This morning, I got busy messing with things and managed to run out of time for any breakfast other than my coffee. So this afternoon when I came home from work, I was ravenous. I quickly grabbed a couple slices of bread and slapped a glob of chicken salad from yesterday on it. (We seem to be getting low on the PB&J that I always eat so I had to make do!) I started eating my sandwich while going through the mail, not really paying attention to what I was eating. I just happened to glance down and was startled to see something dark in my sandwich. My brain dismissed it by telling me it was just a large piece of pickle, but on closer examination, I realized that one of my slices of bread was covered in bluish-grey mold!
In horror I spat out the bite that was in my mouth and started to rinse and gargle. Next I moved on to vigorously brushing my teeth. My first thought was to call the schools and tell my children not to eat their sandwiches. Then I realized that not only had they already eaten lunch, but I had been paying attention when I made their lunches and would have noticed anything growing on their bread. Then I remembered that I had opened a fresh loaf for them. I had accidentally used the old loaf that seemed to be partially coated with mold! Ewwww!
I tried to remember anything I had ever heard about eating mold. They made penicillin out of it so it couldn’t be that bad, could it? But why was my stomach getting nauseous and my throat starting to burn? Was I about to be seriously ill or worse yet, about to turn into some sort of mutant monster? What were my children going to come home to? I had to find out!
My first thought was to call my mother, The Nurse. But she just recently had surgery and I wasn’t sure she could handle the shock of finding out the gruesome details of what was happening to her only child. (Well, except for my brother, but he doesn’t count!) So I couldn’t call her.
My fingers hovered over 911, but somehow, I resisted and called my nurse friend. Sadly, nobody answered. I wondered what I should do next. I could tell that the mold was affecting my brain because I couldn’t recall where we kept the “Ask a Nurse” phone number. I knew we had one even though I had never used it. Then I spotted the magnetic business card to our doctor and decided to call them.
I told the receptionist my sad tale and she responded by telling me all about her sister who once ate a moldy donut. She didn’t seem to realize that I didn’t really care about her sister, but I wasn’t about to tell her that and offend someone who could possibly help rescue me from my own foolishness. Besides it was a good thing to know that her sister managed to survive. The receptionist finally told me that the triage nurse would call me back by the end of the day. (Obviously she didn’t know how serious this was…either that, she knew my true feelings about her sister!)
In the mean time, I called a different nurse number given to me by a sympathetic friend. This nurse asked me all sorts of probing questions after telling me about her mother-in-law’s adventures with mold. (What is with all these people??). She ended up telling me that as long as I wasn’t having any respiratory problems I would probably survive.
Well, it’s good to know that I won’t be turning into a Mutant Mold Monster. I’m so relieved.