I have exactly 20 minutes to write this, so it will be hurried and fraught with the errors you love to point out to me, admit it, but I will tell you about my harrowing few days.
I've had this damn migraine since last week, and it'd go away and come back and go away and come back and go--you get my drift. It was annoying. The same day I started getting migraines I also got this bizarre rash on my tailbone, and I'd show it to you but who wants to see that? Well. Everyone who knows me in real life, because I made everyone look. I was like that Coppertone girl with the dog pulling off her bathing suit.
My point is, the last time I wrote here, I ended up getting a King Kamehameha migraine, and it was one of the worst days of my life, and I didn't do anything all day but lie motionless in bed and try not to barf. It was dreadful.
And the dogs. THOSE DOGS. They tried to lie on the bed with me and be my nurses, except Edsel was the world's nervousest nurse, with the pacing and the barking out the window and the jumping off the bed to bark out the other window and finally I kicked them both the hell out even though it wasn't Lu's fault.
At some point, and I mean I was in bed for 24 hours and it's all a blur, but at some point something made them howl. HOWLLLLLL! they both said. WOOOOOOOO! WWWOOO WOOOO WOOOOOO! they continued. Then Edsel did this whole yip-yip-yip-WHOOOOOOO! thing and I was all, what, are we home on the range? Jesus Christ.
Ned told me he'd considered driving over and leaving flowers on my porch, but knew the dogs would bark and carry on and he didn't want me to have to deal with that, and I was all, yeah. Because those two were silent as the grave all day.
So yesterday I got up and hey! Guess who was still coming to dinner? Was it Sidney Poitihey your head still hurts? I realize that made almost zero sense. What do you want from me? I've been in agony. So I called the damn doctor's office, which allegedly opens at 8:00, and I started at 7:58 and got "The office is now closed. If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1."
Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you go fuck yourself, with your condescending please hang up and dial 9-1-1. I KNOW what to dial in a life-threatening emergency, and YOU'RE about to have one if you don't shut off this goddamn "the office is now closed" message that was STILL GOING ON at 8:03. EIGHT OH THREEEEEEEEE.
I finally got an appointment, and the doctor shot me with a steroid to try to knock off these migraines, and I was just about to leave when I said, "Oh, and hey. What's this rash?" I did my Coppertone impression for her.
"Oh, honey, you have shingles!"
Son of a bitch.
I already HAD shingles. Does anyone remember that? HAD them. I'd say been there, done that but then I'd have to pummel my own self till all the blood had left me.
I ALREADY HAD THEM.
So now I'm on steroids (HELLO WORLD!!!) and the world's largest navy-blue pill and I have some excellent pain pills which I probably won't take because it really doesn't hurt that bad. Shingles have nothing on a migraine.
So that's where I've been, popping pills and being a house. A house where the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.
Stay tuned for more Blogging with Steroid June, coming your way soon.
