Educated

I began to feel poorly toward the end of May. A week passed in which I
could hardly drag myself to my job, an internship at a law firm. I slept from
early evening until late morning, then yawned through the day. My throat
began to ache and my voice dropped, roughening into a deep crackle, as if
my vocal cords had turned to sandpaper.
At first Nick was amused that I wouldn’t see a doctor, but as the illness
progressed his amusement turned to worry, then confusion. I blew him off.
“It’s not that serious,” I said. “I’d go if it were serious.”
Another week passed. I quit my internship and began sleeping through the
days as well as the nights. One morning, Nick showed up unexpectedly.
“We’re going to the doctor,” he said.
I started to say I wouldn’t go, but then I saw his face. He looked as though
he had a question but knew there was no point in asking it. The tense line of
his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. This is what distrust looks like, I
thought.
Given the choice between seeing an evil socialist doctor, and admitting to
my boyfriend that I believed doctors were evil socialists, I chose to see the
doctor.
“I’ll go today,” I said. “I promise. But I’d rather go alone.”
“Fine,” he said.
He left, but now I had another problem. I didn’t know how to go to a
doctor. I called a friend from class and asked if she’d drive me. She picked
me up an hour later and I watched, perplexed, as she drove right past the
hospital a few blocks from my apartment. She took me to a small building
north of campus, which she called a “clinic.” I tried to feign nonchalance, act
as though I’d done this before, but as we crossed the parking lot I felt as
though Mother were watching me.
I didn’t know what to say to the receptionist. My friend attributed my
silence to my throat and explained my symptoms. We were told to wait.
Eventually a nurse led me to a small white room where she weighed me, took
my blood pressure, and swabbed my tongue. Sore throats this severe were
usually caused by strep bacteria or the mono virus, she said. They would
know in a few days.
When the results came back, I drove to the clinic alone. A balding middle-
aged doctor gave me the results. “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re positive
for strep and mono. Only person I’ve seen in a month to get both.”
“Both?” I whispered. “How can I have both?”