A couple of weeks ago I had a procedure on my toe. Minor surgery…soaking…oozing…general blech…that I spared you the knowledge of until now. A little infection set in and so the doc gave me some antibiotics for infection of the toe.
“Is this going to give me a yeast infection?” I asked at the time.
“Probably not,” he said, “but always possible.”
Toe finally clears up and then I’m organizing for this trip to London and Paris. Everything is fine…toe and all, until here I am in Europe and I start thinking maybe everything isn’t fine. The nether regions are talking to me. In an unpleasant tone of voice. That the weather is warm and sticky doesn’t help matters.
A yeast infection is bad enough to deal with at home, but in a foreign country?
Then again a couple of years ago I had a great experience with a French pharmacy over a cut elbow. In France, pharmacies function as first aid stations, sort of like urgent care facilities do at home. So I gather up my gumption.
Damn…the person behind the counter is a man.
“Do you speak English?” I asked. No way was I going to try this in French.
The man gestured to his colleague. Another man!! Here goes…
“A couple of weeks ago I had to take antibiotics and now I think I have a yeast infection.”
“What kind of antibiotics? There are many different kinds.”
“I don’t remember exactly, but the point is that now I think I have a yeast infection. And I would like something for that.”
“Where is your infection?”
Sigh. “Never mind.”
I’ve been spending some quality time online and decide, instead, to find a grocery store and buy myself some plain yogurt. At least no one at the grocery store will ask me any embarrassing questions.
The one good part….I suppose…. Is that even though I’m in Paris there’s no romance in my life at the moment.