The Doctor

Thankfully, I managed to get through my E.M. Forster presentation last night without too much hassle, but I think I gained more points by talking with professor about Forster during the short 5 minute break we got afterward than I did during my in-class presentation. I tried to be super-nerd with my overhead, a mention of critical theory, and the citing of some relatively obscure biographical details about Forster, yet because I felt extremely bad, I don't think I did as well as I could have. And Instead of jumping right back into work when I got home later that night, I watched the PBS series about Vikings from underneath my blanket on the couch, eventually succumbing to the alluring siren calls of sleep.

And although I felt slightly better, I thought I should cover all of my bases and try getting a note from the physician at the student health center to explain to my boss that I'm not skipping work just because I can. Unfortunately, for some reason, the doctor at the clinic - a brusque and irritated man - was apparently frustrated by the large numbers of students who have been sick lately, and perceiving himself overworked, was taking it out on the nurses and the receptionist when I arrived. Doing a bad job of hiding his frustration from the other student-patients by loudly discussing his gripes in the hall, he told them not to schedule any more walk-ins. I, of course, was a walk-in. And, at first, I don't think he believed me. It was only until he heard my cough, listened to my lungs, and noted the blood in my nose (sorry for being graphic) that he decided that I just might - in fact - be sick. Consequently, he gradually softened his rude tone. But if I had a choice, I would never go to him again. Although I know that my privileges mean that I don't suffer the indignities of most, being uninsured stinks.