When methotrexate was first prescribed to me, I was worried about getting sick; I’d read numerous accounts of people who got one infection after another, and didn’t look forward to joining their ranks.
It turned out that my fears were unfounded. I’ve taken methotrexate for a full year and haven’t been sick once. Four of my kids have been sick at various time during the past year, but I haven’t had so much as the sniffles. If you’re looking for information on mtx and illness, I’d say, “Don’t borrow trouble. Chances are you’ll be fine. At least give it a try.”
I haven’t had any trouble for an entire year. Until now. Last week I started coughing, a horrible, dry cough. It’s gotten worse in the last two days, and it feels like I should be coughing stuff up, but that’s not happening. I’ve been coughing so hard today that I’m going to need diapers if this keeps up. My chest hurts like it did a few years ago when I had pneumonia.
Fortunately there’s no accompanying congestion, so at least I can breathe. Unfortunately, all that coughing has given me a sore throat, and the sore throat has made me sound pretty hoarse.
Adding insult to injury, the other day I was cooking and suddenly, out of the blue, it felt like someone stabbed me just below my ribcage, then jerked the knife straight downward. I stopped right in my tracks, it hurt so bad. And then it went away. Well, not exactly away, but reduced to a dull ache. It made me wonder if I have to deal with kidney stones on top of everything else. My back’s now hurting something fierce, too. I’ve increased my water intake to see if that makes a difference.
And this evening I’ve started running a fever. According to the warnings and precautions on a number of my medications, that’s another reason to phone the doctor. Cough = phone the doctor; sore throat = phone the doctor; hoarseness = phone the doctor; fever = phone the doctor.
I don’t want to phone the doctor. That always turns into, “You should come in to be seen.” Before all this, if I got a sore throat, I’d drink hot lemonade, eat chicken soup, and become a hermit until I felt well again. Now apparently I have to call the doctor about every little thing.
I just want to crawl into bed and be left alone until I’m well again. So I’m grumpy. But it turns out that “mood changes” are also listed on my prescriptions as a reason to contact the doctor.