That is a legitimate warning on my new antibiotic.
You guys, I have three book reviews sitting in my drafts folder, I’ve been struggling to finish Memoirs of a Geisha for almost two weeks now, and it’s all because I have yet again another mystery illness. Well, as of today it’s no longer a mystery, because I was finally able to see a doctor who knows what he’s talking about.
I’ve been seeing my GP for the past 16 years. He’s taken good care of me and I’m comfortable with him. About 6 months ago, he started working fewer hours. He hired a nurse practitioner to cover all of the walk-in patients and he was only seeing the appointments. Then he started only coming in one Saturday a month. Now the receptionist doesn’t know the next time he’ll be in. They’ve given all kinds of excuses: He’s busy at the hospital. He’s studying for the new Affordable Care Act requirements. He’s in training. He’s taking classes to be re-certified. I began to get suspicious that he had opened another practice somewhere, so I turned to my good friend Dr. Google and did some sleuthing. I found a listing for him with a current picture for a practice in FLORIDA. Then I found a news release dated from February announcing that he had joined this FL practice and was accepting new patients. My dad actually called the office and questioned this, and he was told that the doctor IS in Florida, but only for training and he is not seeing patients. Yeah, right.
I don’t like change, but I would be semi-OK with this if the nurse practitioner who is covering for him was even slightly competent. However, she is not.
Two weeks ago, I explained to her that I woke up with horrible pain behind my ear and that my husband had looked at it and said it was very red. It felt hot and even my hair brushing past it nearly sent me into tears. A couple of days later I felt a bump had developed, which is when I high-tailed it to the doctor’s office. She insisted that I had a pimple and I must have picked it and it got infected. I told her that wasn’t the case at all, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She told me it was cellulitis, prescribed me an antibiotic, and told me to come back in a week. Good thing I asked her which medicine she was prescribing because she was going to give me penicillin even though I’m allergic to it. It says so right in my chart, which she was holding. She ended up changing the prescription twice before I left the office because she didn’t know which medicine to give me. Strike one.
I followed up with her six days later. When she came in the room, she asked me how my rash was doing. Puzzled, I told her that she said previously it was an infection. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. Strike two. She looked at it and then asked me if I was still using the cream she gave me. I told her she never gave me any cream, but that I was using Neosporin. “Oh, that’s right, I remember you told me that,” she said. Well, that’s impossible because I didn’t start using it until after I saw her the first time. Strike three.
At that point, all she told me was that she was hoping it would look better by now so she did some blood work and sent me on my way. Before I even got to my car, I was dialing the dermatologist’s office to make an appointment. I saw him today and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head when I told him all this. He took one look and told me it’s an infected epidermal inclusive cyst and it needs to be removed once the infection is clear. I finished ten days of antibiotics–that gave me horrific headaches and made me borderline narcoleptic–on Monday night, and now I’ve got a bottle of new pills for the next two weeks. I’ve taken these before, and I know they make me nauseated and irritate my IBS. I can’t wait.