Okay, so I'm not quite as bad off as Charlotte. However, I have been feeling really poorly this last week. Pressure in my ear. Pain on the top of my head. Difficulty when I swallow. I thought it was some kind of sinus infection, so I made an appointment to see a doctor this afternoon.
When I got to the appointment, the doctor looked in my ear. She turned off the lights in the exam room and checked out my eye. Then, she ran her hand lightly over the side of my scalp that's been giving me trouble, saying, "Does this hurt?" It did.
Well, the doctor didn't come up with a definitive diagnosis, but she's hasn't ruled out...shingles. No, I haven't had any rashes. No, I don't have any oozing sores. However, to be on the safe side, the doctor prescribed me a prophylactic shingles medication. "It won't do any harm," she said.
So, here I sit, the day before Saint Marty's Day Eve, feeling a little like a leper. I'm not done for, like Charlotte, but I feel itchy all over my body. I can't stop scratching. I know it's all psychological, but it's driving me crazy.
Once upon a time, a handsome, young carpenter named Job lived on the outskirts of the kingdom of Shingles. Job built barns for the farmers, stools for the pub, windmills for the local green energy hippies. Job had everything he wanted.
Then, one day, Job's house burned down, his tools disappeared, all his teeth fell out, hair sprouted on his palms, and pus wept from his pores.
The whole kingdom of Shingles stopped hiring Job for carpentry work, and Job's friends shunned him. When Job went shopping at the farmer's market, he had to ring a cowbell and shout, "Unclean! Unclean!"
Moral of the story: if your name is Job, change it.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
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| Does this guy have shingles? |
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