Your lady’s malady

Your lady a/k/a yours truly (feel free to kick me for both of these references) is suffering from a malady/disorder/disease/annoyance known as zoster a/k/a shingles and feels like the substance commonly served on them in diners. Fortunately, I self-diagnosed it in time and went to a doctor this morning (within the 72 hours suggested after onset of symptoms), so I should be able to avoid zoster disaster.
I have been told by several sources that the Vicodin should be happy-making, and I should be lying back and enjoying the ride. While the pill has relieved the crushing headache somewhat, I am far from euphoric. I am, however, happy that it helps, so I suppose, indirectly, it is having the desired effect. I tell myself this because I feel gypped. I rarely take any medication, and I hoped that the one time that I absolutely must have it, I would at least be rewarded on a grand scale.
In other news, why why why WHY does it take an hour and 25 minutes for someone to count out ten pills and place them in a little bottle? Why?
Please feel free to leave the equivalent of a cold compress and a euphoria-inducing drug in comments.

0 thoughts on “Your lady’s malady

  1. Though I love Great Danes for their personalities and regal size, I would never have one because of the genetic defect that gives them such a short lifespan. A Great Dane is a recipe for heartache.

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