So, for those of you playing along at home, I went to the doctor about my nausea yesterday.
Pretty sure it's not food allergies, I say.
Pretty sure it's not environmental, since I sleep in the same place all the time, I say.
No blood or "coffee grinds" in the bile, I say.
Not pregnant, I say.
No headaches, eye problems, chest pain, heart burn, or other stomach problems, I say.
Only happens on weekdays, but I like my job and my co-workers, I say.
Could be stomach flu, she says.
Could be stress, she says.
Could be a brain tumor, though. I'm worried. Here, go get X-rays done and come back in a week.
Meanwhile, take Gravol, she says.
...wait, wait, back up, BRAIN TUMOR?
Yep.
Okay then.
Off to the X-ray lab! Thank god it's a walk-in.
So what did you do to your head? The technician asks.
Nothing, I say.
I've been having nausea and vomiting and my doctor wants to rule out a brain tumor, I say.
Oh, says the technician.
Later:
We should give it a name, says Patrick.
I will call it Cousin Lumpy, I say.
We're going to feel REALLY bad when we find out you actually have a brain tumor, he says.
Why? I say.
Because it will kill you out of revenge for being mocked, he says.
Good point, I say.
Even now, it sounds ludicrous. I can't get over how ludicrous it sounds.
Stomach flu, stress, BRAIN TUMOR.
Coma, death, halitosis? says Jeremy.
Pretty much, I say.
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