Paging Dr. Carter

I know I often joke about being seven years old, but today I have proof. Last night I went to sleep with an irritation at the front of my ear. The pain was eclipsed by my sunburned chest and butt, so I thought nothing of it.

This morning I have swimmer’s ear.

And because I haven’t had it since I was a kid, I immediately tried to fix it with hydrogen peroxide (what usually breaks up an ear clog for me) and Q-Tips. I’ve apparently worsened it quite a bit. I can’t hear out of my left ear and I’m in so much pain I think I might never stop crying.

I have a phone call in to my doctor, but the office isn’t open yet, and the last time I needed to see the doctor quickfastinahurry I didn’t hear from him for two days. Which means I’m probably going to be looking for another doctor. Because I can never get sick on a Monday. No, always on a Friday. Always before a weekend. Always when it’s going to cost an assload to fix it.

My mom would probably want me to point out here that as a kid I never went on any vacation without getting sick. Usually I’d get sick once I arrived (sore throat, fever, ear infection), but now at least I have the courtesy to wait until I get back home. It sure makes work difficult. I have a meeting in three hours. Do you think he’d mind if I burst into tears in the middle of my pitch, rocking back and forth while moaning and holding my ear? Because that’s all I’ve been able to do this morning.

Ugh. This is what I get for swimming for four days. Can’t just have a vacation; I have to pay for it for the next week.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find an ear, nose and throat doctor willing to see me on such short notice right after I lose it in the FOX studio.

Ooh, yesterday I had to go back to the WB lot, and walking towards our car: Noah Wyle. In his scrubs! Awesome. I’m not normally a spoiler kind of girl, but from what I can tell, next season of E.R., look for some kind of trouble at the ambulance bay that requires a stretcher and a group of people.

Okay, back to crying, moaning and rocking. It’s my only medicine right now. I’m gonna go make a hot pack and hold it to my head until a doctor calls me back.

Moan. Rock. Whimper. Weep openly like the child I am.

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