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(happy birthday, Marta!)

17 July 2002

It's amazing what a pair of burning lungs and a head that feels two times its normal size can do to assuage any guilt you feel about not doing work.

It takes me a couple of hours to write a review, sometimes longer, and by 1:30 this morning, I still was only 3/4 of the way through the Man of La Mancha review. Still to be done was the $%@%$ tape that Dr. G insisted had to be done by morning.

But I just couldn't stay awake any longer, so I set the alarm for 4 a.m. and went to sleep. When 4 a.m. came and I got up, I was sick. I finally had a full blown cold which went from the burning eyeballs to the burning lungs. The nose was stinging, and I couldn't stop coughing. I decided the hell with the tape, I needed more sleep, so I slept another hour or two before finally getting up.

I still have no voice. I have less of a voice now than I had yesterday, and, in fact, Dr. G's wife came in today to answer the phones for me. The idea was that she'd come in so I could go home early, but that didn't work out. She had to leave early, so I ended up staying after all, until Dr. G determined that he wouldn't need me to stand by for a physical exam on the last patient and told me to go on home. But at least she made phone calls for me and that was a big help because--have I mentioned that I still have no voice???

Journaler Jennifer, who lives here in Davis, sent me a note saying that something called "friar's balsam" works wonders for her when she has this problem. Jeri's here this week, so I sent her out to the local natural food store get some for me. It certainly tastes vile enough that it should work wonders, as the clerk in the store promised it would. I actually was able to get out a sound, shortly after taking it, which put my voice in the bass range, but wasn't a whisper. I was greatly encouraged. But it was short-lived and I fear I'm going to have to take some more of this gawdawful stuff.

While I was waiting for Jeri and her friend Laurie to come back with the friar's balsam, I had a series of coughing-fits-to-end-all-coughing-fits, which probably didn't do much to help my damaged throat. If nothing else, I have NO concerns today about meeting my minimum daily requirement of water. The only thing which seems to calm the throat is water, so I feel like I'm floating at times.

It somehow doesn't seem fair that after having turned around my wicked wicked food ways and turning to clean living, good food, exercise and all the things that you're supposed to do, this is the second time in three months that I've been sick. There's something wrong here!

But obviously clean living does not guarantee good health. The whole town is worried about the psychiatrist since reports of his collapse hit the paper yesterday. His wife is a state assemblyperson and he's been a high mucky-muck in all of the psychological organizations here in California, and nationwide, so their circle of friends and acquaintances is very large and information is flying about the local network fast and furious. He's having coronary bypass surgery tomorrow, to repair several blocked arteries.

Thing is that this guy is the very last person you would suspect of having an artery blockage. He swims daily with the Masters program, he bikes, he jogs, he eats healthy foods and he is at an ideal weight. Yet there he sits in the hospital with 50-90% blockage of arteries.

If he can have 90% blockage of arteries with that kind of lifestyle, I don't even want to think about what my arteries must look like, when I've only had 7 months out of 59 years of clean living. I kind of envision something looking a bit like brie.

I'm not going to worry about my arteries right now. I'm going to take some more of that vile friar's balsam and see if I can't croak out more than one or two words. It certainly does make it difficult to spend much time on the telephone, which is a good percentage of my job.

Have I mentioned I still have no voice?


Quote of the Day

Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing two men holding guns than holding hands?

~ Ernest Gaines

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