That time I ate mold

Clay and I haven't moved our TV or cable service over to the new house yet, and that's sadly the only thing that fueled my desire to unpack anything after work yesterday.  "I can't catch up on Sister Wives? Meh, guess I'll unpack my wine glasses."

Clayton's finally starting to come back from his weird tummy issues and just in time, too, because I accidentally ate some moldy bread last night and am counting down the hours until I expire. I can't even be sure that there was actually any mold on the 2 wheat rolls I ate, but given how much my body seems to enjoy panic attacks, I think it's safe to assume that yes, there was probably a little bit of mold on the bread I put in my mouth. I didn't notice anything on the pieces I ate, nor did they taste funny, but when I put the bread bag back in the pantry, I spotted a few spots of fuzzy green mold on the bottom rolls. So I just assumed the worst.

It's been about 18 hours since I ate the bread and any discomfort I feel in my tummy is most definitely self-induced (or from that dang strawberry Activia yogurt that sounded like such a good idea this morning), so I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. I read online that bread mold isn't detrimental to your health and that penicillin was created from bread mold so if anything, I just gave myself immunity against gonorrhea for the next 48 hours.

I had a doctor's appointment this afternoon because I decided that being a homeowner officially made me an adult and that adults have regular physicians. I haven't had a regular doctor since I was a sprout, so it felt nice to finally nail down a go-to general health practitioner instead of always aimlessly wandering into a 24-hour clinic whenever I get my seasonal ear ache.

While perusing through the list of doctors in my area that accept our insurance, I kind of felt like I was online dating. I chose my doctor solely on her pretty-sounding name and mini bio (had there been an actual profile picture, don't think I wouldn't have picked the doctor I thought was the cutest). And when I met her this afternoon, I felt even more confident in my decision because she was young (Like seriously, she couldn't possibly be older than 30. I don't know why, but having a young doctor is refreshing) and she let me talk and ask questions for as long as I wanted. I didn't feel rush to spit out my problem.

And don't worry, I don't have any specific problems; I scheduled an office visit for a routine physical exam. I used to get physicals every fall before school started since it was required of all student athletes, but that was ages ago and it would be nice to know the general status of my health before I embark on a heavy marathon training schedule.

While my doctor was doing her typical belly probing (you know, when they have you lie down on the exam table so they can push on your torso to make sure your organs are sitting in the right place and not protruding from your belly button), I felt brave enough to mention that I ate moldy bread last night. (She was poking my bloated tummy and I needed to have an excuse on deck in case she probed a little too hard and pushed some air out ... if you catch my drift.) But I mostly mentioned it because I wanted to feel her out and see if she expressed any concern over what I had done. If your doctor is alarmed, then you KNOW you did something bad.

"Moldy bread, huh?" she said. *poke* "Did you not see the mold on it before you put it in your mouth?" *poke*poke*poke*

That was becoming a very popular question. I eat like a horse, do you really think I look at my food before I take a bite? "No, I didn't see the mold on the pieces I was eating specifically," I sighed. "It was on the other rolls in the bag. I'm just assuming I ate some by association. WebMd said that by the time mold starts becoming visible on the surface, it spread throughout the entire loaf or package of bread."

"You should probably stop spending time on WebMd," she stated. *poke*

"And you should probably stop poking my stomach," I replied.

I like her. We have a good thing going.

I will be getting my blood work back in the next day or so, and I'm hoping all of my levels are right on par. I've had low iron in the past and I really hope the combination of my daily multivitamin and obsessive love of leafy greens and beans have evened it out.

Speaking of blood work, the technician responsible for stealing viles of my blood has no idea what the TV show Dexter is. Like a normal person, the sight of my own blood leaving my body makes me feel faint and I tried to distract myself by striking up a conversation with the unpleasant woman stabbing me with a needle. A woman who deals with blood all day and doesn't know about Dexter is a crying shame. It would be like a professional cook not knowing Top Chef. Or me not knowing about Animal Planet's Too Cute! Puppies.


  1. You make me laugh....I love reading your stories.

  2. What? Just... What? Who deals with blood at all and doesn't know of Dexter? Also, I'm demanding a get-together for the series finale, because I'm probably going to cry and I need an audience, or something....


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