If you can have a baby at home, I'll bet there are a lot of other things that get unnecessarily farmed out to medical institutions that could be done just as easily on your own dining room table.
I've now reached the point in my urological history where I am allergic to all the drugs that are needed to treat me.
Oh, by the way, that culture came back positive, I do have another infection. The nurse called me and told me "Hey, wow, you really do have another infection!" as I'm curled up in a ball with tears running down my face. "Really??? Really??? Are ya sure???"
The only step left for me is to go to an infectious disease specialist. Do ya think that any of those folks prescribe drugs that are on the Target Pharmacy $4.00 list? Is it really worth my while to go for a $500 office visit and a $400 prescription when I have $1.25 in the bank and no food in the cupboards?
I believe the phrase for this situation is "Screwed, glued, and tattooed."
I told the nurse that I was going to wait on it. I would take cranberry capsules (can't do the juice), drink lots of water, and sacrifice a chicken to the Dark Lord.
But I've decided to go another route. I'm going to just replace my bladder and start over again. I'm going to go to the party store, get one of those shiny Mylar balloons that say something trite and I'm going to find the sharpest knife in the house. I've had four abdominal surgeries, can it really be so hard to cut on the dotted line?
Perhaps, instead of Mylar, I'll go with the balloons that you can shape into animals! I think having a bladder shaped like a wiener dog would be AMAZING! Better yet, one of the balloons from Disney Land shaped like Mickey's head!
I will, of course, need a little help in this endeavor. I know that people can cut off their own limbs when the situation demands it but the problem is, there is a certain knowledge of plumbing that I am lacking.
That's why I'm pulling out the yellow pages. I'm guessing that no matter how much a plumber costs, it will be less than a bladder replacement without insurance.
I hope they can sterilize their pipe wrench.
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
Not So Good For Mental Health
Hanging out with the crazies can be a bitch.
Yes, it is my intention to offend as many people currently seeking mental health treatment as possible.
While a good many of us at the ole' cracker factory outlet store have been merely kicked in the teeth by life and are just trying to stop those fucking stars from spinning around our heads, others need to be dragged out back and sterilized with a rusty razor.
After having recently been to a medical doctor in the same system as my therapist and having him say to me "I see you're stressed out...as a matter of fact, I can see EVERYTHING about you. And I mean EVERYTHING," obviously referring to the fact that he was privy to my therapists notes, I am in a horribly pissy mood regarding anyone and everyone related to any medical system this side of the sun. In other words, I wasn't going into the waiting room in a "loved by Jesus" sort of mood.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh but of all the places I DON'T want to hear people discussing the reasons they are at their clinic, a mental health setting is probably top of the list. Followed closely by a proctologist. I hold no love for either end of the human body.
As I sat in the waiting room, two women who hadn't seen each other since high school had a grand reunion. They then began to catch up with each other. Both were there for their children.
Should you really, as a good and proper mother, stand next to your approximately ten year old son in the middle of the waiting room and discuss with your new found friend across the room how your son was accused by a cousin of sexual molestation?
Really?
And proceed to make every excuse under the sun for your son?
That the cousin was a liar?
That your son LOVES to follow rules and would NEVER break a rule and gets very ANGRY when people break rules?
All the while, the son is playing his hand held game, appearing to have just cheerfully drowned a sack of kittens.
In the mean time, the friend has two children who are climbing the furniture and screaming, rolling around on the floor, and racing out into the hallway in a game of tag.
I seriously looked at this young boy and without knowing truth from fiction, I could feel my hands around his neck. I just wanted to grab him by the collar and shake the shit out of him.
After slapping mommie that is.
It was all played out in front of me. My past, his future, cause, effect, shitty parents, excuses, blaming, and the overwhelming sense from a very small person that it didn't matter what he did, there would always be someone there to cover for him.
I hated him.
Yes, it is my intention to offend as many people currently seeking mental health treatment as possible.
While a good many of us at the ole' cracker factory outlet store have been merely kicked in the teeth by life and are just trying to stop those fucking stars from spinning around our heads, others need to be dragged out back and sterilized with a rusty razor.
