Hospitals are where people go to die.

I run as much as a marathon registrant.
Avoid more than a tax evasionist.
However, the mosquito is too furtive a creature...
and now,
I have Dengue fever.

This morning Juanita coerces me out of bed, tells me to keep my appointment at the hospital.
I think my bones have been replaced by gelatin. I don't mention this to her when I say,

"Hospitals are where people go to die!"

She's not having it.
Off I go in yet another overpriced tuk tuk to Chiang Mai Ram hospital.

I remember my bill from yesterday:
2,346 Baht for bloodwork and administrative fees. That's roughly $70.

For $70, I want to know a few more things about my blood beyond that it contains Dengue.
I want to know what blood type I am, do I have AIDS, why mosquitos like my brand so much, and are vampires real.

That's maybe $35 worth.

No, on top of that, I want pictures of my white blood cells kicking the shit out of the Dengue cells, an 8'' by 10'' glossy of my platelettes drinking 15 year old whisky with the Rat Pack, and lastly, mostly:
Someone with the authority, someone dressed up in their 300 thread count organic cotton white lab coat with their freshly windexed framed doctorate certificates in five diferent areas of medical expertise, sitting behind an antique mahogany desk once owned by Stalin himself,

That motherfucker has to change the name from 'Dengue' fever to 'Shiloh Jolie-Pitt' fever.

Why?

Because the antichrist needs to be appropriately named.

...
I'm going to bed for the next three days, throw me a handful of rice and a bottle of water every 12 hours , I should be fine.