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» Tuesday, March 08, 2016Like an Egyptian
Seriously. It's like the seven plagues around here.
My original blogging plan, after having covered the wonderful "swollen hands" and "aching feet" episodes, was to go back and talk about Anachrocon. However, the weekend tossed another big, wonderful spanner in the works.
Saturday wasn't so bad. I took the last of the steroids with breakfast, and then we headed out on errands: took James' kilt and shirt to the cleaner so he could have it for Leigh and Robbie's wedding, then went to the Container Store so he could pick up some new lunch containers. We also found compression socks that didn't cost a fortune, so have tried out a pair. Stopped in the Barnes & Noble two doors down for a while, then shopped at Trader Joe's on Roswell Road as well.
Later we grabbed a burger and went to "the Hungry Ear" coffeehouse at the Unitarian Church on Northside Drive. Louis Robinson was singing there along with Pat Walsh and Jimmy Galloway. Louis sang two of his own songs as well as a couple of "covers," including a funny song we'd never heard, "Sister Josephine." Pat Walsh played ukelele; his songs are sort of stream-of-consciousness memories. One he sang about "Blackberry Picking" conjured up visions of Jeff and Porky and Lassie. Jimmy Galloway did some bluegrassy type stuff, what James called "pickin,'" and good pickin' it was, too. He sang one song that had lyrics about "when we were kids we didn't know how good we had it," and it made me cry.
When we got home the final Mythbusters was on, so James sat down to watch that, and the reunion show, which I dozed off during, and finally woke up to find it was almost 2 a.m.! Despite not going to bed until three, I simply could not sleep Sunday morning, and crawled out of bed about nine, was at Kroger at 9:30 and Publix at 10:30, came home, put up the groceries, walked the dog, and then fell asleep on the futon until about one o'clock.
As I was waking up on the futon I noticed my upper right arm was itchy. I scratched it absently. Then had to scratch it again. When I checked it out in the bathroom mirror, I had a big rash all over the back part of my arm exactly where I had had the shingles vaccine shot. Huh.
Anyway, they had something called the Atlanta Comics Expo Show or something like that out at North DeKalb Mall this weekend. We figured we'd go Sunday afternoon, just to have something to do. I'm almost sorry now that we did; talk about "You can't go home again." This was one of our haunts back when it was called Market Square. The Aviarium used to be there; they had the budgie breeding boxes in the windows and you could just watch them live their little birdie lives. We adopted Merlin there, and Bandit, and they were so tame from the first, I think from the fact that they heard human voices from the other side of the display window from when they were hatched, so they weren't afraid. There was a Woolco there as well; that's where our Christmas tree star came from, I believe. And there was a Cole's books. I couldn't even identify where they used to be although the shape of the mall has stayed basically the same. I remember when they built PharMor on one of the ends—still have some Christmas ornaments from PharMor (the little glass bells and glass French horns in different colors)—and when PharMor closed they put a Lechmere there. I still have the typewriter I bought from Lechmere in the closet. Don't know if they even make ribbons for it anymore!
Anyway, the whole place was very sad and gloomy, and the poor people roasting from being set up under the skylights. The "Expo" was chiefly comic artists and small press people publicizing their work--a little too much totalitarian dystopia and supernatural for my taste—plus people selling comics and Pokemon items. We were impressed by a couple of artists working on a project called "Tuskegee Heirs." James said he wished they'd had something published rather than just concept art. They had a gorgeous drawing of an African-American young woman in a military uniform that someone had sent to them as concept art. Real love for the character in the whole picture, although just in black and white. I would have loved to have read something about her!
We came home by the way of Buckhead and the Barnes & Noble there, where I picked up The Eterna Files (a gaslamp fantasy) and a book about a family touring the world by bike for a year.
Anyway, was perturbed to arrive home and discover that the rash on my arm was now spread to the right side of my back and that my feet, which were hurting again when I woke up, were also itchy and swollen, and my wristbones were itchy and painful again. This meant, exasperatingly, that I had to stay home yet again Monday (God bless telework) and call Kaiser and get yet another appointment, with a strange doctor since my own was on vacation. The rash was spread even more by the time I got there, and the doctor was simply flummoxed. I guess I got too used to Dr. Simone, who never met a rash he didn't know, immediately proclaiming "Linda's got the squeezles!" (He was trying to make me laugh; I was seven and it was summer vacation—what a time to get the measles) or Dr. Sarni, who was always just as certain: "Yes, she has the chicken pox."
So I am back on steroids again, plus have a specially mixed cream for the rash—now pretty much spread over my whole body except on my head and neck and hands (but my hands still itch like the dickens)—and a Benadryl clone to take at night since the itching keeps me awake. Today I had two showers during the day just to take away the itch (I also got some oatmeal soap) and am already burning with itch again.
What do I have? "A reaction to something." Seriously. That's what the doctor said. "A reaction to something." They took four vials of blood and the only test that's come back so far is one that says I have an inflammation somewhere. Not where it is or why I have it, just that I do have it.
When the locusts start showing up I'm getting the hell out of here...