After having recently been to a medical doctor in the same system as my therapist and having him say to me "I see you're stressed out...as a matter of fact, I can see EVERYTHING about you. And I mean EVERYTHING," obviously referring to the fact that he was privy to my therapists notes, I am in a horribly pissy mood regarding anyone and everyone related to any medical system this side of the sun. In other words, I wasn't going into the waiting room in a "loved by Jesus" sort of mood.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh but of all the places I DON'T want to hear people discussing the reasons they are at their clinic, a mental health setting is probably top of the list. Followed closely by a proctologist. I hold no love for either end of the human body.
As I sat in the waiting room, two women who hadn't seen each other since high school had a grand reunion. They then began to catch up with each other. Both were there for their children.
Should you really, as a good and proper mother, stand next to your approximately ten year old son in the middle of the waiting room and discuss with your new found friend across the room how your son was accused by a cousin of sexual molestation?
Really?
And proceed to make every excuse under the sun for your son?
That the cousin was a liar?
That your son LOVES to follow rules and would NEVER break a rule and gets very ANGRY when people break rules?
All the while, the son is playing his hand held game, appearing to have just cheerfully drowned a sack of kittens.
In the mean time, the friend has two children who are climbing the furniture and screaming, rolling around on the floor, and racing out into the hallway in a game of tag.
I seriously looked at this young boy and without knowing truth from fiction, I could feel my hands around his neck. I just wanted to grab him by the collar and shake the shit out of him.
After slapping mommie that is.
It was all played out in front of me. My past, his future, cause, effect, shitty parents, excuses, blaming, and the overwhelming sense from a very small person that it didn't matter what he did, there would always be someone there to cover for him.
I hated him.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
But Does The Billing Office Have A Holding Barn?
I would like to propose a new/old system for paying medical bills.
It would involve completely revamping EVERYTHING but since Barack is going to be working on it anyway, I think we should start now.
Have you ever heard your parents or grandparents talk about the old days when the town doctor would always be there for everyone and it didn't matter if they could pay or not? That he would take eggs or milk or butter or homemade canned goodies as payment? "Did you know that your Uncle Frank was delivered for the cost of a winter's supply of firewood?"
Well, for the folks who have insurance, they can continue on as before. For the poor schmucks who don't, I recommend getting a little shed for chickens out back of your house or setting up an area in your home where you can churn butter and can tomatoes. If you already have these, consider yourself lucky. You are financially set to deal with any catastrophic illness.
Instead of a big HMO deciding how much they will pay for different procedures or labs, I propose to convene a "Blue Ribbon Panel" of experts that have actually won blue ribbons, blue ribbons at the state fair that is. If you have won a blue ribbon for the best jelly, the best butter, the best chickens, the best cows, the best pies, the best sheep, and of course, the best sewing and knitting, you will be invited to determine the equivalent payment for medical procedures.
Strep test? Not more than three roaster chickens and a pie. Mammogram? What else? A three month supply of milk! (Cow milk that is, let's not get disgusting!), MRI? How about two pigs and a year long supply of bread and pies.
I am going to take it upon myself to institute this system today. Any radical change in how we live takes people willing to push the boundaries, test the waters, and potentially rock a few boats.
Office call at a neurologist? Four chickens a goat and six pints of prize winning strawberry jam.
I'm loading up my car right now.
It would involve completely revamping EVERYTHING but since Barack is going to be working on it anyway, I think we should start now.
Have you ever heard your parents or grandparents talk about the old days when the town doctor would always be there for everyone and it didn't matter if they could pay or not? That he would take eggs or milk or butter or homemade canned goodies as payment? "Did you know that your Uncle Frank was delivered for the cost of a winter's supply of firewood?"
Well, for the folks who have insurance, they can continue on as before. For the poor schmucks who don't, I recommend getting a little shed for chickens out back of your house or setting up an area in your home where you can churn butter and can tomatoes. If you already have these, consider yourself lucky. You are financially set to deal with any catastrophic illness.
Instead of a big HMO deciding how much they will pay for different procedures or labs, I propose to convene a "Blue Ribbon Panel" of experts that have actually won blue ribbons, blue ribbons at the state fair that is. If you have won a blue ribbon for the best jelly, the best butter, the best chickens, the best cows, the best pies, the best sheep, and of course, the best sewing and knitting, you will be invited to determine the equivalent payment for medical procedures.
Strep test? Not more than three roaster chickens and a pie. Mammogram? What else? A three month supply of milk! (Cow milk that is, let's not get disgusting!), MRI? How about two pigs and a year long supply of bread and pies.
