I’ll try to keep this short and sweet, because I’m currently riding a DayQuil high that will likely result in some kind of NyQuil-hangover crash/six-hour coma fairly soon.
For the second time this year, I am sick. Which is weird, because I never used to get sick. I’d like to blame the fact that we’ve been traveling too much, but it probably has more to do with the fact that because I don’t have an office to report to every day, my immune system is rarely challenged and has turned into a weak-ass fighter. Do some cardio, immune system!
Regardless of the cause, I’m pretty sure this is what my throat looks like right now:
How did my cold even get a meat cleaver?
At this point, that’s neither here nor there. Let me take you back to a simpler time, when my cold and I were just getting to know each other.
It all started a few days ago, when I noticed a rattling in my chest, which I was obviously very concerned about–it’s been a little more than a month since the Mr’s aunt died rather shortly (six weeks) after discovering that her lungs were filling with fluid.
Desperate to learn the cause of the rattling in my lungs, I turned to the Internet and eventually WebMD–like a FOOL. And for reasons that can only be explained by my feverish delirium, I was genuinely surprised when my willful idiocy (seriously, self, STOP Googling your symptoms) resulted in WebMD handing me another cancer diagnosis.
By now, it’s a well-documented fact that I hate WebMD (I will punch you in the stupid, WebMD), but yesterday, I had a revelation. I believe I’ve finally uncovered the secret algorithm used by WebMD’s symptom checker.
As far as I can tell, it works like this:
I realize that I have compromised everyone’s safety–most of all my own–by revealing the secrets of WebMD’s diagnosis tool. I fully expect the lives of everyone who has read this to turn into some thrilling version of The Bourne Identity, where the creators of WebMD seek to destroy us for what we know. (WebMD is the perfect evil villain.) I’m sorry, in advance, for the time where you break your ankle jumping from roof-to-roof in a crowded city in the hopes of escaping some Christopher-Walken looking government spook.
Oh, hey! It’s those NyQuil hallucinations I was talking about. It’s been really nice knowing y’all.
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