So, I feel the need to tell an anecdote from my life. This, ladies and gents, is how I contracted the virus with a bad rap, mono.
I had just moved out with my best friend, Kelli. When I moved out we had JUST (literally, 3 days ago) graduated high school. (Dear Timpanogos, you can kiss my ass. :O) We moved into the first place we saw (mistake much?) and had it made. Only problem was....I had no job. Huh. I used all my graduation money to buy groceries, and my mom's graduation present was my rent paid through the summer.
Sweet! I didn't have to find a job until September! Except that I was soon bored out of my head, sitting at home doing nothing. I had no car, so I couldn't leave (unless I wanted to WALK. Eff that ish.), I wasn't in school, so I would sit at home with my awkward roommates until Kelli got home from work.
So, hence the job hunt. I was actually incredibly lucky, and walked into the current place that I work, and basically had interview #1 on the spot. Two days later, I was employed! Woo Hoo!
A couple months go by. I start feeling a little run down, but whatevs. I'm living the dream! I go on a couple dates with this random kid I went to high school with, but never actually spoke to. (He had a motorcycle. Need I say more?)
One day, I woke up feeling like absolute death. It felt as if my upper abdominal organ were swelling to an abnormal size, and were wanting to escape from my body. Oh well, suck it up. An hour before my shift, I start to walk over to my mom's office on campus.
I soon realize I can't even walk without feeling like every vital organ in my body is soon going to either burst outwards from me, Alien style, or come shooting out my butthole, Taco Bell style.
I make it to my mom's office, and she sees my white and sweaty face from the effort it took to even stand up correctly. She then asks me if I'm okay, to which I nod, and then burst into tears.
Sigh. My mother, being the amazing worry-wart that she is, decides to take me to the ER. I choke out to her that I need to call my work, because my shift starts in....ten minutes. She makes the call, and says, and I quote, "Hi, yes, this is Rebecca Brimhall, Kalee's mom. She can't come into work. She is on her way to the emergency room."
Thanks mom! :)
I arrive to the emergency room, doing my gender proud and still sobbing as if my arm just got ripped off, and they see me. I tell them my symptoms, and my doctor decides to run some blood tests.
Now. I am okay with needles. They don't bother me. I'm even semi-okay with pain. It's blood that I have realized I can't handle. This baffles me, because I can watch Gladiator, CSI, House, all dat shit until I die. Something about seeing it in real life sort of freaks me out.
They try and draw blood from my little baby veins first starting with my right arm. After poking me 4 times, they realize that's not gonna work. They try the left arm. After another 3 pokes, they start to see success. I fill up about half a vial before it just stops. No matter how much they moved that pesky little needle (while still inside my arm, btdubs. That felt rad.), it would not start pumping again. Finally, they call in the big league, and he takes it from my wrist. Who knew you could do that?
By this time, my father had arrived. After three hours of waiting, with me laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling and my parents intently watching an ant carry a crumb across the floor, the verdict arrives.
I have mono. That was a fun diagnosis with my father sitting right there.
To this day, I legitimately have NO idea how I got it. I had not kissed a boy in months. (Sad, I know.) I hadn't shared any drinks with random strangers, or with people I knew for that matter. One of life's little mysteries that I am going to ask the big man upstairs when I die. Right along with "Did OJ really do it?"
So, for the next week, I was confined to a couch, unable to move. Sounds like paradise right? No. I was getting all cray cray with my chronic boredom. The food network failed me for the first time like, ever. I literally had to crawl down the hallway to go to the bathroom.
I got lucky. I only was stuck in my comfortable prison for a week before I started to improve. Finally, when I was able to sit up, I realized I hadn't showered for 5 days, or eaten in 4. Mmmm. Dericious.
When thinking about food, the only thing I wanted was some KFC coleslaw and a Sprite. Don't ask me why, but nothing else would do.
Thus, my mono experience. One good thing that came from this: motorcycle guy? "Dumped" me (I use that term very loosely, because we were never dating), and then found out I had given him mono.
Heh heh.