I am going to take it upon myself to institute this system today. Any radical change in how we live takes people willing to push the boundaries, test the waters, and potentially rock a few boats.
Office call at a neurologist? Four chickens a goat and six pints of prize winning strawberry jam.
I'm loading up my car right now.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Dante As My Biographer (And Two Literary Titles in Two Days! That's Why I Was An English Major)
I went and got a second opinion regarding what to do when I'm supposed to have an MRI but I can't afford it. I've basically given up on the system and I just wanted to know what I can do for myself to take the best care of myself.
I went to the Lake Superior Health Care Center, where I started this journey almost two years ago. I wanted to see Nancy Sudak because I have heard many good things about her and she is a doctor that also believes in complimentary medicine.
All I wanted was an alphabet soup of what vitamins to take. I got that, but I also have an appointment to see a neurologist tomorrow.
Since she deals with people everyday that don't have insurance, she totally understood what I was talking about. She is going to explain to them that they will have to do good old fashioned neurology with no expensive diagnostics. She then prepared me for the fact that they might not be able to come up with anything definitive and they might not be the warmest, fuzziest doctors I've ever seen.
After seeing the pulmonologist that was the biggest horse's ass EVER, I am fully prepared. As a matter of fact, I am more prepared because I have an incredible sense about me that I no longer give a shit. My life for the past five months: abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Once you get to that point, everything is gravy.
What, my house only cost $8,000 to fix and not $10,000?
What, my job is only cutting my salary by 5% and not 6%?
What, my husband only cheated on me with one person, not two?
What, my husband only molested his own child and not the neighbors?
What, I only have MS and not a tumor?
See. Abandon all hope and you can convince yourself that everything is OK.
I went to the Lake Superior Health Care Center, where I started this journey almost two years ago. I wanted to see Nancy Sudak because I have heard many good things about her and she is a doctor that also believes in complimentary medicine.
All I wanted was an alphabet soup of what vitamins to take. I got that, but I also have an appointment to see a neurologist tomorrow.
Since she deals with people everyday that don't have insurance, she totally understood what I was talking about. She is going to explain to them that they will have to do good old fashioned neurology with no expensive diagnostics. She then prepared me for the fact that they might not be able to come up with anything definitive and they might not be the warmest, fuzziest doctors I've ever seen.
After seeing the pulmonologist that was the biggest horse's ass EVER, I am fully prepared. As a matter of fact, I am more prepared because I have an incredible sense about me that I no longer give a shit. My life for the past five months: abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Once you get to that point, everything is gravy.
What, my house only cost $8,000 to fix and not $10,000?
What, my job is only cutting my salary by 5% and not 6%?
What, my husband only cheated on me with one person, not two?
What, my husband only molested his own child and not the neighbors?
What, I only have MS and not a tumor?
See. Abandon all hope and you can convince yourself that everything is OK.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Thank Goodness It's Nothing Serious!
I've just discovered a cure for MS.
Yes, I'll be accepting the Noble Prize. Thank you. Thank you.
The secret is, don't have health insurance. That way, you CAN'T be tested. Unless you can fork over cash for an MRI or give your left tit on a monthly basis for payment, you are shit out of luck.
No diagnosis? No disease!
Taa daa!
You're cured.
Thank you very much.
Oh, and if you're expecting to hear back from the urologist for ideas on a cheaper drug, I'm guessing that four days without a peep is your signal to take 50 milligrams of shut the fuck up.
Yes, I'll be accepting the Noble Prize. Thank you. Thank you.
The secret is, don't have health insurance. That way, you CAN'T be tested. Unless you can fork over cash for an MRI or give your left tit on a monthly basis for payment, you are shit out of luck.
No diagnosis? No disease!
Taa daa!
You're cured.
Thank you very much.
Oh, and if you're expecting to hear back from the urologist for ideas on a cheaper drug, I'm guessing that four days without a peep is your signal to take 50 milligrams of shut the fuck up.
Monday, May 04, 2009
The Waiting Game
Waiting for this weekend: Going to Shepherd's Harvest with four totally cool fiber lovin' friends.
Waiting for the Duluth News Tribune to publish its next batch of "matters of record" as STBX's name and arraignment charges will FINALLY be listed. He always worked so hard to keep himself anonymous in life, using a pseudonym and being incredibly paranoid about "the government" finding him. Guess what? Once it's in the News Tribune, it will also be here. When people google his name, they will finally find something...the word "pedophile".
