I’m hypersensitive to penicillin. Who knew? Evidently, not the doctor who prescribed me the pills.
“I felt like I was dying,” I told my G.P.
“Well, technically you were ingesting rather large doses of poison.”
Blink blink. (Note to self: When symptoms of hypersensitivity occur and not on medication, check for unknown life insurance policy(s) taken out in own name.)
“No more Amoxytocin for you,” my doctor said the same way my vegetarian sister-in-law said ‘no more chicken for you,’ to my two year old nephew after he spat a half chewed mouth full of it on to her plate. “Take these instead. They’re not penicillin based.” Handy. “Your remaining side effects should go in the next couple of days. Anything else you need?”
I shook my head.
“Been up to anything interesting?” the ‘G.P.’ on the door apparently stood more for Gal Pal than General Practitioner.
“Nope, just dealing with that chronic infection, whole hypersensitivity, at death’s door thing.” A little melodramatic, I know.
“MMMN, yeah, bummer about that,” he consoled. (I was waiting for him to follow it up with a ‘Sucks to be you, dude.’) “Oh, I should probably make a note of that, shouldn’t I?” (I was close.) He turned to his computer and began typing. I turned to read the certificates on the wall. Odd, I’d been so sure his medical degree would read ‘Dr. Ditz’.
