A Drizzly Summer Weekend and an Antibiotic Rejection

There was a time when I’d regularly strap on two pads, stride out between English showers, and attempt to bat on the subsequently dodgy surface.

That was good for the fast bowlers, except they now found themselves also slipping on the sopping grass. I sympathized with them, as I was a quickie myself. But not too much. They could no longer bowl fast enough to leave bruises — it was thwacking time!

I realize that this is a drawn-out cricket analogy (well, even at my level, it still took all day!) for readers mostly from the U.S. What am I like? If you’ve ever read my stuff before, I think you know.

Last weekend saw persistent drizzle, and no cricket would be attempted anywhere in southeast England. I could no longer stride anyway, but I was still strapping on two pads. My bottom was erupting!

The family had all eaten the same vittles (there, a cowboy reference) and I didn’t seem ill. Lying in repose on a mound of bed protectors overnight, it dawned on me that I had been through this same icky scenario recently. I had been in the hospital for cellulitis, and the antibiotic clindamycin, which I’d been taking successfully for weeks, had turned me into an oil gusher at the time.

I’ve been on a long-term antibiotic regimen for the past six months to deal with a biofilm in my bladder. I had to visit the hospital to see a specialist consultant I found after a long search, so they could take a catheter sample. Ordinary tests would probably show I didn’t have any active urinary tract infection (UTI) in my system, but this one did.

So, I needed to stay on antibiotics, and after being on nitrofurantoin for six months, it was policy to change drugs. I was therefore put on Selexid (pivmecillinam), which as a sidebar, my consultant wrote: “In the Nordic countries, pivmecillinam has been widely used for lower urinary tract infections since the 1970s. It is hardly used in the U.K., and that gives us a significant sensitivity advantage.”

Except that after a few weeks, my lower tract raised a serious objection. Most of the Nordic countries are in the EU. As we’ve just left, it would be fitting, considering what the purpose of the lower bowel is, that it sided with the more maniacal of the Brexiteer supporters.

Phew, that was as medically a load of gubbins as I ever want to write. Apologies if you read it all. Really, thanks if you’ve gotten this far.

But I have to plunge off again into this world for the finale.

I stopped taking Selexid and immediately began to er, dry out. Thinking I should give my body a rest from antibiotics for a while, I did. Then, heavy fatigue set in. This isn’t surprising, given the last couple of days. But instead of the fatigue slowly dribbling away, it got worse.

I hadn’t had a full-blown UTI infection since Feb. 21 and had obviously become a tad blasé about it. With my system at a low ebb, and with no antibiotics, my ever-present collection of bladder lurgy busily told each other (via quorum sensing) that this was finally a chance to have a muck about in the playground of my body.

So, it was back to the trusty nitrofurantoin.

The suckers who’d come out to play were met by my trusty serial killer. By Monday morning, I had recovered.

How was your weekend?

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