Tuesday, May 10, 2011

My mission...if I choose to accept it.

The thing about taking baths, besides risking injuring your breasts when they flop down toward your sides, is that you also risk nasty bacteria taking up residence in your urinary tract. This is especially true when you try out a new bubble bath. Infection up the pee hole and skin about the same texture as rice krispy treats. No ring in the tub though.

God, ain't I sexy.

The thing that excites me about being one of those girls with a delicate urethra is that I can go to my local clinic and hand my cup of pee to a person of above average attractiveness.  That fact alone makes paying a forty dollar copay and then subsequently dickering with my insurance company when the bill comes in worth the discomfort and odor.  There are two doctors and a male nurse practitioner that near make my tubal ligation grow back and start shooting out ovum like machine guns.

This time around I did not see Doctor Huggiepants.   Instead I saw the hot east Indian doctor who asked to feel up my pelvis and then he put a stethoscope on my boob.  Breathing in deeply wasn't a stretch.  Stethoscope was even warm.  Sigh.  He asked if I was sexually active and I told him that yes I was, active, very active, enthusiastic and ready dammit.

At the end of that appointment I left with a prescription for an antibiotic, a medication that will coat my bladder and turn my urine a neon orange color, a pill that will cure me of any yeasts afterward, and a premonition that my husband was going to get lucky that night.

The perky feeling of visiting my doctor didn't last though.  He prescribed me some lovely Ciprofloxacin and it caused me to cycle though feeling nauseated, to wondering if I really did regrow my fallopian tubes and conceive, to making my teeth ache and causing me real chest pains.  It's no surprise this stuff will kill off single celled organisms.  It'll kill off nuclear cockroaches.  It'll kill off Cher.  Needless to say, I didn't finish off my pills. 

I'd rather risk the UTI returning and watching Chaz Bono on Oprah, thank you very much.

Those bladder coating neon orange pee producing pills are kinda awesome though. Makes peeing a party. That is, until you are in a crowded public bathroom and your tankless automatic flushing toilet refuses to flush.  That's a whole new level of panic.  You flap your arms in front of the sensor and nothing.  Deep orange pee, wad of stained tissue, and ladies waiting for your stall.  So you sit...and pause...then get up...look down...wait.  Nothing.  So you sit and halfway to standing back up the damned thing flushes but only in the wimpiest sort of way, leaving at least half of your pee of doom still in the bowl.

It took three stand up sit downs to flush that bowl clean.  Put your right foot in, put your right foot out, right foot in, and you shake it all about.

Had the bathroom been empty I might have just left it.

Then someone would have taken a picture of it and posted it on Facebook.

I still have some of those pills left too.  Heh.

1 comment:

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