Allergic Reaction: Yes or No?

Anyone who's wandered into the unicorn patch of health issues knows diagnoses are rather murky things sometimes.

Now that I finally have an antibiotic I tolerate well and treats TWO of my conditions, said antibiotic may have bitten back.

The problem is that the symptoms resemble an extreme reaction of autoimmune hives, which are with me always. Yes, my body is allergic to itself, too.

The symptoms started forty-eight hours after I started the drug and resolved sevety-two hours after I finished it.

Of course, I finished it.

I checked in with my doctor's physician assistant forty-eight hours after I finished the drug, and she who wasn't sure if I were reacting to the drug either.

She said I'm already taking everything they would have given me anyway. But she prescribed a much stronger, very sedating antihistamine to add onto my other three plus anithistamines if I needed more symptoms relief. 

I wound up not needing it. But I have it on hand if I do.

She did not feel I needed drug allergy testing at this point, which can be another conversation for another time.

So for now I'm left with an unclear answer and no direction for the next time I need it for the second condition (I'm allergic to the other oral options).

But I will let the experts figure it out.

I guess the lesson here is that life is not always clear and clearcut.

That's why we have critical thinking.

That's why we have others to help us.

That's why we have faith.

So what came out the door - "The Lady or the Tiger?"

Happy Tuesday!

Physical Editing

“You need a surgeon,” my doctor said. She handed the ultrasound report to me.

I didn’t need to look it at. For years I’d told doctors I had a hernia. After a cursory exam, I always heard, “You don’t have a hernia.” The denial part of me readily accepted it. I hate surgery, but still managed to rack up seven abdominal ones, anyway.

Yet, in reality, each of the procedures was a true blessing. The six Caesareans presented me with six, wonderful children. The adrenalectomy saved my life. My doctor reviewed my surgical history, smiled, and said, “And you wonder why you have a hernia.”

“I know why I have a hernia,” I said. “I still don’t like surgery.”

The hernia was large enough to cause problems. Skipping the surgery would be foolish and, eventually, dangerous. So, I redefined the terms. Surgery was just another word for physical editing. I make cuts and additions to my work to improve it. In this case, the cuts--another incision-- and additions—a large piece of mesh—would result in a new, improved me.

For me, as a writer, editing is a love/hate relationship. Sometimes refining a story, press release, or manuscript is pure joy. Other times it’s drudgery. Often, it’s plain, hard work to keep the facts, but tell the story in a different way. It challenges me; it stretches my mind, and I don’t always relish it. Yet, I am nearly always pleased with the end results. Why should this time be any different?

I take a deep breath and accept the surgeon’s business card from my doctor’s outstretched hand.