Remember the other day when I promised you I would finish my story on antibiotics, and what my insides were going through? Well here it is. You're welcome.
On Tuesday, I began my very first full-scale assault on the nasty little germies that inhabit my body. I began, with no trepidation at all, a twice-daily dose of 100 mg of Doxycycline. I want this crap out of me, the sooner the better.
Maybe some background, for those of you that continually fail to pay full attention:
I have been in constant pain for over two years. Before that, I had Sciatica for 12 years chronically, intermittent before then. And I spent many of my teen and early college years battling numerous infections: Tonsilitis, Strep, Bronchitis. Practically the only things I haven't had are STDs. Really! Never!! Fine, don't believe me.
When I found out I had Fibromyalgia (and all the other things) I was sad. I was angry. I was despondent. I didn't want something that had no known cause, very few treatments, and certainly no cure. To find out that I have something else, something verifiable by bloodwork, something that has a clear-although controversial-treatment, that sometimes results in a complete remission? Something that mimics Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue, and causes Raynaud's? Sign me up! I can't begin to tell you the elation I felt, knowing that I now have a diagnosis of something that people are recovering from. I know it's going to be a battle, a rough ride at times. I know we have to prepare the kids for me looking pretty bad, seeming pretty weak. But I also know there is a new light at the end of my tunnel, a light that really wasn't there before.
So, I jumped at the chance to get diarrhea. I ran down to Costco to fill those scrips, and I gladly forked over my Costco card (complete with hilarious picture)...
...for the rare but distinct opportunity to subject myself to chronically loose stools (who has loose stools? Either they come out in the own sweet-ass time, or they fly out of you with the force of a cat from a fluff cycle in a dryer. There's no middle ground. Or very little.).
By the way, "loose stools" sounds like some sort of bar hazard. Which is perilous enough. Then add in painful bowel pressure, and you've got yourself a party. If the kind of party you enjoy involves a lot of "alone" time in the potty. Remind me to never party with you.
Fortunately, I take plenty of anti-depressants, which are constipating. Add in some pain pills, and I could be carrying an extra 15 pounds at any given time. I used to have to balance my magnesium (in the very expensive malate form) with the other pills. Now, I can dump most of the magnesium, because the antibiotics are doing their job. Doing is quite well, too. I lost 7 pounds the first 3 days. By May, I'm going to be small enough to become a supermodel. But for Little People, because I'm 5'3". All while eating my favorite whole foods, amazing homemade fruit and vegetable juices, and lean organic meats. No sarcasm here, nope. Food issues? No thank you, I brought my own.
You know when you're home sick, and you feel like the whole world owes you yummy goodness, because at least then your mouth would be happy? I don't even get that, because I have to make sure I put healthy things in. Less wine and cookies, more kale and beets. Not that I mind my veggies, but I have a particular affinity for yummy goodness. And I like my yummy goodness to be easily accessible. And sometimes I am at the mercy of the people I live with to get food for me, and they don't like directions that start with, "soak the raw almonds for 4 hours...". Neither do I, truth be told.
So my comfort foods have to be things like Indian rice pudding (which is quite good), and gluten-free pancakes made with coconut milk, filled with real blueberries, and just a little real maple syrup. These things have become my comfort foods. No mashed potatoes, no cheesy rice, no peanut butter toast. No grilled cheese sammies, either.
But I'm making due, and settling in for the long haul. In a couple days, I will add to my regimen twice daily Azithromyacin, 250 mg a pill. I've had Azith before, and it upset my stomach, so it's in my records that I do not tolerate it. I have just become Newt Gingrich at a Gay Marriage Rally-in order to survive, my definition of tolerance needs to change. I'm a wee bit more nervous about this week. But if all goes well, I will be moving right along towards the promised land of remission.
In about a month, Dr. M is going to check in, see how I'm tolerating things. If things are good, I'm getting the meds upped. (Hating that habit of doctors-"Well, you're doing so well, let's see just how much you can handle!") Then, there will be a change off of Doxy, because I can't be in the sun. He has had patients get blistering sunburns on their knuckles from driving on a sunny day in the winter.
So I'm in the market for some big-brimmed hats. And large Jackie O shades. Between those and the long skirts and long-sleeved shirts, you'll hardly recognize me.
I'll make it easy for you-I'll be the one squeezing her ass-cheeks together, running towards the ladies' room. Bring a match.