Oh, you drugs, you...

Yesterday I visited the doctor about my migraines. My doctor is a kindly old lady with a voice like Mrs. Puff and an accent like Paula Dean.

So Paula Puff hears my complaints and gives me an ass-load of pills to try. Pills for my restless legs (won't get those until Monday), Vitamin D for my hair, and three different samples of migraine meds. I was suffering pretty bad by the time I got home, so I decided to take one of the samples before going to work.

We can see where this is going.

I get on the road and feel weird. Really weird. My head is throbbing, my neck is aching, and I feel DRUNK. So I call Willy with slurred speech, and luckily I was driving past his building on the way to work so he demanded I pull over so he could come pick me up. I made it to his building, and lay comatose for a few seconds. Once he got permission to take me home, I was in my passenger's seat, struggling to breathe.

I basically got all of the side effects associated with the pain killer, and NONE of the benefits. My head STILL fucking hurts. So I won't be trying the other ones until my next day off, which is Wednesday. Holy crap what an experience. Reminds me of the anti-depressants I was given, which did nothing but make me sleep for 15 hours. I guess you can't be depressed in your sleep, right?

Anyway, Willy's making me ditch Dr. Paula Puff in favor of a doctor that will actually try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me and why I've had the same migraine for two weeks now, instead of giving me an arsenal of pills. It's a good thing I'm not a drug abuser, I tell you what...