if he’d take away my tummy ache. This afternoon I went to the doctor.
I’m sitting there waiting to go in, wondering who this doctor is, because I don’t recognise the name and will I ever see a doctor more than once? (Probably help if I went more often, to be fair.) Then someone sticks their head around the corner and calls my name.
I could have had the old man doctor. I could have had the lady doctor. But no no no, I get Hot Doctor. What am I, in a frickin episode of ER?! Do they keep the hot doctors on call especially for this sort of thing?
‘So what seems to be the problem?’ Don’t make me say it, don’t make me say it…I swear I didn’t look him in the eye the whole time I was there. So I tell him the gist and the thing about the ketones (which I really want to call keynotes for some reason), and he said it was most likely caused by dehydration. But we’ll just check that out to be sure. So I go and pee in a cup, again. And I met the President of the United States, again. Oh wait, that wasn’t me, that was Forrest Gump. And, also, can they not give you something to carry the pee around in? I had to walk through the waiting room with the thing, I might as well have had a neon sign on my head reading ‘GOING TO PEE IN A CUP NOW!’ And of course on the way back…oh well, anyway.
I hand my pee to Hot Doctor. Seriously, just kill me. And he checks it and all is fine and dandy in Carrie Pee Land. No ketones. Dehydration wins. So yes, I have gastroenteritis. It shouldn’t last longer than a week, but it can last two (oh frickin joy).
So that’s that. I said thank you and a hasty goodbye to Hot Doctor, and my cheeks burned all the way home. Pretty boys should not be allowed to be doctors. Fact.
P.S. Mum, if you happen to read this before you speak to me, chill. I’m fine. I saw a doctor and everything. I feel better today. No worries.