Monday, Monday, It Was All I Hoped It Would Be

Monday morning came early for me this week. About 4:30, I was rudely awakened by my wife, the buxom and comely and pneumonically flu-ridden Boudicca, hacking and coughing and whimpering that pathetic whimper of those who are deathly near shuffling off this mortal coil.

We discussed what to do about her disease-ridden state, which apparently sparked a bit of inspiration in my lower bowels, and I had to hurry to the bathroom. After finishing up in there--consider it my thinking spot--I proclaimed that I would shower, wake the daughter, get her ready for school, and we would go to the hospital. You can see that I had a pretty good think, think, think in that small, stuffy room.

After getting ready, I load my wife and daughter up into the car and we head down to the hospital where I drop my wife at the door and ride off into the sunset, cackling like a madman and screaming "Freedom! Free-he-he-hee-dom!" go find a parking space. I then gather up my daughter, Cookie, and we trudge into the ER.

Therein, we are met by the ghost of the Notorious R.I.P. B.I.G. and his girlfriend, whom I shall name the Psychotic Pstripper. At first glance, I thought, "Oh, hey, she's kind of cute" only to realize, after having sat down, that she had the face of a giraffe and was so full of drugs that she should have had her own MSDS sheet. Fortunately, Cookie brought a book with her to read, because the Notorious R.I.P. B.I.G. and the Psychotic Pstripper (who was wearing a sheer, white shirt, with one button fastened over what served as her cleavage, thus baring a majority of her disease-ridden torso along with some oh-so-sexy skin-tight jeans...rowr...someone call the Pussycat Dolls) were debating who gave whom what STD. I, myself, buried my attention in a one-page write-up about Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I read about seventeen times until finally the happy couple went off to see a nurse...only to return a couple of seconds later. They sat uncomfortably close to us (that is how I knew that the Psychotic Pstripper had a face like a giraffe), which caused the security guard manning the metal-detector (ah, Durham, North Carolina, land of milk and honey) to hover near us with a rapt eye upon the happy couple while trying to pretend like she was watching the weather.

Finally, they took my wife to a bed, where they gave her tylenol. The time came for me to take my daughter to school, so we left my wife, I buzzed through Chick-Fil-A to get Cookie some breakfast (notice, I haven't eaten yet), and then off to the school. We arrived plenty early, but I finally got her delivered safely and began my return-flight to Durham. Upon arriving back at the hospital, I pulled into a spot and began dialing my boss to tell him I'd be in late this morning because I had to take my wife to the hospital. Just as I'm dialing, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and see a Bag Lady trying to climb into the passenger seat of my car! I scream and reach for the locking mechanism. Too late! She's pried the door open! What do you want? A quarter? A cigarette? Just get out of here!

This woman, with her wild, untamed hair, her paint-encrusted yoga pants and black fleece, shambled along and had a look about her as if she hadn't slept at all the night before, like she had been up all night with a fever and a cough and--oh, shit, that's my wife.

Yeah.

So, as I calm down, I call into work and tell them that I had to run her to the hospital and my boss asks if everything is okay and I say, "Yeah, just a nasty fever and a spot of pneumonia" and he said to take my time coming in. My boss is pretty awesome like that (and no, he doesn't read this shit, which is exactly why I still have a job). Anyway, I hung up the phone and I was like, "Dammit! I should have told him you were mauled by a cougar!"

I then take my wife home, get some medicine into her, prop up her feet, tuck her in, help her to get warm, bring her some water and some Sunny D. However, I finally have to leave because, oh, hey, I have a physical at one o'clock. I have to pick my daughter up at three. This ought to be fun.

So, I buzz by work, check in with the boss, tell him I'm off to my physical and then to pick up Cookie and I'll see you guys tomorrow, hopefully with little to no virus bodies clinging to my personage. I'm off to my physical where I get run through the typical gamut of tests. I have to say, I was impressed that they only jabbed one needle into my arm in order to draw blood (normally, it takes three or so) and the doctor didn't jangle my nards or anything. Though, she did ask if I wanted her to help me with a testicular self-exam, and I was proud of myself for not saying "Do you take cash?"

Forty-five minutes later, I'm on my way to pick up Cookie, and since I've been proclaimed one healthy fat man, I decided to celebrate with a quick trip through McDonald's. Nothing says "I Just Passed My Physical" like sodium-encrusted cholesterol wedged between two stale buns.

I finally pick up Cookie, stop off to get my wife some more Tylenol, and head home. At this point, I'm exhausted, still a little hungry, and suffering from one wicked-ass caffeine headache, so I laid down for a little bit. I was awakened about thirty minutes later by Cookie at the side of my bed. "I have a 101.7 fever."

*sigh*

So finally, blissfully, I get everyone taken care of. My wife is medicined-up, my daughter is full to brimming with fever reducers, and I've inverted a bottle of tequila eaten a healthy dinner of left-overs. We all go to bed and we're sleeping somewhat soundly when I'm rudely awakened in the middle of the night by my wife shuffling around in the room. That's when I hear her click off the fan.

"Turn that thing back on or I'll slit your throat," I growl. Except, it came out something more like "I think it's time for you to take more medicine, dear." She curled up next to me, telling me how cold she was, and so we eventually fell into fitful slumber.

Finally, my alarm went off and I threw back the covers, sweaty and specked with the dying vestiges of my wife's diseases, never so happy to see Tuesday morning arrive.