Does this hazmat suit make me look fat?

Whoever came up with the old “luck of the Irish” adage must have been talking blarney. Maybe I just have a target on my back but I seem to have encountered one annoying setback after another ever since little Andrew came into the world.

This week’s “fun” involved having to be taken care of by my mother on Friday due to either (a) a horrible reaction to the H1N1 vaccination or (b) the possible onset of mastitis. Twenty-four hours after I woke up on Friday, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I ran a temperature the entire day, accompanied by chills, sweats, shakes, dizziness and fatigue. I could barely take care of myself let alone poor little Drew. Just to make the diagnosis a little more complicated (because I can never keep things simple), I also had a very sore right breast. I knew that mastitis could also cause flu-like symptoms, so it was hard to know whether I was reaction to the previous night’s vaccination or the onset of infection. After 24 hours in bed I thankfully started to feel a little more human, albeit still very rundown. I was terrified of going to a clinic to be assessed due to the big flu scare; instead I called Tele-Health and spent a few hours on the phone only to be told to go to a clinic – sadly my physician’s office had closed for the day by then.

This morning I awoke feeling slightly better than yesterday, although my breast remained sore. I also started to feel a slight tightness or wheezing in my chest. Off to the clinic I went to wait 45 minutes to see doctor for a total of 5 minutes. I was terrified of catching anything from the other patients so I sat like a loner in the corner feeling slightly Darth Vader-esque with my surgical mask on. As I predicted, the doctor simply wrote me out a prescription for some antibiotics and seemed generally apathetic towards my other symptoms or tight chest; he didn’t even listen to my breathing. I also had to persist in asking for the second set of results from a thyroid ultrasound that was taken over a month ago. He totally forgot that I even had been diagnosed with thyroid nodules before my pregnancy….grumble.

While I’m not one to typically knock the medical profession, I’m getting the distinct impression that my doctor just doesn’t have enough time for his patients anymore. It’s not like I’m a hypochondriac either; having a Mom as a nurse I’d like to think that I’m somewhat better informed than the average Joe. I don’t enjoy going to the Doctor, especially in the height of the H1N1 scare; at least take the time to hear my concerns rather than letting me simply self-diagnose and throwing drugs at me….double grumble.

Here’s hoping that this is the last medical setback I encounter for a loooooong time. I’m tired of feeling like a rundown piece of junk! On a more positive note – I’m getting my hair cut and highlighted next Saturday and hubby and I are heading out on the town while Andrew gets babysat. I’m excited as hell for a night off but I’ll probably end up thinking about the little stinker the whole time I’m away.