Usually, I’ve got a fair idea of where I’m headed in my column.
This time, I really don’t.
I’m confronting something. Maybe nothing.
It’s as clear as the cliché involving wet, clingy earth.
For the first time since the last week in November 2017, I’ve stopped taking antibiotics. That’s not so much a course as a semester!
Three days out and a urinary tract infection (UTI) appears. This bit is graphic: Urgency. I actually dribble urine, which is highly unusual for someone who has to self-catheterize. It’s cloudy and smells of well-dead fish! Sorry. Oh, and the urinalysis I do at home shows my leukocytes are really high, and the color of my nitrites are off the charts. If it’s a false-positive — the same measures came out twice.
Normally, I’d start shoveling antibiotics, which I’ve historically done just to get by. It has gotten to the stage where I’m not sure the medical authorities really believe my urinalysis results. Which is fair enough, because I’m not sure I even believe them myself.
The plan is to have community nurses visit tomorrow to do a blood test.
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