It’s been four weeks since my third and latest outbreak of bacterial infection horribleness. And hopefully my last.
Three rounds of clindamycin.
Daily doses of probiotics.
Nightly doses of estrogen cream (the one that says DO NOT USE IF PREGNANT).
A freaking long dry spell, if you know what I mean.
The above did their best. They truly did. The clindamycin killed off the bad bacteria, but also much of the good. The probiotics are helping to restore the good bacteria, but it’s a long battle. The estrogen cream… did nothing. It relieved neither the discomfort nor the dry spell.
In a moment of sheer agony and tears, I tore through the bathroom looking for something – anything – that might allow me to sleep through the night without the burning, itching awfulness. That’s when I found it. The Nystatin. A commonly prescribed yeast infection cream… for diaper rash. Laura’s diaper rash cream.
I slathered that stuff on and went to bed with my fingers crossed. I slept. Through the whole night. I used the cream the next day. And the next. The nights I skipped the cream, I regretted it. I went back to using it. This morning, my doctor gave me a prescription for my own tube of Nystatin. You’re welcome, Laura.
If my returning comfort and ability to wipe weren’t proof enough of my recovery, the other day I felt a familiar glimmer of good feeling. That happy stirring one feels when looking at a sexy husband in his best suit. You know the one. The one that makes you pull him upstairs by the tie and into the bedroom. THAT feeling. It’s a good feeling.