Getting sick for me is just not an option. Even if it means being patient zero of the zombie apocalypse.
It’s not that I’m an indestructible machine, but just that I rarely, if ever, fall ill. So getting sick to the point that I broke down and had to get my ass to the emergency room was quite a different experience for me. It’s not too often that I admit defeat, and as with my stubborn nature I kind of refuse to take pills and concoctions for every sniffle, fever, cough, ache, and pain. Damn, have you seen all those drug commercials lately with all those crazy side effects. Uncontrollable explosive diarrhea, third eyeballs, webbed fingers, and anal leakage just don’t sound too appealing when looking for a cure. Nope.
I don’t even go to a doctor that often even though I know I am way overdue for a physical. Just a normal pig-headed man, and I give my gal a lot of credit for putting up with me at times. So on Sunday afternoon when I poked my head into the bedroom while she was on the phone with her mom and announced that we had better hit the ER she knew it was serious business. We grabbed a few things, made sure I had my health care insurance card, and jumped into a taxi. Continue reading Fear the Walking Dead Pneumonia!