Monday morning I woke and just didn’t feel well. I was dizzy, my stomach hurt, my head hurt, and I felt off. I had to go to school. I fumbled through my morning routine and went to school. I was off all day. When I got home I went to brush my hair and felt a huge knot on my head. “Ouch!” I complained to the mirror. I called my mom, a nurse, and asked her what she thought. She advised me to go to the clinic to get checked out “just in case”.
When I got to the clinic I checked in and was quickly ushered into a room as a suspected “head trauma”. I complained to the nurse that she was taking my situation too seriously. She left with a curt smile and went to get the doctor. Moments later the doctor walked in and began to ask me questions. “So, how did you hurt yourself?” he began.
“Well,” I coughed, “I tripped on the way to the bathroom.”
“Huh,” he said, “Follow my finger with your eyes and don’t move your head.” I complied with his request. “So, were you dizzy when you fell?” he continued as he moved his finger.
“No,” I said getting dizzy from the eye exercise, “I stepped on my guinea pig’s girlfriend.” The doctor stopped mid finger sweep and stared at me.
“You stepped on a guinea pig?” he asked with a bit of dread in his voice.
“No, a sock…” I sighed.
“Errrrhummmm?” he asked without stating an actual question. He then reached with his hand to check my forehead for fever.
“Well, you see,” I said stumbling over my words, “it’s a sock. He uses like it’s his girlfriend… because he’s not neutered. It had his, his, his man-juice… I stepped on it.” He scribbled notes in his pad as I talked.
“Go on,” he said clearly concerned for my mental health.
“I’m serious,” I said, “It was nasty. I tried to get it off of my foot and shifted as I jumped…and then I fell. And I hit my head!” my pitch was getting higher as my tone became more desperate.
“So,” he said finally looking up from his notes, “You steeped on a nasty sock, tripped yourself, hit your head, and are now blaming your guinea pig… Is that right?”
I looked down at my hands and realized I was squeezing them together. I relaxed a bit, looked up, and put on my best smile, “It’s the truth,” I sighed. I must have looked insane.
“Ok,” he said, “give me a minute…” The doctor turned and left the room leaving the door slightly ajar. I could see him through the open door as he sat down at his computer and started typing. He began to read the screen. ‘Crap,’ was all I could think as I heard his mouse clicking, ‘I’m going to wind up in the nut house…’ The doctor laughed at what he was reading. Several more moments passed and he was done with the computer. He walked back into my room and said, “Alfalfa, huh?”
“Whaaaaaaaa?” came out from my mouth. “How did you know?”
The doctor began giggling. “Well,” he said between laughs, “You remember the last time you were in for that rib hairline fracture from him?”
“Yes,” I said a bit perplexed, “I came here too…”
“The doctor that treated you looked up your website and shared it with me… I’m a big fan,” he said and held out his hand for a hand shake.
“Thanks,” I said shaking his hand, “I think…”
“Oh,” he said a bit too enthusiastically, “Is this going to wind up in the blog? I love reading about that bad guinea pig…”
“Mmmmmm,” I said without committing either way.
“Oh, come on,” he pleaded, “He managed to make you give yourself a concussion.”
“Wait!” I interrupted, “I have a concussion?”
“Yes, its minor, just rest, but really, come on…” he quickly blurted.
“We will talk about it after we finish with my visit…ok?” I asked.
“Cool,” he said happily, “Ok, now follow my finger…”
“Again?” I sighed.
“Ok, I’m going to give you a prescription,” he concluded after two more finger sweeps.
“For what?” I asked.
“It’s a prescription to take that trouble-maker to the vet and get him neutered!” the doctor laughed.
“Smart-ass…” was all I could say.
So, I wound up with a minor concussion from my misadventures in the night. And once again, Alfalfa was the cause of my problems. I may have to up my life insurance coverage…