adventures in medicine
I rather figure that I had a sinus infection (lessee, constant headache exclusively behind my left eyebrow, upper nasal congestion -- HRRRM), and my father agreed. However, him being distant, I made an appointment with the University Health Center for today. Whatever examination fee the doctor got, it was exclusively for the purpose of obtaining antibiotics. Fun thought! Life is burlesque!
Elsewise, it would appear I've put on some weight since the holidays. Twenty pounds or so, I'd think. I was wearing my heaviest shoes at the time, but, still. It's like I ate a baby.
Also, I have unusually high blood pressure. It was not made clear if that meant "unusually high for a scrawny twenty-year-old" or just "unusually high," as the doctor qualified it into ambiguity. I'm to pop by for a re-measurement at some future point of my convenience, which I'd assume I'll not get around to. Oddly, I have henceforth had unusually low blood pressure, so dunno what that's about.
My father talked to the doctor here he last visited, and I guess I'm to see him in the future. Apparently, he was all set to wrangle antibiotics out of that fellow, if the university fell through (pardon, "failed to give [me] proper care"). More frightening, I am to appear to him at some point not too far in the future for a general examination and presumable beginning of my adult health records. This, I assume, means my first medical groping, a procedure I have so far blessedly managed to avoid. MORT.
The university doctor asked if I was one to wear myself out or get plenty of rest. My response one can probably guess, considering I'm writing this four hours before I need to wake up. He asked my major. "Oh, yeah, you're just keeping busy with film studies, aren't you?" Without a trace of sarcasm! Um, all right, we'll go with that, doc.
Then he sorta groused at me for not owning a thermometer, as I was unable to provide the quantifiable details of my fever. A private thermometer, mind, as some things, like hepatitis, just won't wash off. I, then, internally, and my father, later, verbally, proceeded to laugh at him.
Also, I just finished Mr. Strangelove, the Peter Sellers biography I began on Monday. Michael Palin was quoted on the cover to the effect that it is a "compulsive page-turner," and dangnabbit if he weren't but right. Interesting fellow. Was indeed one to hide most all personal personality behind bunches of characters. The description of the Goons introduced me to the concept of the "compulsive comedian," which is fascinating. The Goons are a fun bunch, in general. Spike Milligan particularly I should like to become more familiar with. That's some black humor, him. HRRRM.
Peter Sellers had a massive heart attack as he was getting dressed to go have dinner with the Goons. This led to a coma and his death. Harry Secombe, I believe, later stated, "just like him to do anything to get out of a check."
Peter Sellers arranged that, as he was being carted out to be cremated during his funeral service, Glenn Miller's "In the Mood" would be played. This happened. Apparently, the Goons pretty much laughed through the length of his funeral, and everyone else cried.
Elsewise, it would appear I've put on some weight since the holidays. Twenty pounds or so, I'd think. I was wearing my heaviest shoes at the time, but, still. It's like I ate a baby.
Also, I have unusually high blood pressure. It was not made clear if that meant "unusually high for a scrawny twenty-year-old" or just "unusually high," as the doctor qualified it into ambiguity. I'm to pop by for a re-measurement at some future point of my convenience, which I'd assume I'll not get around to. Oddly, I have henceforth had unusually low blood pressure, so dunno what that's about.
My father talked to the doctor here he last visited, and I guess I'm to see him in the future. Apparently, he was all set to wrangle antibiotics out of that fellow, if the university fell through (pardon, "failed to give [me] proper care"). More frightening, I am to appear to him at some point not too far in the future for a general examination and presumable beginning of my adult health records. This, I assume, means my first medical groping, a procedure I have so far blessedly managed to avoid. MORT.
The university doctor asked if I was one to wear myself out or get plenty of rest. My response one can probably guess, considering I'm writing this four hours before I need to wake up. He asked my major. "Oh, yeah, you're just keeping busy with film studies, aren't you?" Without a trace of sarcasm! Um, all right, we'll go with that, doc.
Then he sorta groused at me for not owning a thermometer, as I was unable to provide the quantifiable details of my fever. A private thermometer, mind, as some things, like hepatitis, just won't wash off. I, then, internally, and my father, later, verbally, proceeded to laugh at him.
Also, I just finished Mr. Strangelove, the Peter Sellers biography I began on Monday. Michael Palin was quoted on the cover to the effect that it is a "compulsive page-turner," and dangnabbit if he weren't but right. Interesting fellow. Was indeed one to hide most all personal personality behind bunches of characters. The description of the Goons introduced me to the concept of the "compulsive comedian," which is fascinating. The Goons are a fun bunch, in general. Spike Milligan particularly I should like to become more familiar with. That's some black humor, him. HRRRM.
Peter Sellers had a massive heart attack as he was getting dressed to go have dinner with the Goons. This led to a coma and his death. Harry Secombe, I believe, later stated, "just like him to do anything to get out of a check."
Peter Sellers arranged that, as he was being carted out to be cremated during his funeral service, Glenn Miller's "In the Mood" would be played. This happened. Apparently, the Goons pretty much laughed through the length of his funeral, and everyone else cried.