As I briefly mentioned earlier, a pizza tried to kill me on Saturday. Well, Sunday, technically. And I’m only assuming it was the pizza, but I suppose it could have been anything I consumed. Anyway, the hours between 12am and 6am were spent either throwing up or curled up on my bathroom floor praying for death. Or Gatorade. Either one would have been fine.
Then on Monday I noticed a rash on my right hip. Because sure, why not? I showed it to Ross and he seemed to be unconcerned, but casually mentioned that the rash was vaguely circular and bulls-eye-ish which could mean Lyme Disease. After Googling the shit out of that, I was pretty convinced that wasn’t it, but spent the next two days casually awaiting my death, just to be sure.
THEN on Tuesday, I noticed I had two lumps in my abdomen, juuuuuuuuuuust to the left of my right hip bone, sort of down a bit into the “pelvic” area, I guess you could say. Lumps that hurt. Hmmmm.
After making an appointment with my regular doctor, I cancelled that one and opted to go with my OB/GYN. I figured anything in that…area…fell into his jurisdiction.
My appointment was yesterday afternoon, late enough in the day that I had gotten myself worked up into a proper frenzy. Just when I thought I was going to pass out and fall over, my doctor walked in the exam room.
He poked around at the lumps and then asked to see the rash. 0.5 seconds later he uttered those words every woman longs to hear…
“Oh, that’s herpes.”
The look on my face prompted much hand waving on his part as he quickly asserted, “No, not THAT kind of herpes. Herpes zoster. It’s from chicken pox. You know, shingles.”
1. Maybe he should have *started* with “shingles” before throwing the old “herpes” thing out there.
2. I effing have effing shingles.
(The lumps were swollen lymph nodes made angry by all the shingles business — a nice added bonus, I think.)
So off he sent me on my way with a prescription and orders to relax. BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW THAT I AM SO GOOD AT THAT. His theory is that I’m not taking good enough care of myself and that the whole food poisoning/vomiting incident weakened my immune system and the shingles were all, “Dudes, prime hang out spot right here!” He didn’t really say that, but what he said was boring, and I have shingles so I will take artistic license here if I damn well want to.
By the way, the prescription? Is Valtrex. Yes, the same medicine they give you for genital herpes, the same medicine that is advertised on TV all the friggin’ time. So that was fun handing over to my neighborhood pharmacist. The same neighborhood pharmacist who after putting my prescription order into the computer went on her dinner break and forgot to fill it, so I had to go back up to the counter and talk to the pharmacist assistant (who always seems mildly high, which isn’t at ALL disconcerting). He asked me my name and then asked me which prescription it was. In front of the 34,220 people who were also waiting for their prescriptions because it was 5:30pm on a weekday. When I told him, I was sure that people were looking at me judging me. It took everything I am to start waving my arms and say “No, not THAT kind of herpes!”
Before I left, I bought myself a peanut butter cup. I figured it was the least I could do for myself.