New year, new beginnings — not a chance.
Theresa May still has Brexit as her waking and sleeping nightmare, and I’m still battling urinary tract infections (UTIs).
Over the last few years, I’ve probably written about this more than anything else; it’s the one thing the medical establishment and I haven’t been able to square away.
I thought trigeminal neuralgia would be the ancillary illness attached to my MS that would wrestle me into an easy submission. Then, I was kindly referred to a pain consultant by my friendly neighborhood MS nurse, and life changed immediately.
The consultant put me on a therapy called Oxcarbazepine Mylan, saying, “It’s more expensive, but it’s got a better molecule.” It fought off the pain with no side effects. The previous medication, carbamazepine, also battled the pain but turned my already misbehaving body into blancmange.
For the last few months, I’ve practically forgotten about trigeminal neuralgia — that’s one for the home team.
UTIs (get with the medical acronyms people) are a different matter. I can tell I’ve got one from the myriad symptoms; at an extreme, I can hardly move, though this could also be a relapse. On New Year’s night, I couldn’t get my legs onto the bed; if only this had been down to celebrating! Wee pongs/is cloudy/want to pee after just peeing. And in the piss de resistance (sorry, I’m sure this is a pun too rude for my editor, but when will I ever get to use it again?), a dribble actually emerges from the old todger, the old-fashioned way. No plastic pipe needed! Somehow the bacteria overrides my MS!
I get into a fugue state, and the infection just doesn’t abate. As soon as I stop taking antibiotics, the infection erupts. I’m in one now.