The drugs don't work

I'm in the doctor's office. He's tapping his pen on the green prescription pad. He's thinking. He looks at me. "What do you want me to do?" he asks. "I want you to tell me that it's just an infection and that I will get better with some antibiotics." I said and smiled hopefully. He blew out through his mouth. "I still think if there's anything there at all, it must be a virus. But I'll prescribe you some antibiotics anyway. If nothing happens and there's no change, you have a virus and must wait it out." He tears off the green slip of paper. "Thank you doctor". I take it and leave. That was weird. He listened to my chest, he took my temperature, he checked my ears and throat. He found nothing. No sign of anything wrong with me. I must be in the early stages of an infection and that's why, I reasoned. So I congratulated myself on being proactive with my health. By next week I'll be able to sing as usual.

But things didn't get better. After the antibiotics ran out I went in to see another doctor. "Have you had any pains in your legs?" he asked. "My legs? No. Why?" I start to worry. "Well I can't find anything wrong with you." he says. I've heard this before. "But I feel pains in my chest, just here. Is it pleurisy?" I ask while touching my left upper breast. He shakes his head and writes me out a 3 day prescription of extra strong antibiotics. "If there's anything there at all, these'll get rid of it." he says. I thank him and go home. All evening I'm aware of my legs. I feel cramps in my thigh muscles. What's wrong with me?

I'm back in my doctor's office again. The second presciption of antibiotics didn't work either. I'm still short of breath, I still have chest pains, I'm still not able to sing. My gig is tonight. I'm pleading with the doctor now. I tell him I'm scared. Singing is my life. I tell him I've suffered from panic attacks in the past when asked about my medical history. He tells me he's referring me to the hospital for a chest x-ray. He says he can't find anything wrong with me but the symptoms I describe are similar to those of a collapsed lung. Shit. I can't contemplate that. This is not happening. It's my worst nightmare. My career as a recording artist flashes through my mind. Over before it's barely begun. I take the referral and go back to my car. The x-ray isn't until Monday. He's written the word "panicky" on the paper next to the x-ray request. So he thinks I'm over-reacting. Great. I have to go to my gig now. I'm tired, emotional. I start to cry. I drive home like this.