Getting Treated by a Sick Doctor

The irony in it all simply amuses me, though I am more in fear than in excitement, for it appears that every time I decide to finally go to the doctor's clinic for a reason other than cold or flu symptoms, I seem to be placed in a situation that makes me prone to acquire it.

Like today, for example. For months I have been hesitant to go and get a rash underneath my chest area checked, and for months I postponed it until it got worse. Then I had a boil on my leg that would not heal, and then it was time for me to finally go get checked however I had to postpone again due to my university assuming that because I do not party I have no life thus it tied an imaginary leash to my neck attached to a collar with the initials 'VU' on it, and it tugged me away, until today when my mother decided to intercept my postponing and book an appointment herself without my consent, an appointment which I found out about an hour before it happened, from a note left on my computer:

Oh, I do appreciate my mother, her little ways which sometimes annoy me and her hilarious spelling errors, particularly how she spelt the word 'pimple' even after being informed twice by my sister about how to spell it. On another card which I had quarantined by throwing away after the doctor's visit, she had written a list of what I should ask the doctor, as though she knew I would not want to ask about anything except for my strange rash because I do not like staying for long in an area where sick people enjoy visiting, unless  myself am sick, and sick as in infected with the flu.

"Fungus," my doctor said, coughing violently in her hand before reaching for a note, writing down what over-the-counter cream would kill it, then handing me the note with that same hand. "What else does it say on that list?" she asked, smiling, because she caught me out. Yes, I had tried my best to hide the list after I realised my doctor had the flu, so as to not stay long enough around her in a room with no ventilation. My sister kept nudging my knee to indicate she's sick! You owe me! If I get sick, you die! I dared not look at her in case she would have killed me there and then.

So I gave up, and told her the other things on the list: the need for two new prescriptions, both of which she coughed on and handed to me, my strange boil which the poked without washing her hands from coughing, and she decided to test my sugar levels, again fondling my blood as though it were play-doh. I cringed every time. It appears that it is my bad luck that brings me these occurrences. 

I got home and I sprayed myself and my sister with Glen20. I then proceeded to wash my hands and face with my Dettol Antibacterial soap, and complained for the remainder of the day, both verbally and mentally. Just my luck. I visited a doctor who was sick herself, without being sick myself. Terrible. It is the one very reason as to why I choose to avoid visiting the doctor for these things. "Oh, you're not sick? Let us help you with that!"

I am going to shower very soon. I am still in the process of quarantining my body so as to not get sick for the next week. I need to attend my teaching rounds, otherwise I would have to make up the days I lose and that means losing days of rest. And to think I am fearing getting sick from going to the doctor's clinic!