Recently I was called to an area hospital where a relative of mine had been transported complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. While waiting, I noted that I’d have a sore chest and a hard time breathing too if I was sneezing that hard. A few times I wondered if I’d be able to hear again – or if the walls to the room would collapse.
After several hours of waiting for x-rays, blood tests, and heavens knows what else, the doctor said they could find nothing wrong and inquired of the patient about coughing, but not sneezing. I tend to be a buttinsky and a little sarcastic, but this time I never said, “Well, duh, I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sound blasts all the way into the O.R., figure it was a terrorist attack and call for a SEAL team.”
I am convinced that if I stay in a room with someone for a few minutes and listen to them sneezing like Shrek would after taking a hit of snuff that I would be able to charge for saying, “You’ve got allergies. Take a zyrtec for sneezing and go home. While you’re at it, take one of those benadryl/painkiller mixes and knock yourself out until the pollen surge is over. I’ll be over with chicken soup later.”
I am a mother and a grandmother. I can diagnose anything and fix most things with chicken soup. Can I have my fee now? That will be one hug, one kiss, and an “I love you.” Cheap, too!