I'm getting sick.
Scratchy throat. Sleeping a lot. Feeling hot. Who knows how hot? The glass thermometer is broken.
Feeling hotter. Wow, a fancy new thermometer, plastic, beeps when the cooking’s done. 102.3 degrees.
Dr. K prescribes a Z pack, 5 days of Zithromax.
Five days later, I’m still hot, falling asleep whenever I lie down, lying down a lot.
I tell my daughter I can’t breathe deeply, I feel low on oxygen.
“You should ask Dr. K for oxygen,” she says. I go back to sleep.
While I sleep, my daughter calls my husband. She tells him to get me some oxygen.
My husband walks into the doctor’s office. He says that I need oxygen. This gets the doctor's instant attention.
Rather than admit me to the hospital for oxygen, he sends me for blood tests and an x-ray.
I have pneumonia.
Dr.K ups the ante from Zithromax (on my final dose, I’m still no better) to Moxifloxacine, a drug so scary he calls to talk about the dire warnings I’ll see on the inserts. He has considered the options before choosing this one.
I trust his judgment.
With moxifloxacine and rest, I get better.
Too sick to advocate for myself, I have a daughter, a husband, and a doctor, who all look out for me.
Who’s in your corner?
Elise Rosenhaupt, author of the memoir Climbing Back, writes about her work as a patient's advocate and other experiences that cross her plate.
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