You know the drill. I’m sick. One year one month two weeks one day. Only this time, I’ve completely failed the 30 day run of antibiotics I was on, and on day 22, two days ago, I was placed on stronger antibiotics and given narcotics for the head that wished it could implode. Would implode.
Tired of it. Tired of being sick. Tired of telling people I am not well. Tired of thinking about being sick. Tired of getting sicker.
Tired of the infunktion spreading, this time to my ears, as well as habitating in my right sinus and plate and whatnot. Almost as if the whole thing was a cancer, if that makes sense.
I marvel at modern medicine and know that I’m less sick because of it, because of antibiotics, than I would be otherwise. But it’s cold comfort when you know, and are told, that your bacterial infection is increasingly antibiotic resistant.
A small part of me wonders if I traded the fast short illness for the slow protracted one.
I miss my brain, I miss thinking, I miss feeling well.
I don’t remember the sensation of feeling well.
I feel the presence, the pressure. Congealed globbles of infection plugging swelling pressing. At times, mercifully escaping from my head.
More where that came from.
And I think, how long is this going to go on? How long can it, really? What happens if (when) the new stronger antibiotics fail? And I get better for a little while, then get worse? Or what happens if (when) the antibiotics simply don’t make a difference?
I regret the initial sinus infection, as if I could have done anything to prevent that. I regret how it’s spread, how the titanium plates in my upper jawbone made it possible to become so sick for so long.
At times, I am dumbfounded by how the accident still alters the course of my life. If not for it, then not the jaw surgery, then not the plates. And then not this sick, this infected, with no foothold for the infection to spread.
It is never over.
