The sinuses inside of us
Trip Start
Dec 26, 2005
1
9
14
Trip End
Jan 09, 2006
Roseburg, Oregon
Friday, January 6, 2006
was
sick.
very sick indeed. She'd been fighting off a cold since Christmas, and it had slyly transformed itself in the time we were gone to a full-blown sinus infection. The sticky bloom of sickness hovered like a cloud that threatened to take captive San Francisco and hold us as prisoners of misfortune, ruining our chances of a beautiful relationship with our destined California town.
we would not have it.
Though we woke Ruthanne up at six that morning, and got her in a cold car on a rainy road with nothing more than a dose of dayquil, we were considering our options. We left at 7:30, had to be at the nun's place by five, although seven would be ok... nine at the latest. (so there was some flexibility) But we had to leave time for lunch in Redding, because we WERE going to stop this time through. We estimated ten driving hours would be fine, but Russ recommended 12. Hmmm.... this might be tight, and the sickie was getting sicker. We drove.
Ruthanne was failing fast. We were on the road, radioing out to emergency aid for the location of a treatment facility with an optimum location
(calling mom to see if there was a tri-care clinic in the area)
and we decided (after five or so hours on the road) that we would pull in for some gas and see what we could find. Timing for us was good, because it was the last decent sized city before Grant's Pass (the icy precipice-lined trail we would treacherously venture through as an induction into the wilderness of northern California.) and the gas attendant directed us to an urgent care clinic across the overpass.
Though less than credible, and his examination consisting of the consideration of ear canals and breathing patterns, our most distinguished urgent care doctor granted us the golden ticket of success: a completely illegible prescription with a scribbled tumbleweed signature. He saw her for about 43 seconds, said, "well, if you want to, let's call it a sinus infection" and sent his nurse back to deliver the said ticket.
Our pharmacist was much more congenial. He scoured lists and files and backlogged codes; he dissected documents and hacked passwords and I'm sure committed several illegal acts. He found our insurance code after much brow-dabbing, and charged us a neat $9.95 for the drugs rather than the required 2.8 million.
With medications coursing through her nearly exhausted veins, we bundled Ruthanne up in the backseat. Hope gleamed through the trees on the horizon, and I found myself reconsidering the detriments of modern society. If I made it through the mountains, I would resign myself to the admittance of the possible benefits of drug development and road taxes.
If I made it.
