Friday, December 21, 2007
The Mange
No, I don't have it. In fact, I believe scabies is highly misdiagnosed. I had a run-of-the mill allergic reaction. Nothing as dirty and junk-yard-dog worthy as scabies. Not that I'm disappointed. Everything in the house got washed, including the innocent puppers.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Itching To Tell You...
The doctor peered at my red streaked skin.
“It’s here,” I said pointing to my legs. “And here” pointing to my stomach. “And here,” pointing to my haunches. “And it’s on my arms.”
“Do you have dogs?” She asked poking at me with a rubber-clad finger.
“Yes.” I said.
“You say the rash moves around your body?” She asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“I think you have scabies?” She said with a grimace.
“SCABIES.” I was indignant. “How can I have scabies?” I whined.
“If you let your dogs out, they get into garbage.”
After picking up my scabies busting lotion and some anti-itch pills, I left the hospital.
When I got home I looked at my partner with hangdog eyes.
“What did the doctor say?”
“I have scabies”
“SCABIES!”
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t think you have scabies.”
“Why not?” I said with the force of someone who wants scabies.
Because I’m very susceptible to it. I’ve had it twice before I ever had a dog. If I don't have it, you don't have it.”
“You had scabies?”
The only advantages I can find in allegedly having scabies is that the pills are for anti-anxiety with the side effect that they take away the itch. The downside is that they make me sleepy so I’m napping all the time, or that's another upside.
I thought I was having an allergic reaction. I was having an allergic reaction, to scabies.
Stay tuned for another installment of What’s Eating Me or Visiting the Skin Doctor.
“It’s here,” I said pointing to my legs. “And here” pointing to my stomach. “And here,” pointing to my haunches. “And it’s on my arms.”
“Do you have dogs?” She asked poking at me with a rubber-clad finger.
“Yes.” I said.
“You say the rash moves around your body?” She asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“I think you have scabies?” She said with a grimace.
“SCABIES.” I was indignant. “How can I have scabies?” I whined.
“If you let your dogs out, they get into garbage.”
After picking up my scabies busting lotion and some anti-itch pills, I left the hospital.
When I got home I looked at my partner with hangdog eyes.
“What did the doctor say?”
“I have scabies”
“SCABIES!”
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t think you have scabies.”
“Why not?” I said with the force of someone who wants scabies.
Because I’m very susceptible to it. I’ve had it twice before I ever had a dog. If I don't have it, you don't have it.”
“You had scabies?”
The only advantages I can find in allegedly having scabies is that the pills are for anti-anxiety with the side effect that they take away the itch. The downside is that they make me sleepy so I’m napping all the time, or that's another upside.
I thought I was having an allergic reaction. I was having an allergic reaction, to scabies.
Stay tuned for another installment of What’s Eating Me or Visiting the Skin Doctor.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Car Talk
I used to get worked up over drivers talking on their cell phones. Every time someone stopped acting like the experienced person behind the wheel I’m used to in Los Angeles because we drive so bloody much, I’d go through the five stages of grief, starting with denial.
They are NOT talking on their phone!
On schedule, I’d move to anger.
What a thoughtless jerk!
Next, the comfy stage of bargaining.
If you would just move to the slow lane when your phone rings, I wouldn’t have to hate you.
The fourth stage, depression, is the hardest to take.
The world is going to hell in a hand basket. Civility is a thing of the past.
But, now I’ve matured. I’ve reached the nirvana of the last and final stage: acceptance. I recognize it. Now that people-driving-while-chatting-on-cell-phones has a groove in my neurons, I don’t mind the languid way they drive, slowing from 70 to 50 for what seems like no reason. Or the way they turn their blinker on for 10 minutes before they change lanes. It’s a recognizable phenom, a known quantity.
And, sometimes, now I’m the person on the cell phone.
They are NOT talking on their phone!
On schedule, I’d move to anger.
What a thoughtless jerk!
Next, the comfy stage of bargaining.
If you would just move to the slow lane when your phone rings, I wouldn’t have to hate you.
The fourth stage, depression, is the hardest to take.
The world is going to hell in a hand basket. Civility is a thing of the past.
But, now I’ve matured. I’ve reached the nirvana of the last and final stage: acceptance. I recognize it. Now that people-driving-while-chatting-on-cell-phones has a groove in my neurons, I don’t mind the languid way they drive, slowing from 70 to 50 for what seems like no reason. Or the way they turn their blinker on for 10 minutes before they change lanes. It’s a recognizable phenom, a known quantity.
And, sometimes, now I’m the person on the cell phone.
Monday, December 3, 2007
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