Once I Got Mono

This week is my birthday and also I am sickly. 

This time spent wallowing in my illness has caused me to reflect upon the time I was the sickest I have ever been: The time I got mono.

It was about two years ago, when Daniel and I were first engaged...

"How did you get mono?" you may ask. From my sister, I may answer. It's a long story... well, no it's not. My sister got mono, I assume from smooching a lot of people, and then she licked me. Or maybe she just spit in my drink or something, I dunno. But I got it from her. 

Time for a science lesson! Mono, also known as infectious mononucleosis, is a terrible malady caused by the Epstein-Barr Virus and transferred primarily through saliva. By the age of 40, over 90% of adults will carry and have developed an immunity to the virus. It doesn't have much of an effect on kids, but by the time you are a teenager/young adult, the symptoms can be AWFUL AND A HALF.

Other fun facts about mono: 

It is very rare to see actual cases of the illness in developing countries, since people are exposed to it at a younger age and therefore don't really show any symptoms before they develop an immunity. Also, one of the less common but life-threatening symptoms of mono is swelling of the spleen, which can rupture if you participate in certain contact sports or especially strenuous physical activity. And finally, once infected with the virus, it can be up to 6 weeks before you actually manifest any symptoms.

Most everyone knows the signs of what one of my friends recently referred to as "the STD for 8th graders," so when I came down with it, I knew right away what was wrong. I went straight to the doctor to find out what to do next.

The nurse told me that to find out what exactly was wrong with me, they were going to do three tests: A mono spot, which would take about 5 minutes, an Epstein-Barr test, which would take about 48 hours, and a broad spectrum bacterial test to see if there was another cause. 

"I'm like 94% sure it's mono, but okay, sounds good," I said. 

She sent me back to get three vials of blood drawn by what appeared to be a 12-year-old phlebotomist. Three entire vials seemed excessive, but I'm no medical professional, so I complied.

The kid drawing my blood, bless his little heart, obviously had no idea what he was doing. Eventually he managed to fill three small vials with my precious life-juice and I went on my merry way to await the results of my tests.

A few days later, I received a call from the clinic saying "Your mono spot and Epstein-Barr came back negative for mono, so you're probably fine. Walk it off."

"What happened to the third test?" I asked.

"What third test?" they asked back.

"Um... there was like... a broad something bacteria something? They took three vials..."

"No, I only see record of two tests on here. There was no third test."

So, I don't know what ever happened to the rest of my blood. For all I know, that pre-pubescent phlebotomist took it home for his collection or something, or perhaps that clinic is just so grossly negligent that they regularly lose people's bodily fluids. We may never know.

What I did know, however, was that I was definitely not fine. I kept getting sicker and weaker, and it definitely wasn't a cold.

Finally, Daniel and I decided to go to the clinic at the university. I wasn't exactly a student at the time, but I still had my ID number, so it wasn't hard to sneak me in. 

I had been to the university clinic several times before crying mono, but each time it had turned out to be a false alarm, and they sent me away. I've always been a wee bit of a hypochondriac, so it was to the point that one of the nurses recognized me in public once. 

I was so sickly by the time we went to the clinic that I couldn't even sit up by myself. When the nurse came out to call me in, I was slumped over a chair in the waiting room, hovering on the edge of consciousness.

The nurse had me sit on a little examination table while she took my blood pressure and pulse. She ended up having to prop up the back of the table so I could even sit up on my own. My resting heart rate, in my fevered delirium, came out to over 120 beats per minute, so she sent for the doctor. 

This particular doctor had seen me a few times for my previous mono scares, among other things, so we had developed a routine. This visit was clearly different from the rest, though, and he poked my finger to take a single drop of blood for another mono spot test.

Might I point out... one drop of blood. Not a gallon and a half.

Anyway.

Daniel and I waited for a few minutes, and the doctor came back in with the results.

"You have mono!" he sang, and did a little dance of joy. Daniel was weirded out, but I got it. At last, I was proven right, hooray! But at the same time, I was less than thrilled to be correct in my internet-prognosis. Having mono seemed fun and fashionable until I actually had mono. 

"What do you prescribe, good doctor?" I asked, but more likely probably mumbled unintelligibly. 

"Well," he said, "there is no real treatment for mono. You just have to get over it. Get lots of rest, drink tons of fluids, and have you gentleman friend here wait on you hand and foot. Doctor's orders."

That sounded like a decent prescription to me, and he gave me a doctor's note to take the next three weeks off work. THREE WEEKS, people. That's how long it took for me to be able to walk up stairs again. 

Fortunately, once you get mono and suffer through the terribleness, you never really have to worry about it again. You do, however, carry the virus for the rest of your life, and it can occasionally flare up again and become infectious without any real symptoms or illness. 

For all you know, you could be spreading the virus RIGHT. NOW.

Thanks a lot.