The New Year and I are off to a tenuous start. So far our brief relationship has brought me not only strep throat but strep eyeball as well. It’s one of three kinds of pink eye. I looked it up on the internet. Dr. House wouldn’t approve but, as Mbot likes to say, “He is not in our world, right, Mom?” Normal antibiotics aren’t helping the superheroes in my body fight the bad germs. The next step might be a shot of Penicillin in the rump.
But meanwhile, I need some relief. Our family doctor called in an antibiotic to the CVS Window of Mercy, but by 2:30 this morning, after a big helping of ibuprofen and an icy 7-Up, it still felt like small chain-smoking men were putting out their cigarettes on the back of my throat. It was time to take matters into my own hands. Fortunately, I tend to keep things. The six-month-old chili in the freezer couldn’t help me, but there was also the codeine syrup I came home with after my tonsils were removed in 2006.
I must say, the 2006 vintage of the hydrocodone appellation was a good one. The pain vanished, and I was cradled in a particularly comforting sleep. I don’t know why this liquid, sugar-infused form of Vicodin agrees with me, while the capsule form does not (see Wake Me Up When the Light Turns Green), but I am not complaining. It is also highly addictive, as many people in our world and out of our world can attest. And so tonight, because the little smoking men have, for the most part, chosen a different corner to hang out on, I’ll go back to the ibuprofen and 7-Up. A comforting sleep is less than comforting if you’re worried you might not wake up to refill a sippy cup.
House the new year treating you? (And that, I promise, will be the end of television references for a long, long time.)