It was a few days ago. When the doctor finally came into the room he asked, “Hello my friend. How are you doing?”
“Worse and worse.” I said. This was my third visit in three weeks. What did he expect?
“So what seems to be the problem?”
“Well. I mean. You asked me to come in. You took a swab last week.” He didn’t even recognize me. “I have the swollen tonsils, remember?”
I could see it clicked for him. “Ah! Yes. It’s strep. You have strep throat.”
“We are going to prescribe for you some heavy duty drugs. An antibiotic. It seems you have a resistance to penicillin.”
I took the drugs for a few days and then I started to itch all over. My sides turned red and the creases in my arm joints got all rashy.
Today, when the doctor finally came in the room he asked, “Hello my friend. How are you doing?”
“Worse and worse. I’ve got this rash all over.” I showed him my arms and the back of my neck.
“Yes. It’s very common to get it in these places.”
He started writing a prescription for a topical eczema cream. I thought I’d go with it, but Jesus Christ. I’m sick of coming in every week. “But does eczema hurt? I’m kind of sore.” I lifted up my shirt and showed him my gross bod.
“Oh this is a rash.”
“Yeah,” I said, like I knew that already. Which I kind of did.
“Have you any allergies?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve been taking these pills you prescribed.”
He looked at me blankly. He still didn’t recognize me. My forth visit in three and a half weeks. “Remember me? I had the strep throat?”
“Oh yes. Yes. Stop taking the pills. I will give you another prescription.”
The pills this time are blue. I’ve decided not to take them.