And the caissons go rolling along

I have now been taking valacyclovir (Valtrex) for seven days with three days to go. The shingles still look the same to me but may be beginning to fade.

What hasn’t faded is the pain. It has gotten worse. Although I would not call it excruciating, it has steadily built over the past week. I felt worse today than ever.

So I returned to our primary care physician for the follow-up visit and he prescribed Neurontin (or actually its generic equivalent, gabapentin) to be taken three times a day for the next ten days. I have the smallest size, 100 milligrams. The doc told me it comes in much larger sizes as well, but we’ll start with those and hope they do the trick.

I do not like taking pills in general. I’m ready for this stuff to be over.

Speaking of general and over, Hugo Chavez died this afternoon.

Oops, he was only a colonel, not a general. But that was apparently high enough in the scheme of things to become the dictator elected leader of Venezuela.

Congressman José Serrano (D-NY) of the Bronx sang Chavez’s praises here.

Some people never learn.

If this post makes no sense, it’s probably the gabapentin talking.

“Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.”

After three days of the valacyclovir (Valtrex), my case of shingles continues unabated.

I thought the pain was easing and the discolorations were fading slightly, but no. It was just wishful thinking.

It’s becoming a regular pharmacy around here.

I currently take three pills in the morning prescribed by my cardiologist (Cozaar, Toprol, and 1/4-grain Aspirin), one from my family doctor (the Valtrex), and two extra-strength Tylenol. In mid-afternoon I take two more of the Tylenols and another Valtrex. Before bedtime I take three other cardiologist-prescribed pills (a Zocor and two extended-release Niacin), two more extra-strength Tylenol, and a third Valtrex. I keep Nitrostat (nitroglycerin pills) on hand “just in case” of a heart flare-up but I am happy to report that in the 17 years since my heart attack I have never had to take a single one. Oh, and I just completed a three-month tour on Omeprazole (the generic equivalent of The Purple Pill) courtesy of the gastroenterologist following my first-ever endoscopy (bleeding ulcer) and colonoscopy (polyp). Counting the Omeprazole, that’s 16 pills a day, about 14 more than I would like to be ingesting.

I’m turning into a regular Snowbrush.

Well, maybe things haven’t quite reached that point yet.

But that which I greatly fear has come may have come may be trying to come upon me.

I speak of the condition we all dread. A-G-E.

Age.

Old age.

Nah.

It’s probably just the shingles talking.

In honor of the occasion, though, I have composed a pome (translation: some doggerel verse):

Old age -- it ain’t for sissies;
Old age -- it ain’t for wimps.
Old age is full of gases
Like those they put in blimps.

Old age has come a-knocking;
Old age will get us all.
Old age makes people long for
Dear dead days beyond recall.

Old age -- the final frontier --
Into it we boldly go
Where none of us has gone before.
What’s there? You don’t want to know.

(End of pome)

If you’re the type who likes to get a second opinion, you can always go with Robert Browning up there in the title of this post.

Otherwise, take two aspirin and call me in the morning.

What goes around, comes around

Yesterday afternoon I discovered my first-ever attack of what I think is shingles on the left half of my torso at the ripe old age of 71 and 11/12ths. At this point, the rash starts a little to the left of my navel and extends almost to my spine. So I’m calling to make an appointment with the doctor as soon as his office opens this morning (it’s now 7:30 a.m. here) to get the Acyclovir or whatever they’re treating shingles with nowadays and hoping fervently that the herpes zoster virus doesn’t lead to post- herpetic neuralgia (PHN) that is common in Caucasian people over 60 years of age. As you see, I’ve done my online research.

The strange thing is, I don’t remember ever having had chicken pox, although if I scrunch up my face and squint my eyes and raise my eyebrows and concentrate very, very hard and even look a little like Fu Manchu (photo below), I think I remember one single pock mark on my arm when I was a child.

In summary, what goes around, comes around.



Also, last Wednesday evening we had a little mishap with the car. Not an accident. Not a collision. A mishap. I ran over the curb, make that curbs, on the median while making a left turn at an intersection at night. Mrs. RWP and I were tossed about a bit, but we were not hurt. Fortunately (a) we were wearing our seat belts and (b) the old Camry did not flip over. So we are none the worse for wear, though we each now sport a few more gray hairs than before.

But between the Wednesday evening mishap with the car and the Monday afternoon discovery of shingles, this is shaping up to be The Week That Was in the rhymeswithplague household.

I’ll keep you posted.

[Update, Feb. 27, 2013: It was most definitely shingles. To make it go away, my friendly doctor has prescribed a three-times-a-day-for-the-next-ten-days blue pill that is big enough to choke a horse. The pharmaceutical community calls it Valtrex. The active ingredient is valacyclovir hydrogen chloride and you have to drink lots of water along with it. When we lived in Florida, hydrogen chloride mixed with water produced hydrochloric acid, which is also called muriatic acid, which was used to remove all the muck and gunk from patios around swimming pools. Wish me luck. Keep me in your prayers. Cross your fingers. Send something up the flagpole and see if anybody salutes it. All of the above. I want to be rid of this stuff. --RWP]