Hick has been monitoring my progress since he took me to convenient care on Monday evening. He spent his own $5 on my Z-Pack! He brings me a Dairy Queen grilled chicken sandwich on his way home, because that's one of the few things that doesn't set off waves of nausea when I think about it. He's also very involved in my medical regimen, starting Monday night.
"Did you take your Z-Pack?"
"Yes. At 7:00. Pony had to open the blister pack. I guess old people with arthritic hands are just supposed to die."
"Did you take all four?"
"Um. NO. I took two. Like the directions say."
"I've had a Z-Pack before. You take four the first day, three the next day, then two, then one."
"There are only six pills."
"That cain't be right. I've had them before. It's four the first day..."
"Saying it again won't make it right. You must be thinking of a steroid thing. I've taken that after a medicine allergy. And yes, it's four, three, two, one."
"I don't think so. I've never had an allergy like that."
I let it go. No use arguing with a Hick. Tuesday morning, as he left for town, he said,
"Did you take your medicine?"
"I don't take it until 7:00. That's 24 hours from the last one. You're supposed to take them on a routine."
"I don't think so. You can take it around noon. It IS the next day."
"That's not how it works."
"Any time the doctor gives me something like an antibiotic, I just take them whenever."
Yes. I'm sure he does. He's the one who sets his alarm for the middle of the night, to arouse from a dead sleep, to take cough medicine that says 'every four to six hours as needed.'
I will not be following Hick's dosing suggestions.