However, while I was there, still feeling pretty cruddy myself, I recognized a perfect opportunity to get an accurate temperature reading. (You may not understand my obsession with temperature, but don't feel bad, few people would. But somehow an actual fever validates any symptoms I may be feeling and formally excuses me from household duties. It's like a note from the doctor... without it I don't feel excused.) Much to my son's chagrin, I was quick to slip one of their little band-aid sized thermometers in my mouth when the nurse exited. Much to my chagrin, the usual half-hour wait for the doctor was cut short by about 28 minutes.
Oh well, it didn't seem to work either. And I didn't get a second chance because apparently once it's been elevated to a certain temperature (like by left in a hot car), it does not return to normal and shaking doesn't help. (Boy I miss mercury.) My friend, Julie, suggested that I get those little digital ones but I was quick to inform her that these didn't work either. It was in this moment... this brief, but alarming moment... while Julie was carefully phrasing her response, that it painfully pierced my conscience that the problem just may lay more with the obsessive temperature taker than the thermometers themselves.
Ugh! I hate these moments.