my sick room
This is not a throwback post wherein I'm going to reminisce about my mom. I'm writing about me.
I have pneumonia, and when I went to Urgent Care on Wednesday morning, I was pretty much out of it. I'm told I was there for three hours. I remember seeing the doctor, and explaining to the X-ray technician about the metal clips in my spine. I remember getting my arm bandaged after the blood draw, but not the poke of the needle. I slept most of the while I was there, unable to sit up or stay awake. There was, I'm told, a very charming man in a neck brace in the waiting room, explaining to someone in Argentina with his phone on speaker that he couldn't make the trip. I didn't hear a word.
That was Wednesday. I'm much better now, though still too sick to leave the house. My housemates are tending to everything. I'm thrilled to have insurance (Medicare)--though I don't have a supplemental policy like my mom's that covered every penny, I feel very lucky. I can't imagine how awful it would have been in the wee hours of Wednesday morning when my teeth were chattering like a cartoon skeleton's to weigh the question of whether or not I could afford to go to the doctor. What is causing the confusion in the minds of people like Paul Ryan who entertained cutting Medicare? What caused the confusion in the minds of the Republican lawmakers who tried over and over again to repeal the Affordable Care Act? Maybe they need antibiotics.