Will someone please tell the fat lady to sing already... !
This is my life...
Oh, yes, you may commence to pity me. Though, I assure you, I'm doing enough of that for the both us. Read on, you'll see.
Turns out the antibiotics pretty much left my system, oh, I'd say by Sunday evening. Turns out, my body responded better to Vicodin with the antibiotics in it. Vicodin, my sweet Vicodin, now nothing to me but a two-faced demon, a doubled-edged sword, a hypocrite. It turned on me... the vicious Vicodin.
Thus, I've spent a small fortune at Wal-Greens (well, actually, Kev did the spending, since I haven't left the house since Sunday evening, as it's deemed wise we not to stray too far from the throne, if you get my drift). But at least it all seems to be working, and I feel almost close to something like human just now, for the first time in 4 days.
Now, I'm afraid to take Vicodin. Even though not taking Vicodin now is likely to heap yet more misery upon this old, tired body. So I tried Demerol. But Demerol is simply Vicodin's evil cousin, in respect to the topic at hand, that is. Lovely, dependable Tylenol and Advil do their best, but the 2 combined cannot seem to budge the cement block at the base of my neck.
Also, I hate it when the Tigers play the Cleveland Indians... they and their stupid drum. Pound, pound, pound. In time with my cement block, it felt.
Anyway, I've risked it again tonight, finally, and took 1 Demerol. And an hour and half later, I swallowed down 2 Tylenol PMs... fingers crossed.
The only thing I feel certain of tonight is that sitting on my desk chair while writing this post is a sacrifice I'll not make again soon. Off to a horizontal position for me and my aching and pain-inflicted body.
O! Poor me.
Seriously, this has been 4 days of freakin' H-E-double-hockey-sticks. With no light in sight, as far down the freakin' tunnel as I can see. Boo. Hiss.