Levaquin Recurrent Bouts, Urologic Problem, Medical Practicioners, Latin Phrases, Nerve Bundle

Three pills @500mg each. That’s all it took. Three pills of a five-pill prescription for levaquin. I can still see the pursed lips and amused twinkle in the eyes of my urologist who said "You're going to be all right" after he prescribed meds for my prostates. The doctor discerned the rapidly cycling angst in my face as I teetered emotionally between blind faith in his curative powers and a nagging suspicion that he was another overpaid oaf in a long train of medical practitioners whose 15-minute consultative look-sees had done sometimes good and sometimes bad to stem the ravages in my then 61- year old frame. Subsequent events proved my nagging suspicions were correct.

Was my urologic problem bacteriologic, viral, or "non-specific"? Was it psychosomatic, STD-related, or associated with my recurrent bouts of kidney stones and urethritis? The medicine man really didn't know, but that didn't stop him from enlisting quaint Latin phrases to describe my condition. He prescribed me with an intimidatingly-named antibiotic (”levofloxacin”) from an odd sounding family of antibiotics (”fluoroquinolones”), which loosed on my internal flora a block-buster med suffused with flouride molecules just to make sure that the quinolones would penetrate every single tissue and nerve bundle including my brain, which is protected by a blood barrier normally inhospitable to biochemical interlopers. And the quinolones got into my brain where they proceeded to have a ball!

First, the quins performed little warm-up exercises. The tendons in the back of leg calves began to ache. Then the quins floxed my neck tendons, which began to make little “cracking” noises every time I pivoted my head. Now began the full spectrum assault: insomnia, intracranial pressure, near fainting, eye floaters, white-outs at vision periphery, unprecedented nightmares more preposterous than scary, panic attacks, intense agitation, anxiety, diminished executive function, inability to focus, depression, heart palpitations and a ghastly feeling of having been poisoned. My body felt toxic as if I were being cooked chemically from the inside-out.

The worst of it was cognitive impairment: I couldn't finish a sentence because I couldn't find a critical word or descriptor that informed my attempted communication with meaning. I tried to fill-out a questionnaire at a doctor’s office, but my hand-writing became an illegible scrawl that masked my inability adequately to describe the sensation of being poisoned. I couldn't find the vocabulary to cry out: "Doctor, I am in full blinking eclipse. My body hurts, my mind races from one obtrusive and disconnected thought to the next, and sometimes I feel as if I'm going to faint." What I didn't tell my doctors, family and friends is that my consciousness was filled with “suicidal ideation,” shorthand for existential dread and hopelessness where I wanted to escape further psychic torture and agony.

Looking back I might as well have been treated with voodoo, chicken claws, leeches, rooster blood, maybe some arsenic — all rolled into a gelatin tablet made from horse hooves and marketed by glad-handing pharmaceutical reps who barely could get their tongues around the multi-syllabled, ponderous Latin inflections required to bill-out their pills at stratospheric prices. But, wait, big pharma needs those hefty margins to pay for their marks' "educational" seminars, mini-vacations at Club Med, and lengthy faux testimonials from leading medical lights who neglect to mention to prescribing physicians that a public relations flack had ghost-written their research trial reviews, which big pharma had underwritten to begin with!

So, what do you get when you put the “sin” into “levofloxacin”? You get sick. Big pharma can make-up all the high fallutin’ Latin names in their multimillion-dollar laboratories, embargo their advertisements' release on infomercials during t.v. show intermissions, and continue to spend twice as much on marketing as they do on research & development, but it all boils down to this: feckless corporates abetted by toothless regulators have reaped a bowl-full of profit and left too much devastation & misery in their wake. Even assuming its best intentions and expensive brilliance, how can a medical system remain in denial about its own missteps? Have we become so litigious and politically correct that it’s too expensive for the medical industry to govern its own? Botched pharmaceutical intervention, they name is deregulation!