Well, that’s not entirely true. Actually, it’s not even remotely true. I don’t have malaria. But that doesn’t stop my allergist from prescribing me anti-malaria drugs. That’s right. I don’t have malaria, but I am taking a drug which is meant to combat malaria.
I suppose it’s what I deserve. Or, rather, what my body deserves. The doctors, they need to treat the symptoms. If one drug doesn’t work, they need to move onto the next. And the next. And the next, until all of their options are expended and they are forced to reach into their rabbit hats to pull out the drugs that aren’t actually meant for the resounding symptom: the anti-depressants (“has anti-itch elements”) and anti-malaria drugs.
Just like the Doxepin, this drug can be prescribed “for other uses.”
In the meanwhile, I am going to tell everyone I have malaria, and that I contracted it by wrestling an okapi in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and that they should just stay the hell away unless they want respiratory and liver failure, meningitis, a rupturing of the spleen, shaking chills and anemia.
Note: I am in no way making fun of the disease that is malaria. I am merely commenting on the ridiculous nature of the situation I am in.