As I'm driving over hill and down dale in the green farmlands and woodsy forests of the hinterlands, trying to avoid toll roads if at all possible, I have lots of time to ponder my next blogpost. By the time I map to some Walmart, Lowe's, or rest area approximately three hours from the previous Walmart, Lowe's, or rest area, I've forgotten all the content, even the parts I wrote in my head and spoke out loud. Such is the nature of the aging memory. All that biting humor and pithy wisdom, lost. Alas, alackaday.
I bought some concoction at Walmart that is supposed to take the odors out of my car. Ha. Now I know how they get that Motel 6 smell. It comes in a can. Even with only one tiny slit uncovered, the smell is overwhelming. One thing they don't tell you about van life on these YouTube channels: You will spend three times as much money as you need to (or should) living this life, because most of the things you buy to make your life easier will actually make your life harder. You can't pack your mistakes around with you. Into the trash they go.
I don't think I've complained recently about the condition of my vestibular system. That's because I've been cured. Well, almost cured. The antiseizure med the neurologist prescribed actually started working. For the past month, I can happily say I've felt normal. I should have mentioned it, I suppose, but since when do you go around shouting, hey I feel normal! Yay. Let's hear it for normality.
Well, the happy days have come to an end. When I started getting low on the pills, I emailed the doctor to ask for a refill. I received what I thought was an affirmative response and gave the doctor's assistant the contact info for the nearest pharmacy that would have me in their system (Westerville, OH). I drove two hours south of where I wanted to be to pick up my refill. When I got to the pharmacy, no prescription. I emailed the doctor. Help! Refill! Now! Eventually the assistant called me on the phone to say no, no refill would be forthcoming. The "90-day supply" should last me until I return to Tucson at "the end of the month."
Begging availed me nothing.
I went back to my car and counted the pills. Then I counted the days on my calendar. Then I looked at the pill bottle. Then I panicked. Then I calmed down. Then I panicked again. I started trying to do math in my head, which is never a good sign for me, especially in the middle of the night. It took a while, but I figured out I got shorted 81 pills. My so-called 90-day supply was really a 63-day supply. I don't think she calculated the period of time during which the dosage ramped up to three pills a day. Today I have eighteen pills left. That means if I taper off to one pill a day, I will run out on October 9.
After two days of taking only one pill a day, rather than three, I am feeling the vertigo symptoms increase. Somebody put quarters in the the washing machine in my head, and it wasn't me. Here we go again, back into the swampy mess. I hope my calculations will convince her to rethink her refill refusal. She's out of the office until Tuesday. Surely she will see the light when she sees the facts. Facts are so convincing, so reassuring, right? Everyone trusts facts, even if they don't trust anything else, right? I have a feeling the response will be no, and don't call me Shirley.
