Praising Jesus one day and singing the wonders of narcotics the next. You never know what’s going to show up here, do you?
I finally threw in the towel and went to see the doctor yesterday about this coughing-up-a-lung thing that’s been going on for a couple of weeks. It only took about two minutes for her to listen to my wheeziness and label me with bronchitis. I’m now in possession of three prescriptions: a Z-pack, a short course of Prednisone, and codeine cough syrup.
This is my first experience with both Prednisone and codeine, and they seem to be working at cross purposes with each other. The Prednisone is hyping me up a little and making me restless, and the codeine is making me sleepy. Sleep and restless do not mix very well and it’s making everything a little wonky, so I’m just going to stay home today in my happy little spaced out world and try to remember when it’s time to pick up the children.
I’ve only taken narcotics one other time, and that was after the boys were born and they gave me some of the good stuff to get over my C-section. I had been taking two pills every six hours in the hospital and assumed that the bottle they gave me to take home had the same dosing instructions. Unbeknownst to me, the pills they sent home were double strength and so when I took the usual two pills (instead of the one that was clearly marked on the label I didn’t read), I got a bang-up loopy session that lasted several hours while the magic pills did their magic.
Oh, I felt no pain.
And let’s just say it’s a good thing they didn’t authorize refills.
Mr. CPQ has been taking good care of me. He cancelled dinner plans last night to come sit on the couch with me and listen to my incoherent fuzzy ramblings. He’s a good man, he is, and I think I’ll keep him.
(He was also the one who called the doctor for me to set up the appointment. Isn’t that sweet?)
Have a nice day.