So, last night, I didn't fall asleep until about 2:30 (and that was only after taking Nyquil and curling up in my papasan chair with the extremely soporific December issue of Vogue magazine).
Why, you ask?
Because I thought I was dying.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am sort of a huge hypochondriac, and I often think I'm dying. But this time, I had a legit reason to be scared: I have MRSA, a medication-resistant staph infection. While all of my spots were healing, one of the first signs that MRSA is in your blood is if you get a fever. And I had a fever and nasty swollen glands, but no sore throat, so it was unlike any cold I'd ever had. So I was kind of scared.
This morning I went to the doctor, where I told them that I had MRSA and a fever, and they pushed me up and gave me a REAL doctor, not a physician's assistant or a resident. She took about five seconds to look at me and tell me I had a cold. And that I should keep taking nyquil.
I personally find the details of other people's health kind of boring, so let me apologize for sharing here, but when you are afraid that you are going to die, or at least be in the hospital for a couple of days, it's really nice to find out that all that's really wrong is that you have a cold.