Gary had to go to the doctor late last week to have medical professionals look at his UTI, his blood, and to check how he’s faring on the antibiotics.
He didn't look good. It took him ten minutes to leave a urine sample. He and his cane hobbled out of the bathroom slowly down the hall to the exam room. The assistant was captivated by the rash, but the nurse practitioner focused on his fatigue and pain and all the issues.
Gary brought up the rash, in passing, just to say, “It’s just something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”
I snapped, “Do you want to live with me for the rest of your life? Because I’ve had it with this rash.” Then I slapped down his “brave” facade and I told the doctor how he wakes up every day in agony, itchy skin on fire, clawing at himself.
After that I noticed she reacted to his complaints with sympathetic coos and tuts. I can’t blame her. I did sound awful.
She ordered a urinalysis, which came back clean, with no UTI left, and about nine blood tests. It was evident by the way she grouped them ... well, evident to Google and AI ... that she was looking for three possibilities:
Lupus or some autoimmune disease [SPOILER: not it]
Dermatomyositis, another autoimmune disease [SPOILER: not it]
(Also not it: My favorite Gary diagnosis, with symptoms dating from over a decade ago: Giant Cell Arterisis.)
However, the next one rang the bell.
Prostatitis, an inflammation of the prostate. That appears to be it, given the way that his prostate PSA number spiked. I like this choice, given that it sometimes causes a rash. Maybe he’s had a low level of this for over a year?
Anyway, more antibiotics for him (the dread Cipro).
It’s been four days, and we both might be imagining it, but the rash seems to be receding a bit.
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