So, I called Mom.
I hadn't talked to her for a long time because of the phone thing, which I also poured out to her. I felt so much better, getting everything that's been bothering me off my chest. Mom also laid down the law on my sickness. See, I don't like taking medicine for symptoms. If it's an antibiotic that will cure my strep throat or bronchitis, hand it over, but otherwise I don't like taking little temporary pills for problems that go away on their own eventually. I don't like taking asprin for headaches, or cold medicine when I'm congested. I don't know why...I guess I just don't like putting unnecessary chemicals in my body when I don't know how they work. It's a primitive idea, I'm sure, but that's me. The exception was an inhaler my doctor gave me to stop me from coughing while I had pneumonia so I could acutally sleep through the night (I was taking the curative medicine at the same time, a pill). Oh, that was a wonderful, wonderful device.
Mom and Dad are quite the opposite...they want the cure right away. Their medicine cabinet is stocked with all kinds of things, most of them "extra strength." They were always exasperated that I never liked to take stuff.
Anyway, before I called Mom, I caved and took one gel caplet of Suphedrine (the generic Sudafed). Mom asked me about it later.
Mom: "How many did it tell you to take?"
Me: "I don't know...2 or 3 every four hours."
Mom: "How many did you take?"
Mom: "GODDAMMIT! You're such a minimalist!"
If Mom can't be here to take care of me, having her yell at me over the phone and make me laugh is probably the next best thing. We talked for two hours and I was left with a strict set of instructions.
1. Take more Supherdrine, goddammit.
2. Take a lot of Advil (for my sloshy headache).
3. Go to Safeway and tell the pharmacist my sad, sad story.
4. Get an iced mocha.