I’m back home from our trip to Austria. I’d be totally depressed if I weren’t sick as a dog. Although my dogs are healthy as a horse so I’m not sure about that phrase. My husband gave me a wicked virus as an Austria parting gift.
Conversation with my doctor, who’s been my doctor for over ten years so he’s used to my crazy rants, otherwise, I’d be institutionalized.
Me: It might be Ebola.
Doctor: No. It’s not Ebola. It’s not even the flu. You have an infection (bla, bla, bla…respiratory, bronchial, sinus, ear something or other).
Me (wheezing and coughing between every syllable): Isn’t that how Ebola starts? (Jeez, he’s the medical professional) I had a nosebleed and I’m coughing up lung tissue. Should we call the airlines and report a contagion? This could be the beginning of the zombie apocalypse.
Then I inexplicably cough-farted. You know (hopefully, you don’t) when you cough really hard and it pushes a fart out and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. It sounded like a really loud, sick duck. Oh and not just once. I’m coughing like crazy at this point and with each big cough comes more butt air duck calls. For some reason, instead of being humiliated, I find this hilarious so I start some kind of laugh-cough-farting frenzy. I have no idea how my colon had so much air in it. One of those medical mystery shows should contact me. My doctor suddenly had to take a call and left the room.
When he comes back he gives me prescriptions for antibiotics and cough syrup. Nothing for gas, maybe he didn’t hear it.
Fun doctor stories anyone?
In happy news, my TV is speaking English
American German – language lesson #6
Fahrt (fart) – drive. Saying ‘Gute Fahrt’ (goo ta fart) is like saying ‘Have a good drive’. Unless you speak English, then it’s like congratulating someone for butt air.