Butterfly Wings

"What's that?"  I asked myself while detecting a slight tickle at the back of my throat.  I tilt my head in self-evaluation and administer tests of swallowing and open mouth breathing. "Guess it was nothing," I shrug and continue through the day ignoring any further signs.

The next morning, a stretching yawn brought me straight up in bed as a flaming blow-torch blasted the back of my throat.

"Uh-oh! A sinus infection?  Naw, can't be. It's just a simple sore throat from a cold," I convince  myself.  Not a fan of seeing doctors unless it's absolutely necessary, I ignore the sore throat and write it off being a simple symptom of a common cold that would dissipate within 24 hours.

Nightfall brought sleeplessness due to the swirling pool of lava at the back of my throat.

"I need to see my doctor ASAP," I pleaded to the receptionist the following morning. "I don't even know his name," I admitted, "but I'll settle for seeing the office cleaning lady if she can bring relief!" I begged with a hoarse voice, wincing with every breath.

Hours later, I was in an examination room, withering as each breath felt like rocket fuel misting the raging inferno..

"Oh my," exclaimed the physician's assistant, "that's text book strep throat!" she stated while smashing my tongue with a wooden depressor and eyeballing the walls of hell.

As a young boy, I remember the evil words of  "strep throat" meant my poor little butt being skewered by Seattle's Space Needle. Then, about 5 or 8 or 17 gallons of penicillin was pumped into said little butt, squishing tears out of my eyes. But, the trade-off was that hours later, I was rebuilt and out terrorizing the neighborhood.

"Here's a prescription for some penicillin pills.  It's an oldie but a goodie for strep," said the PA as I asked about a shot in the ass. "Do you want one?" she seriously asked with puzzled creases scrunched across her forehead.

"Not really, but if it brings relief, I'll gargle penicillin or you can blow up a vein with it," I whispered.

"Just go get the pills and follow the instructions," were her departing words.

Well, 30 hours after gutting the penicillin, no improvement.  Air still fueled the angry throat and I was dehydrating since water hurt too bad to drink.  Another painful call to the doctor office. Another round of listening to their standard 5 minutes of recorded crap had me promise myself to switch doctors as I remembered watching the receptionists chit-chat with each other while their phones rang.  Eventually one answered and I pleaded to tell the PA how penicillin wasn't kryptonite on my strain of strep.  Another trip to the pharmacy had a different antibiotic being chased with steroid booster pills.  Ever so slowly, the combo knocked the strep out.

Lesson learned besides strep as an adult is sheer misery?  The next time I feel as much as the delicate brushing of butterfly wings at the back of my throat, hello doctor's office!

(On a side note while trying to make a positive out the 4 days of suffering, I can say my healing Achilles hasn't felt this good in over a year. Now, I'm curious to see how much it appreciated the rest as I'll give it a good thrashing tomorrow.)