An Unhealthy Wait

 

We were pleased that My Guy’s two-week-old cold was winding down just in time for Thanksgiving.

We’d tested for Covid, and all was well there. We’d already received a heads-up call from our son warning us that one of the twins had a runny nose, and their one-year-old cousin was showing signs of something, too. Now that both of our colds had passed, we said not to worry.

          And it was a good day: the turkey was praised, grandkids were dandled on knees, and we all ate too much pie.

          But here we are a week later and his cold is back, except this is the ugly big brother of that cold, the sort that’s making me wonder if some alien being might blast from his chest, bringing a lung with it.

          So since at this point, My Guy’s almost unreachable new doctor seems to be just a name in our contact list, and a bodyless face in a Zoom call, I contacted the Urgent Care facility in town. I called at noon and received the last appointment of the day at 6 p.m. Silly me. I guess walking in to a walk-in clinic is now passé.  

          It may be urgent care, but they don’t want to see him any more urgently than 6 hours later.

 

P.S. - No big news from the Doc in the Box. No definitive answers, although they were very thorough. Exam, Xrays, prescription for cough medicine and antibiotics. Guess we just wait now for our unwelcome visitor to leave.