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Strep Throat Problems

Strep throat and how to save mankind one spit glass at a time

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This pandemic world just feels heavy so here is a Facebook memory to lighten your day! 

A few years ago, I got strep. Now, I’ve had strep many times but nothing like that latest bout, which I deemed STREPZILLA. I was rendered unable to speak or eat due to the agonizing pain.

On the plus side, I dropped five pounds.

I went to Urgent Care where they loaded me up with antibiotics and sub-par painkillers. My husband Jamie helped out a lot over the weekend but I knew he would be back to work as usual on Monday (my son’s day off). The little dude was a great sport coping with his deadbeat mother but I asked my friend Eva to watch him so he could have some social interaction with people who don’t use perturbing charades to communicate.

The toughest part about the illness was lack of sleep. I was awake most of my first night due to pain. The second night, because of the Aforementioned Buzz. By the third night, I was loopy and desperately needed to sleep. But I had a challenge even greater than pain and buzzes: phlegm.

If you’ve never had strep, there is a lot of accompanying phlegm due to the infection. This is where strep is the root of all evil: your throat is so sore you can’t swallow so I was reduced to carrying around a “spit glass” with me at all times.

It’s no wonder everyone treated me like a leper except for Fat Kitty who has an appreciation for spit and bathes himself daily in it.

To stay entertained on Sunday evening, we binge-watched a few episodes from LOST. If you’re not familiar with the show, Flight 815 crashed on an island and the survivors have many unexplainable and mysterious encounters. In the second season, one of the characters (Desmond) spends three years inside of a Hatch inputting numbers into a computer every 108 minutes to prevent the world from being destroyed.

That night as I went to bed, I was almost delirious from lack of sleep. Every time I’d start to nod off, phlegm would well up in my mouth and I needed to spit it out. In my frenzied state, my dreams transcended reality. I became Desmond but instead of inputting numbers, I had the imperative responsibility of spitting every 15 minutes or the entire earth would be subjected to a catastrophic electromagnetic explosion.

You heard it here people:

My phlegm is single-handedly responsible for saving the world and maybe it might be the cure you’re looking for with COVID? 

We can only hope. 

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