February 12th, 2003


(no subject)

I'm leaving at two today so I can go to Med Stop with my new poison oak patches. They should remember me. Maybe it will be quick in-out.

Later I meet friend Madelyn for dinner, at five. Once she moves to Michigan there won't be many opportunities to have dinner with her.

Back on prednisone

I worked through until two today, then left so I could head for Med Stop. This time my experience was very different from the last. Whereas last time the doctor asked many questions about ulcers and other sensitivities, the nurse empathized and gave me gifts of telfa pads, and the pharmacist told me how to take the prednisone (all tablets at once, with food), this time I was offered but a quick look, a few words about how I need to find the source of this poison oak oil (urushiol) or I shall continue to be in contact with it, I was given the prescriptions with no discussion on how to use them, given a note to return to the doc in a week if I am not improved. Really, today's experience is more the norm than the ones I had a month ago, when everyone was paying attention, solicitous, helpful, and friendly.

Nevertheless, here I am with prednisone in tablet as well as cream form. I took three of the tablets at about four and can tell the difference already.

At work today I was extremely sleepy. It was all I could do to keep alert and keep working. Could a rash like this make me sleepy? It seems like it could. Getting to two o-clock was tough. On my way to the druggist and then home I was edgy, sensitive, feeling like I would fall apart with the smallest provocation. I think the rash had taken over, was ruling my emotions as well as my body. Now it is better and I am feeling more in control again.

I met a friend for dinner at five. We had a good time at Big Sky, talking about her move to Michigan, scheduled for May. We promised we'd get together often in the time remaining to us here. She is feeling much the same kinds of worries that I feel when I think of moving back there: the insularity of it, how "you can't get there from here", and how it is damned hard to get inside the silent midwestern person, and hard to find others of any kind of similar mind. She is torn, to say the least, yet looking at it as an adventure, as she well might. I expect to get a LOT of email from her once she gets there.