In the last few weeks, however, I have also taken up part-time residence in other digs, not nearly as salubrious as these.
Yes, I have become a semi-permanent fixture in my local doctor's office, making at seven visits in the past 21 days.
It started with a bad bout of tonsillitis. A bunch of razorblades found their way into my throat, and did some vigorous twerking until I was feverish and sore. Eventually the party spread to my left ear, which become infected as well, as it doesn't like to be left out.
It took two courses of anti-biotics to get the fun under control, and a good couple of visits to the doctor.
Next up, just days later, was some, er, 'women's business'. I will not burden you with the details, but it did require an initial visit, a second visit for a pap smear, and then a follow up visit to the GP to discuss the results, so that was another three visits right there.
This is not my doctor. If it was, I would be delighted to experience regular bouts of cellulitis.
Following that was the case of the cellulitic ear. And no, to the friend who knows who she is, I do not have cellulite in my ear (and no, it was not that funny). My left ear, having recovered from the infection, decided that it needed more attention, and developed a strange lump on the back. I went to the doctor again, and she decided that it was an infection in the internal stitch left over from my, um, minor surgery over a year ago. She advised me to make an appointment with the (um, plastic) surgeon to get it removed. I saw the plastic surgeon and he scheduled me in for another month's time. In the meantime, the lump got infected, turned bright red and swollen, my entire jaw started to ache, and I rushed back to the GP to be diagnosed with cellulitis and put on yet another course of anti-biotics. Yep. Two more visits within a week. And with that, we hit the magic seven. I know, right? My favourite number!
Happily, the cellulitis has now eased somewhat. Unhappily, I am going in this afternoon to have the stitch removed in the chair. Happily, the surgeon has given me some Emla cream to smear on my ear to dull the pain of a needle going into my sore ear. Unhappily, Emla cream does fuck all and you will hear the screams all around Australia.
And when I get home, I am officially renting out a room in my doctor's surgery. They have a nice bathroom and old magazines and jelly beans, and I'm there every three days anyway so it will save a lot of time.
When was the last time you went to the doctor?