Fall and spring make me apprehensive of the inevitable sicknesses my child will carry home. Cold and flu viruses lurk at school water fountains. Germs leap to the kid licking the spigot and he then generously spreads them to teachers and parents.
This year, as last, there was a barfy thing I like to call the morning sickness flu. I lost five pounds thanks to that unchosen diet march. But the three-week cold that followed has taken my sinuses hostage and it’s been a month of failing antibiotics. I know firsthand, antibiotics are a game of Russian roulette. I found out the hardest way and there are no other options.
The Illness What I endured two years ago left me suspicious of every tingle and twinge I feel in my head. I was left with the adjective “chronic” to contend with. And I no longer naïvely assume doctors are the helpful saviors I used to think they were.
The abbreviated version has me with an infection in my upper sinuses that started on Thanksgiving weekend 2008 and lasted until Valentines Day. A CT scan would show a pinched passageway preventing the exit of the funk that festered in the dark warm cavity in my head. By Christmas, I couldn’t taste the salt in my mashed potatoes although my family assured me they didn’t suck.
I’d been seen by a parade of doctors with varying amounts of givashoot. I finally figured out the decongestants were kept behind the counter at the drug store. My head burned, much as it does now, and the lack of continued care made me distrust most doctors. I’d taken four different antibiotics when the pain broke me. I was in my garage crying to a God I could almost believe in to stop the pain. I sacrificed smoking to that God. That was three years ago.
Déjà Vous The new family doctor I’d chosen after this debacle had prescribed a daily dose of guaifenesin. That kept the snot flowing nicely and I avoided incident last fall. However, money got tight this spring and I hadn’t replaced my supply. Now, two hundred self paying dollars worth of Doctor’s appointments and drugs later, that familiar crushing head pain seems an FU for the lack of healthcare. And these uber-germs in me are laughing at our pitiful drugs.
Of Course I am trying not to panic. I’m trying to have faith that there’s another better drug right around the prescriptive corner. “There is nothing else I can give up except hope”, I think as I swallow a handful of pills hoping any of them will do something. Perhaps it’s a higher power smack-down just in case I was taking my life for granted. Of course I’m looking forward to my Mommy time trip to Philly for the flower show this weekend. And I’ll be popping Ibu like candy.