In Which I Morph Into Building Materials
It seems that, regarding my redeye flight Friday, there’s more to it than meets the eye. I had suffered some eye irritation at the end of last week in my left eye, and resigned myself to a doctor’s visit Friday afternoon. He said I had a sty on my eyelid, and recommended hot compresses. It didn’t improve over the weekend, and on Sunday I started to develop a rash on my forehead and scalp, which worsened Monday to a point where my hair hurt. I slunk into a doctor here in Milwaukee, who told me I have “shingles”.
Shingles! It sounds so 19th century, like dropsy, quincy, pleurisy, the rheumatiz. It also sounds vaguely disreputable, like something you might contract by consorting with the livestock. And, damn, it hurts, especially my eye, which drips tears nonstop. I’m thinking I have the roofing nails as well. If I have to be sick, at least give me something hip and modern.
They prescribed some anti-viral pills and some eyedrops, which cost me an eye-popping $250. How soon can I get on Medicare Plan D? (less than 6 years, actually). I’ve never really used eyedrops, and it’s pretty comical when I try to apply them. I’m supposed to get one drop every 3 hours or so, but it turns out to be more like a shower because I keep flinching and missing my eye. How’d one get into my ear?
A couple of the women at my client’s who are pregnant became jittery when my diagnosis got around (shingles is a derivative of the chicken-pox virus) and, although from everything I can find out there’s not much, if any, chance of me passing anything on to them, I’m bailing this afternoon and flying back to Seattle (all the leper colonies having waiting lists).
