Don't Do This. Ever.

I've been debating whether or not to share my latest Bratty Inner Child Julia event, but......well, if it provides y'all with an opportunity to learn something, then I guess it's worth showing my doofus nature to the world yet once again:

I stayed three days longer in San Francisco than I had originally planned. And although I had some extra meds with me (prednisone and my restless leg meds), I didn't have three full days of extras of my other prescriptions.

When I made the decision to stay longer, I told myself that I would bop over to the nearest drugstore and have them contact my pharmacy and just refill my prescriptions for a couple of days.

But then BICJ made her appearance.

Oh, please. It's just three stupid days. And you KNOW that all this goofing around at a pharmacy will take at least a couple of hours, and for what? You've got extra prednisone, so what else matters? Pppfffft. Methotrexate? And Cyclosporine? Synthroid? Estrace? I have this sneaking suspicion that we don't need to take all that junk anyway. What good do they really do?

C'mon. Let's just blow off the whole medicine thing. Think of it as a medication vacation. Just think of all the cool stuff we could be doing instead if sitting around in a stupid pharmacy...

Sigh. Why, oh why do I listen to this person? But, I did.

The first day without my immunosuppressants, I actually felt fine.

I told you so. Nyeah! Hey!! Does this mean we can have a real margarita??

No, BICJ. I'm not willing to risk my liver for one frozen alcoholic beverage! Geez.

Then day two rolled around, and gee whiz. It was pretty hard to get out of bed. My hands seemed sore and slightly swollen.

You're just a big old crybaby imagining things. Let's get going. I heard the hotel restaurant makes some really good pancakes! Pancakes are far better for us than any stupid medicine...

As the next two days went by, I gradually made the acquaintance of all those aches and pains that I had forgotten about: feet, hands, neck, back, knees....when my flight touched down in Portland, I hobbled down the jetway to meet John feeling as though I was at least ninety years old. Every inch of my body hurt as though I had been beaten soundly. I couldn't believe it.

After getting home and gobbling up my evening doses of meds, I gingerly crawled into bed and found I was stuck there for another entire day. I got up just long enough to make sure to take my pills on schedule and eat, then headed back to rest. My joints were achey and sore and I felt as though I had drained every last bit of my energy reserves. Over the last two days it was such a relief to feel my joint pain recede and my energy slowly being replenished.

People. The moral of the stupid BICJ story this time around is this: Take several extra days worth of medication with you when traveling. OR get yourself over to a pharmacy if you forget.

And skip the hotel pancakes.

Image found here.