I went to visit a family medicine doctor this morning, something I haven’t done since I saw a pediatrician. Seriously.
It’s not that I’m scared of visiting the doctor, but more that I’m really, really lazy. I’m also really, really healthy — usually. I eat well, exercise daily, wear sunscreen and all that walking-the-public-health-talk sort of stuff. But I’ve been home for three weeks from my latest international journey and the funny thing is, my stomach is still acting like I’m in Rocky Point, sipping tequila between bites of dogg-o tacos.
So, I made an appointment, and guess what he told me? (No really, I couldn’t have guessed this either.) Apparently traveling to countries like Mozambique and Nicaragua and working in public health makes me a wee bit susceptible to our dear friend tuberculosis.
I may be the only person on earth who knows how to gain weight when possibly infected with a disease fondly known as CONSUMPTION. My God. What could this bacteria be consuming? Certainly not the weight around my mid-section. Or all the food that has been exiting my body exactly three hours after I’ve eaten it. Oh stomach, how you torture me.
So this week I’m spending my margarita budget on the not-so-glamorous or nearly as enjoyable chest X-rays, blood tests and antibiotics. Lovely.
The doctor had the gall to ask me if I’d be “doing this work for a long time?” Why yes, yes I will be. I love my job, although this bonus was not detailed in my contract.