153. Who’d think that the cure for beri beri would be nosedrops?

Well I dodged a bullet this time but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t pick up something in that hell hole filled with sick people.

Maybe I’m speaking too soon because he took a bunch of tests, none of which will come out good. I had to go to an actual lab today for blood tests etc.

And he wasn’t a specialist of rare tropical diseases so there’s a blank page filled with question marks on that subject.

Now that I’ve gone to a doctor and no obvious terminal illness was apparent I’m going to have to go back to my usual free floating anxiety.

Of course since the blood test hasn’t come back yet, aids and all types of cancer are still on the table. But if I get an all clear on that, that doctor is going to have to run fast to catch me again.

By the way, he poo-pooed all my up to now very effective preventative  health measures.

For some reason he claims sleeping with a fat chicken under your pillow doesn’t do much to halt bird flu.

I’ll take his word on that but I know turkey bacon in your shoes works. I’ve yet to get even a hint of rickets.

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