It's a disease categorized by stabbing pain, disgusting rashes, and occurring in old people.
Old people and me.
That's my head about four days in. Awesome. (Trust me ladies, I'm ugly. But I'm not thaaaat ugly.)There's a lot that's gone on in the last week, and trying to cram all of it in a single post is pointless. Most of you have probably left after seeing that picture anyhow. For those who stayed, I shall relate one of the many stories to come out of this mess: the Dermatologist.
I'd had the stabbing pain for a week, the rash for three days, and finally went in to see a dermatologist. So the wife and I are in the office, and in walks this doctor. Must have been 6 feet tall, and looked about 22. Exuded confidence and charisma. I felt like asking him out on a date.
He shakes my hand, shakes the wife's hand, introduces himself and then says "So, you have Shingles."
That's it. No medical history taken. No questions asked. Didn't sit down, put on gloves, or ask me to take my glasses off. Strolls into the office and declares the diagnosis. In a tone that suggests it's so freakin obvious we must have come for another reason. Then, for good measure, he goes:
"Oh and you know about the [COMPLICATED MEDICAL NAME I DON'T REMEMBER] you have on your left cheek? Sometimes we find that those become cancerous. It's nothing serious, but you should have it checked once a year. Just keep an eye on it. Also, my super-hearing has detected your heart skips a beat every 79th second, I recommend seeing a cardiologist about that."
Ok, I made that last sentence up. But all the rest of it was true. This guy was like House before he busted up his leg and got all cranky at life. I was in and out of that office in 5 minutes.
Which was a good thing since -now that we'd diagnosed it- there was a chance the Shingles could make me blind. But that's for the next post.
DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!
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