Six years ago I borrowed a filter face mask from a detention officer in an attempt to lessen the effects of the thirty gallons of OC spray which had been pumped in on the somewhat ... rambunctious ... occupant of a segregation cell prior to our going in and interrupting his anti-social activities.
Had I known -- at the time -- that the officer from whom I borrowed said face mask had a romping case of chicken pox ... well, I probably would have put up with the pepper spray.
Up until that winter day I had never had chicken pox. My father had caught it twice as an adult, and his descriptions of those experiences had instilled in me a fervent desire to keep my fuzzy non-juvenile butt as far away from it as humanly possible.
Unfortunately, as we have steadfastly maintained here at The LawDog Files, Old Man Murphy hates my guts. Personally.
Ten to twenty days later, I spend four days in the hospital. Journal entry around that time reads:
"Advice for further consideration: If you're going to pass out in a hospital, do not choose the hospital located in your Nana's hometown.
If you can not accomplish the above, do not pass out in the hall outside Reception, ER, Outpatient Clinic, Patient Services, and/or Billing.
If following the previous guidelines are right out, endeavour not to hit the deck face-first.
And last, but certainly not least, should you feel it necessary to do the above events, do not fail to wear your own pajamas.
Side note: Skimpy, draft-butted, open-backed, hospital gowns are the Tool of De Debbil and are Never To Be Worn. Ever. Again.
Yes, children, the Dog has managed to moon half the congregation of the First Baptist Church, the Pastor, two Little Sisters of Charity, Nana's oldest best-friend, and most of the offensive line of the local High School Girl's Volleyball Team. And their mascot.
Gawd. Take me now."
One of the highlights of that little experience was my doctor holding up a set of my chest x-rays, watching both of her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and her saying, "Hmph."
"Chest x-ray once a year from now on. Maybe twice."
Since then, any type of bug that I get inevitably winds up taking a sabbatical in my lungs. Head cold? Pneumonia. Ear infection? Double pneumonia. Hell, my last bout with Plain Olde Sinusitis wound up with the bugs trying to pull a Rorke's Drift off in the old air box.
So, last weeks mild case of food poisoning?
Okay, bad, bad mental image, but, yes, hello, hacking cough and welcome, Levofloxacin.
But, I'm better today.