[I am still ill, so I hope this post is at least moderately coherent.]

My late mother had issues with doctors. She was one of the old school "tough it out" kind of people, at least as far as her own health was concerned. She didn't have a problem with sending me or my brother to the doctor, if she felt it was warranted, but she seldom went, herself. That's one of the reasons why her cancer went undiagnosed for so long.

Consequently, when I am feeling poorly I find myself walking the tightrope between riding out the symptoms and dragging myself to see the doctor. I have an obsessive fear of being labeled a hypochondriac, but also have no particular desire to be a martyr to my fear. So given this, the worst possible outcome for an office visit is to have him say, "I'm not sure what's wrong, so just take these pills and see if it gets better." Needless to say, this is the answer I get most often, and the answer I got during my visit this week.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this for me is that I can't even really identify the symptoms with any accuracy. I've been running a low grade fever for four days, am suffering from extreme fatigue, lack any appetite, and am so congested it reaches around my skull and down the back of my neck. That's it, although that's enough to keep me from being able to do much of anything. It's really rather extraordinarily frustrating.

So while I am usually loathe to post this sort of thing on Hidden City, I ask your forbearance while I work out this mysterious malady.