Week 23

The list of things wrong with me is slowly dwindling, which is good.

See, after the whole staph infection in my face fiasco, I went to my OBGYN and told him my story. He was very surprised that the family practice doctor only prescribed antibiotics and DIDN'T prescribe an antiviral as well. I told him I figured it's because I was so bold as to self diagnose myself with a cold sore, and god knows the patient is never right.

Side note - I went to the emergency room once, and told the registrar I had a pilonidal cyst. She very snarkily informed me that I couldn't possibly know that for sure and refused to write it down. When I got to see the doctor, and explained what was going on, she said "Oh! A pilonidal cyst!" Bitch.

So anyway. He told me that if it happened again, and it probably would, I should call him up and he'd fax me in a script for an antiviral.

So last Friday, when I noticed I was getting another cold sore, I called my doc's office. They told me that they would call in the prescription to my drug store. I thought this was all just fantastic. Until they told me the name of the drug they were putting me on.

Valtrex. (tm)

For those of you who have never watched TV, Valtrex is a drug commonly used to treat genital herpes. People in Valtrex commercials kayak and canoe and hike and smile alot.

Now, I can deal with a lot of things. I can deal with dirty looks at the OBGYN because I'm wearing a PBR t-shirt. (There is no rule that says I must consume the beverage while wearing the t-shirt.) I have never had a problem buying my own tampons, condoms, or diahrrea medicine. But I just cannot walk my pregnant ass into the pharmacy to pick up my herpes prescription while the cashier smirks knowingly and snickers behind her hand. I just know I'll make a big deal out of telling everyone behind the counter that it's for a cold sore, while they roll their eyes and mutter "Yeah, right" under their breath.

So I made Matt pick it up.