Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW.So I have apparently developed some kind of post-chickenpox-wannabee rash called (stupidious) shingles. Fantastic.
Friday night, a bizarre patch of red dots materialised on my chest, just above my *cough* left boob. I thought it was some allergy [perhaps due to irresponsible drinking (see previous post)], and thus ignored it. By Monday however, it has become very very sore. I could barely touch my boob without it hurting, and every so often a stinging sensation would decide to run wild and I would jolt. I couldn't wear my bra properly, I couldn't lie on my front, I couldn't lean over without 'ow'ing like a wolf; which, y'know if I was having sex, would be a serious hindrance. So I did what every lazy person would hate to do and phoned the GP.
Fast forward to today. I was told - sitting in the GP's office, without my cardie and shirt and blushing beetroot for my indecent bra - that I had a sneaky little devil condition shingles. Yes, SHINGLES. I thought she was yanking my leg for a good 5 seconds, until I realised she needn't: I was the one half naked. After leaving the surgery, I read the printouts she gave me about it and to my dismay, realised shingles commonly lasts for 2-4 weeks... and only becomes more painful along the way. How irritating.
She suggested some Paracetamol to ease the pain. But hell no. I'm a good little Chinese girl and I don't do drugs *fake smile* I think I've taken painkillers probably twice in my life, and they made no difference either time. Besides, I'm a tough cookie and a masochist at heart.
[I think everyone would graciously understand why I'm not enclosing a picture of my own shingles collection given the part of the body it has invaded.]
