‘Tis the season in Texas for temperatures to fluctuate for months on end between frigid, below freezing temps (go ahead and laugh, my Yankee brethren, but down here the 20s are cold) and balmy 70s. For this reason, I hate my home state. Pick a spot on the thermometer and stick with it already…like Milwaukee! Anyway, thanks to these lovely climate mood swings, it’s not uncommon for a lot of us to parade around with drippy noses, clogged sinuses and general, all-around bad attitudes.
I don’t call it ‘winter’ anymore…it’s now officially sinus season. Santa please bring me Kleenex and Mucinex.
I had to break in another doctor Thursday because the last one wanted to treat me for crap I wasn’t even complaining about…kind of like going for a sinus infection and being asked for a stool sample. Where do these people come from?! I fear I’m becoming one of those people who shops around for a doctor, although in my case it’s not for drugs, it’s for proof of intelligent medical establishment life. I feel like playing Whitesnake’s song because here I go again, but Himself’s no David Coverdale and I’m certainly no Tawny Kitane. Besides which, I have no intention of writhing around on the hood of a Jaguar..it’s too darn cold and it wouldn’t be the same as an American muscle car! I have my standards.
But, I digress.
Friday’s acupuncture adventure involved sinuses and ears…and smoke. I like smoke. Have I mentioned that before? I got a slew of needles to the face and ears…and a few in my wrists to quell the effects of the antibiotics on my stomach. Boo nausea, yay needles! I don’t even know what to call the gizmo she raked over my face but she lit (yay, matches and flames!) something I think she called ‘mox’ and put it into aforementioned gizmo and rubbed across my sinuses and by my ears. All was well until I heard hair singeing and then it was briefly pucker time. As it turned out, I still have my hair and I didn’t embarrass myself.
The last hurrah involved an ear cone. Interesting, a little weird, kinda gross (do I really want to see what comes out of my ears?) and it involved, you guessed it, fire. Count me in. The auditory experience of resin wrapped linen crinkling as it burned its way down toward my ear earned me my doctorate in working buttonholes in the seat cushions. I’d catch glimpses of smoke wisping toward the ceiling and think, once again, that God has a really good sense of humor.
I keep waiting for the day Miss J offers something really kooky, but knowing me I’ll be all in.