You wouldn’t know it by reading my blog, but I’m actually a closet hypochondriac. I like to think my doctor doesn’t even know, but that could be wishful thinking. My co-workers definitely don’t know, and I almost felt I was betraying my own kind yesterday, when an attorney that I work with, was explaining how ridiculous her boyfriend was for thinking he was dying from a staph infection.
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Here's the situation: Her boyfriend had been complaining of tooth pain for the last six months. The dentist ignored him. Turns out he had a sadistic infection that killed not only his two front teeth, but a portion of his jaw bone. He now has to have his front teeth pulled, a root canal, a bridge and a jaw bone implant.
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Yeah, and she’s laughing, carrying on about how he’s overreacting for thinking that the infection is spreading to his brain. I can’t even speak at this point. My whole face is numb from the infection I’d developed over the last 40 seconds. But, instead of standing up for the guy, what do I do? I laugh and act as if he’s crazy too.
I know, I’m a horrible person.