Friday morning Jim woke up with that nasty flu-like bug that's been going around. He was down for the count. Since his lungs have been hammered by pneumonia and MRSA infection I wasn't going to wait a week for him to develop bronchitis...I just made him take Zithromax from the get-go. I have it in the house because I used to get bronchitis every year. And I made him do his breathing treatment with his nebulizer. By the next day he was feeling much better. Not great, but better. Everyone calls Dr. Pam when they get sick. Just today my mother showed me Joe's MRI results to see if I understood what they said. Unfortunately, the only reason I know what I know is because I've had so much shit go wrong with me over the years, or people close to me have had a lot of shit go wrong. It's like the person who knows alot about car repairs because they've had everything under the sun go wrong with their own car. Had I lived two or three hundred years ago I would have been the old biddy in the village digging up roots and herbs that people called instead of a doctor. "Ezekiel! Go fetch Mamma Primiani!" And then they probably would have stoned my ass for being a witch if the kids in the village laughed too much.
So I guess Jim will live. He's got an appointment this week in Philly with Dr. Belden in infectious disease. In the meantime, I've relegated myself to the guest bedroom so I can stay away from his germs as much as possible.
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