.... And if you don't believe me, ask your dad.
The sort of drugs that Eminem was referring to in those lyrics that I have made use of in my title, are the illegal sort associated with addiction and crime. This post is about the sort that your GP prescribes. The sort of drugs that you take in good faith, believing that they will restore you to health. It doesn't always work out that way.
My daughter was prescribed Trimethoprim for an infection. The box of tablets included an information leaflet that detailed some possible side effects. The size of the text was tiny - unreadable to my middle aged eyes. We did make more of an effort to read it when she developed an itchy rash and burning sensation on her legs and arms and in particular, her feet. Sure enough, the fourth bullet point of possible side effects was skin rashes which may be itchy.
The first bullet point outlined possible allergic reactions - puffy swollen face, tongue or body..... shortness of breath.. collapse.
My first husband claimed to be allergic to eggs. He was not as allergic to eggs as he liked to think and did develop a taste for fried egg sandwiches.
He also claimed that a wasp or bee sting would kill him. When he was stung by a wasp through his cotton handkerchief, he claimed that it was the handkerchief that saved him from death.
I never paid much attention to his claims. I was sure that they were unjustifed fears instilled into him by an overpowering mother who possibly was allergic to everything.
I did on one occasion regret my dismissal of his supposed allergies.
He had been unwell. He was prescribed penicillin. He was feeling quite empowered that he had completed the whole course without ill effect and perhaps was made of stronger stuff than his mother would have had him believe. It wasn't until about a week after he had taken the last capsule that the allergic reaction occured.
It started with a hot red patch on his arm.
The patch spread.
He began to feel so uncomfortably hot that he decided to immerse himself in a cool bath.
There is much that I am happy to forget about the years that I spent in that marriage but I never want to forget the image of him lowering himself into the water. His throbbing, red buttocks had swollen to resemble the rear end of a sexually receptive female baboon. You could almost hear the hiss of water turning to steam as he lowered! It was undeniably funny!
The reaction was so far removed in time from the taking of the penicillin that we did not associate the two immediately.
It all happened so quickly and the comedy of the moment turned to concern when the cooling effect of the water offered no relief.
We called the doctor.
By the time the doctor arrived (doctors still did house calls in those days) his tongue was swelling in his mouth making it difficult for him to breathe. It was all very scary. According to the information in my daughter's Trimethropim, the next stage would have been collapse.
Antihistimines provided the relief that the cold bath stood no chance of doing. He made a full recovery. The doctor said that it was common for the allergic reaction to take place some days after the penicillin was stopped.
Did I feel guilty that I had found the early stages of his allergic reaction funny? Yes, I did. Do I still feel guilty all these years and one acrimonious divorce later? Yes, I do. Will the image in my mind of him lowering his mighty red butt into the cold water ever lose its power to make me need to suppress a smile of mirth? Never!