Sometimes I feel like Health Services doesn’t exist in the human realm. Every time that I walk through their uselessly heavy doors, I feel myself being transported to another universe. One where, presumably, the definition of what constitutes “helpful medical advice” are far laxer.
I visited Health Services this week because I had body aches, a headache, a sore throat, and nausea. The doctor that came into see me asked if I had tried taking Tylenol. “Yeah, a couple hours earlier, but it didn’t really help,” I mustered, millions of viral particles exploding from my orifices with every syllable. She looked me up and down, a pensive glint in her eye, and said “Well, you know what, taking Tylenol is probably the only thing you can really do right now. Oh, and drink more water.” With this sage advice, I was ushered out — a few disposable thermometers thrust into my hand, the door slamming behind me.
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