Meds Are From Satan

I thought meds were supposed to make you better. I have often been scoffed at, yelled at, made confused of, for not wanting to take any medications prescribed to me. I have good reason for not wanting to take heed to the doctors orders. I, personally, know my body a lot better than any doctor who has had the pleasure of dealing with me when I am not functioning at 100%. Case in point: A couple weeks ago I managed to do some real damage to my big toe. I mean real damage. With the nail pushed unnaturally into the skin base, I knew I would have a problem. I waited it out, as long as I could, then made my way into a doctors office. I asked him point blank to just cut it off (the nail, not the entire toe), and after some debate he simply wrote me out a prescription for antibiotics. I fought that too. I needed to wait until I got paid anyways, so I guess it worked in my favour anyways. I opted for soaking the infection out for about a week. It did the trick, for the most part, but soon I could feel the infection seeping into the deeper tissues of my foot and thought it best that I finally fill the prescription. To my alarm and dismay I was handed a full-to-the-brim bottle, full of decently sized oblong tablets, marked with a nice 500 along the sides. 500mg. Nice. After doing some research I found out that these puppies came in 250gm, 500gm and 1g doses. Glad I could fall into the middle-of-the-road slot. NOT. Not only was the bottle full of high-potency mammoth pills, I was to take them 4 times a day. Yes, that's right. 4 times a day. So I have been. At first I didn't mind feeling a little strange, however that strange feeling turned into something all together different. I volunteered all weekend, and I guess I should count my blessings that I was able to come through for that. I haven't been so lucky for work though. I woke up with a ridiculous migraine yesterday, or should I say I was awaken by it. Long enough to be blinded by the stream of sunlight that got through my curtains. Long enough to puke my guts out in my toilet and not in my bed. This morning wasn't as bad, depending on how you look at it, I guess. My migraine has tailored itself into a humming headache and my vomit urges have tuned into the most amazing stomach cramps I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. I'm not sure which I prefer most. At least with puking you can move without having to clutch at your guts, trying to rip them from your body. I'm trying a heating pad right now. It seems to be working. Maybe I'm just used to the pain now. I hate meds. The bottle is still half full. I want to die. All this over a damn toe. The doctor should have just cut it off.