Re-Shingled

The persistent virus has triumphed over me again. I thought 2 weeks was an eternity; other people said it was fast for a recovery from shingles. Apparently, too fast. I did feel fine, and I guess in that normality I threw caution to the winds. Cold winds, that is. The chill of the cold air lingered a bit longer on that side of my face, but not worryingly so. I kept working; I was tired but I rested over the weekend, and then the tell tale spot emerged. Even then I thought perhaps it was something else but resolved to call the doctor just as a precaution.

By the time the doctor's office opened, I no longer had any doubt. Apparently neither did the doctor: without even seeing me, he phoned a prescription for the anti-viral into the chemist (pharmacist). I phoned my office and was told absolutely not to come in. I demurred and thought I would come for half a day and then my own words to my blogpal, Curmudgeon came back to me. I have been ragging on him to take it easy and to stay home, and so I had better follow my own advice.

If you don't hear from me for a day or so, you can imagine the scene: every 4 hours (except during the night), I will faithfully chug down my 800 milligram antiviral imaging that it is a bazooka aimed at a nest of virus lurking inside my hard working mitcohondria. The continual barrage will quickly bring the rebels to heel and conditions will be normalized: trigeminal nerves will cheerfully go back to their roles as supporting actors and the virus will retreat into obscurity.