Seriously, if you’ve been through it and triumphed, I really need to give you a good pat on the back.
Because I can’t.
On Wednesday, after waking up obnoxiously early by a whining Oliver and scolding Daddy K, I went to work as per usual but subsequently got very sick one hour into my shift.
I texted my boss asking whether I can pre-record the next two hours so I can leave early but she offered to come and stand in for me instead.
I AM BLESSED WITH THE BEST BOSSES EVER.
My head was swimming and I so badly want to lie down, but being the Scrooge I am, I opted to take the gruelling one hour’s bus-train ride home instead of the taxi, and plopped down on the sofa immediately after I reached.
K happened to be listening in and after hearing I’m sick, offered to fetch Oliver home after his IPPT test (Yes, what apt timing).
I was running a 38.7℃ fever and could barely move an inch without swaying.
During the night, K had to support me by the arm with Oliver tottering on the other to the clinic. The neighbour we’re close to wasn’t at home so there’s no one to help look after him.
It was pretty stressful for K, cos O was whining to be carried all the while but he was quite literally, arms full with both me and Oliver.
We’re probably a strange sight to behold, judging from the glances we got from passer-bys. ‘Cos we’re like:
The doc diagnosed it as flu and sent us home with some generic medicine. I felt so incapacitated because every time I took more than a few steps without holding on to something, I felt like fainting.
I woke up the next morning with a 39.1 ℃ fever and still feeling like crap.
Spent the rest of the day swimming in and out of sleep and finally felt more like myself during the evening. The pain in the throat hurts like hell though.
Thus this morning, I went to the same clinic to see if there’s any medication I can take to speed up the recovery as I need my voice back by Monday.
Note that this is not the usual clinic that I frequent, but it was the only few opened during the night in my area. It’s also less crowded because of the higher costs.
I thought I could use some extra rest time so off I go at 8:50 am. Turned out the doctor was late, and then the first patient before me was a chatterbox and in the end, I waited for 50 mins even though I was second in queue. 😦
What’s worse was that after declaring that I needed antibiotics for my swollen throat, the doctor casually asked,
“So what are you working as?”
Oh gosh, here goes.
“I am… A deejay.”
There’s that familiar glint in his eyes.
Doc: “Oh! Really? Those in the discotheques…?”
Me: “Er, no, radio station.”
Doc: “Oh! *laughs* Which channel?”
Me: *Trying to subtly skirt the issue* “I work at a Mandarin radio station though.”
Doc: “Oh! But which station?”
Oh man, this guy’s persistent.
Doc: “Oh, sorry, I’ve never heard that before.”
Me: Told you so.
Just when I thought it’s over…
Doc: “So you’re a celebrity la?”
Oh my goodness, are we seriously holding this conversation with my sore throat?
Me: “No, I’m not a celebrity…”
Doc: “But you’re a deejay mah, so that makes you a celebrity la!”
Ok, if you deem it that way…
I think I accidentally let slip some annoyance so he quickly back-pedalled after that.
Now the doctor’s probably gonna remember me as that deejay with the unglam bed hair and sore throat. How wonderful.
And no, people, I’m not a celebrity.
I’m not famous, not well-known. Thus I’m not a celebrity.
I’m a part-time deejay, part-time mom.
With a very painful throat.