The good doc likes what he's seeing in the reaction to the medication. It feels about like swallowing a ball of swamp muck (it took me a while to come up with that--I keep picturing the vats of fermenting sardine goo with wafting waves of durian and getting hungry [really]) because the pills sit and stew and send bubbles of acidic chemicals in all directions, but the inflammation has gone down and taken the fever and some of the fatigue with it. If it comes back, he'll keep me there on an IV until I'm clear. But at this point, his main concern was my shoes. With my sausage foot, my beloved Danskos further restrict what bloodflow still exists. This is a problem.
So he sent me with an extension of the meds, and a prescription for, and he smiled and hid his mouth to say it, flip flops.
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