Not a Doctor, Yet, Home Coping Part Ten

When I was interviewing for the field hospital job, I told them I am often mistaken for a nurse. I thought this was important for them to know. They should not put me too near a clinical situation because it was always possible someone would ask me to do something medical, and they really should not accidentally hand me more responsibility. It’s an error many, many people have made. They realize far too late, they cannot sue me for malpractice. Having shingles is not the same thing as hanging a shingle, of course.

Not only have I never been to medical school, my only qualification is college biology during which I learned nothing of medical use. In my biology study, I memorized the process of photosynthesis, which is a magical plant thing. I don’t remember anything with certainty, except that Quaaludes are not involved in photosynthesis.

Not only have I minimal qualifications, I have been known to overreact to symptoms, for other people as well as my own symptoms. Frequently, the mere suggestion of symptoms is enough to make them appear. Every time I was pregnant, I was so preoccupied with premature labor that I set off contractions with my mind all the time. I went to the hospital so often with false labor they put up a sign in front: Not Yet, Dummy.

Friday, I developed a terrible pain and decided that because I had recently been mauled by a house cat, my spleen was inflamed. I’m pretty sure I still have a spleen, and  if I do and it was in fact irritated by the inflammation of little miss litter paws, my spleen is now located in my lower left abdomen. Weird, right?

After some ill-advised searching on the internet, diverticulitis seemed more likely than imminent spleen explosion. And so I debated going to the hospital. Nobody wants to go to the hospital on a normal Friday, the only worse day is Monday, as I recall from my many years of not going to medical school.

Instead of calling a doctor like a smart person, I took some anti-inflammatory pills and drank nearly two bottles of wine. In my experience, if you are dying of anything, you will mind it a great deal less with two bottles of wine in you.

Now, this alcohol infusion is not Part Of The Plan–the plan to quit drinking. It was both a terrible idea and exactly what the doctor (me) ordered. I forgave myself in advance and will stick to The Plan moving forward, unless my spleen begins to explode again and I cannot calm down about it otherwise.

So, why do I tell you this? It’s all a preface to further assert that I have no medical standing, not even in my own living room. People even dumber than myself are giving medical advice out like they are tossing confetti all over their own parade. Please don’t pay any attention to these clowns.

You understand things, you are smart. I have decided to listen to the smartest people I know, and with that in mind, I made a questionnaire for them to tell the rest of us what they are personally doing and not doing for viral precautions.

The smartest people I know are:

• not going outside except to stare at the moon or helicopters
• only shopping for necessities, medicine, childbirth, etc.
• wearing a mask outdoors and in common areas (politely)
• not wearing gloves at all
• washing their hands 9-10 times per day
• maintaining a 6-foot distance from everyone
• usually remembering not to touch their face
• they sanitize household objects daily, until they run out of disinfectant

These people do not have many risk factors or a nearby outbreak and they are still doing these things.

These things are EASY.

Thank you for coming to my dread talk.

Love,
yermom

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