No Doctor’s Visit Needed

I did­n’t go to the doc­tor. sam­bear went to his doc­tor and the fast strep was neg­a­tive, so there was­n’t real­ly a rea­son to spend more mon­ey for me to get the same ver­dict. It’s just a real­ly nasty virus and the only cure is “tinc­ture of time.”

Not being able to speak is very, very iso­lat­ing. Katie has got­ten very good at hear­ing me whis­per while she’s in the next room, but some­times I can’t make myself under­stood any­way. I’m start­ing to want one of those marker­boards peo­ple were car­ry­ing around in the Buffy episode “Hush.” I can’t answer the phone. I can’t make sev­er­al phone calls that I need to make. Ick. I’m accus­tomed to deal­ing with pain, but not with this kind of com­mu­ni­ca­tion problem.

Katie fig­ured out why the down­stairs VCR isn’t taping—someone broke off the input thingy. I sus­pect it was the cable guy who installed the box, as it did work before—but a few weeks after the fact is a lit­tle late to be fuss­ing about it. It’s an ancient VCR, any­way. And it can still be used to watch tapes, at least. Now that dig­i­tal cable box is with the oth­er TV in our bed­room, which has a VCR that can record.