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Ok, so, yeah. Another week and no updates. But this time, it's justified, by golly. On Wednesday, my doctor called me back and said he wanted me to come back to his office for "urgent bloodwork" which meant "bloodwork to be done at 9.15 the next morning for urgent purposes undisclosed to you." So, I fasted and I went in for my blood test. Let me tell you, when I get nervous, I get extremely chatty. This was a very chatty occasion. I was chatty with the elderly fellow in the waiting room, the nurse who weighed me and the woman that slit my wrist and collected my blood, while telling me what a beautiful color it was, and how fucking invisible my veins are. They were testing for liver function, pregnancy and something else which escapes me at the moment, but wasn't too important. So, that was a day down. I stayed home and ate crackers and watched a Wedding Story before curling up and going to sleep with a new, Harry Potter bandaid on my wrist (which wasn't actually slit, but she had to "dig" for my vein. I hit it in the shower, which made it open again, which proved to be disgusting.) Friday I went back to school and sat through a nervous five periods before going to talk to my dad to see if he'd heard anything. Somehow, I swear he told me everything was fine, but later, he apparently said he hadn't heard anything. This put me in a foul, foul mood because by the time I found this out, I had a false sense of health and was feeling pretty damn giddy about myself. And since it was Friday, I would have to wait until Monday to hear my results. Saturday was a blur of pasta, Trading Spaces, and a sore throat. By Sunday, my sore throat was a hacking cough, phleggmy throat and a fever of 102.2, which, in your terms, means 103.2 because my normal temperature is rougly 97.2 degrees. My mother made me feel so much better by grabbing my wrist, checking my pulse and then clucking her tongue, then crossing me and doing everything but putting pennies on my eyes. "So SARS-y to hear you're feeling under the weather, Ames!" she said. "You'll have it next," I hacked. After sitting in the shower for a literal hour, my fever broke and went down to a paltry 99.7 degrees. But not before I decided it had been far too long since Thursday and I needed another day off. So I spent my day today watching the Lord of the Rings cast commentary, pondering how (unfortunately) like my speech Orlando Bloom's is and pestering the cat, who apparently spends his day sleeping. But hey! Guess what! My doctor called me back! "I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is...your bloodwork is normal. The bad news is...you're anemic." he said, not in those exact words. To which I replied, "Aw, fuck me." Meh, I knew it already. Oh, I must add, I also love doss cunts who do nothing but bitch at me in their diaries for their misgivings. It makes me smile. And since I'm studying for the AP test and have been dropping literary allusions everywhere: It makes me smile. It really does. /Catcher in the Rye references *****
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