So I was diagnosed in the sacristy at church with shingles. A nurse friend of mine pulled me in a corner and lifted the corner of my blouse and said, “Yep, that looks like shingles to me.”
Besides the whole creepy aspect of the scenario, it was the bad news I was expecting. A trip to Dr. Mike’s this morning confirmed it, and I am on a delightful cocktail of steroids, anti-virals, and the drug of choice in the Johnson household: Vicadin.
And it still hurts like a bitch. I’m so sorry for the people who don’t figure it out for a while. I am hopeful that this will be done sooner than later.
Feel free to send chocolate. I hear it has medicinal values.