I’m serious, dammit.
Earlier this week, my ENT prescribed this new course of advanced generation antibiotics to deliver that knockout blow to the bacteria that’s made my sinuses their home for the past twenty-odd years. In fact, the drug is so new, it had yet to be invented when I had my first Caldwell-Luc procedure in 1991. Anyway, I am taking a broad spectrum antibiotic, so as far as the bacteria in my bloodstream goes, I’m sure that by the end of this course, it’s gone from my system. If I had an STD, it’s gone now for sure.
After finishing the course of my previous antibiotic, I took my first hit last night. Boy, what a doozy that was.
The thing with antibiotics (or any new drug in your system), is that you can never tell what the side effects are going to be. This time, instead of the bacteria, the drug downed me. I was more dizzy and nauseous than I’ve ever been in the past few years, bar none. It’s much like being drunk, without the slurring or loss of rational thought. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone just about now. The thing is, I have to take one pill every night. Two more nights to go.
Hooray for me, I guess.
The wife is nauseous, too. We’d just finished watching the latest eviction night on Big Brother. The wife was rooting for the house’s resident psycho, Wendy Valdez, to be evicted from the house in this week’s installment. Instead, funny guy Nel Rapiz (who had in the meantime taken a backseat to the Wendy bitch fit show) got the boot. After having a nasty run-in with manipulative people in high school, the wife has since developed a severe allergy to those who would manipulate others for their own gain.
“I’m not watching PBB anymore,” said the wife in a bitch fit of her own. “I just HATE her so much!”
“She’s manipulative, yes.” I concur, as we watch Nel melt into the arms of his mother. “That’s no reason to hate her with as much venom as you do.”
“Just look at how she manipulated all the guys to take her side! What a bitch!!”
“That’s because Bruce is the dominant alpha male in the group, and he’s not helping diffuse the situation any.”
“I mean, the situation being this bad isn’t really her fault. Some girls are really like that, and the trick is always in how to deal.”
We resumed our silence as Toni, Bianca, and Mariel did their little spiels. After around a minute, the wife turns to me.
“Don’t talk to me. I feel like throwing up.”
“After the show? Just because Wendy the Bitch hasn’t been evicted yet?”
“No, it’s because I’m really pretty,” at which point she starts heaving.
Not even wee little Nicole, who just today was diagnosed with hypersensitivity to mosquito bites, escaped from feeling a bit nauseous this week. A mosquito bit her last night just below the eyelid and the bite area immediately began to swell. This morning, my mom tells me the bad news.
“Take Nicole to the hospital, her eye is really swelling.”
“Err. She really responds to mosquito bites like that.”
“See for yourself.”
Nicole is in the kitchen, happily munching down on Cerelac wheat banana in her high chair. There is nothing wrong in this scene, except that her right eye is almost swollen shut. She laughs as she sees me. I give her a kiss before running into the bedroom and waking up the wife. The wife wakes up with a start and runs to the kitchen.
Gasps are heard.
We’re in the hospital within the hour. In the waiting area, everyone comes to take a look at how an otherwise healthy baby, albeit overfed, manages to sport a black eye the size of a cherry tomato. She’s here for the third time in four days, and is feeling quite a bit at home. At the moment, she wants to run around the pediatric section of the emergency room, but can only do it with an adult holding her hand. The adult happens to be the wife. At some point, Nicole runs into the resident, who has no choice but to look at her.
“Mosquito bite,” we tell the attending. “She reacts really badly to mosquito bites, but this one’s the worst.”
“We’ll inject her with an antihistamine for the swelling, and then we’ll send you home.” His voice is friendly, but cracking at the seams. I’m sure we seem to be one less problem on the list, and we really don’t mind.
On Sunday, the pediatric department is just swamped. Apparently, today is the only day where working parents can bring in their children in relative peace, and waiting in the queue is taking its toll on the frazzled nerves of the patients. By the time the syringe arrives an hour or so later with the much-needed antihistamine, Nicole’s gotten a rough idea of her fate and she begins to protest. Wildly. Her crying ceases as the antihistamine begins to work. Within minutes, she is asleep.
It’s time for me to take my drugs again. Wish me luck.