Waiting to get one more expensive medical test done as I'm starting to have medical problems again. My doctor gave me sad puppy eyes and said "For your sake, I hope it's negative." Thanks Doc, I guess if it's positive, I'll throw myself off the roof.
Waiting for the contested omnibus on May 22nd. Waiting to learn STBX's lawyer's game plan.
One thing I can't wait on anymore? Taking the dog out...
Waiting for the Duluth News Tribune to publish its next batch of "matters of record" as STBX's name and arraignment charges will FINALLY be listed. He always worked so hard to keep himself anonymous in life, using a pseudonym and being incredibly paranoid about "the government" finding him. Guess what? Once it's in the News Tribune, it will also be here. When people google his name, they will finally find something...the word "pedophile".
Waiting to get one more expensive medical test done as I'm starting to have medical problems again. My doctor gave me sad puppy eyes and said "For your sake, I hope it's negative." Thanks Doc, I guess if it's positive, I'll throw myself off the roof.
Waiting for the contested omnibus on May 22nd. Waiting to learn STBX's lawyer's game plan.
One thing I can't wait on anymore? Taking the dog out...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Practice Makes Perfect
The jerk of a urologist called yesterday to inform me that he spoke to the pharmacy and I WAS WRONG. It wasn't $500 a month, it's only $274 SO SUCK IT!
Well, that's about $270 too much big boy so I s'pect ya'll better look at your college text books one more time and figure out something different.
You know, when people delight in finding out you're wrong and present you with a steaming turd and act like it's applesauce, it makes you think they might have some sociological issues.
Or it might make you think of your STBX.
This shitbag will run you over with the proverbial steamroller and then back up and roll over you again. Perhaps he will be giggling when he does it.
I've been working lately on confrontations. I'm trying to learn to express my feelings without curling up in a ball of angry silence or flying off the handle at inappropriate people (my two favorite reactions to living with an asshole for 17 years). It takes a lot of practice with everyday situations that I would normally just let go and feel like shit afterwards.
When I called the courthouse to check on where I was supposed to hand in the piece of paper from STBX's lawyer that said he received the name change paperwork, the woman literally would not let me finish a single sentence. She would jump in and assume what the question would be and each and every time, she assumed wrong. Perhaps I would have confronted her in the past but I probably would have just said "screw it", hang up the phone, and take a chance at finding the right person once I got there. It would have pissed me off and I would have been grumbling about it for an hour, driving everyone around me NUTS.
Not this time! I let this annoyance that passes for a civil servant (an uncivil servant?) talk her way into silence and then I said "Now that you're done telling me the wrong answer to a question I never asked, will you allow me to finish my sentence so I can get the proper information from you?"
She gawped a bit at me and then let me ask my question. She answered it. It took twenty seconds total once she shut the fuck up and stopped putting words into my mouth.
Next stop? The post office!
Well, that's about $270 too much big boy so I s'pect ya'll better look at your college text books one more time and figure out something different.
You know, when people delight in finding out you're wrong and present you with a steaming turd and act like it's applesauce, it makes you think they might have some sociological issues.
Or it might make you think of your STBX.
This shitbag will run you over with the proverbial steamroller and then back up and roll over you again. Perhaps he will be giggling when he does it.
I've been working lately on confrontations. I'm trying to learn to express my feelings without curling up in a ball of angry silence or flying off the handle at inappropriate people (my two favorite reactions to living with an asshole for 17 years). It takes a lot of practice with everyday situations that I would normally just let go and feel like shit afterwards.
When I called the courthouse to check on where I was supposed to hand in the piece of paper from STBX's lawyer that said he received the name change paperwork, the woman literally would not let me finish a single sentence. She would jump in and assume what the question would be and each and every time, she assumed wrong. Perhaps I would have confronted her in the past but I probably would have just said "screw it", hang up the phone, and take a chance at finding the right person once I got there. It would have pissed me off and I would have been grumbling about it for an hour, driving everyone around me NUTS.
Not this time! I let this annoyance that passes for a civil servant (an uncivil servant?) talk her way into silence and then I said "Now that you're done telling me the wrong answer to a question I never asked, will you allow me to finish my sentence so I can get the proper information from you?"
She gawped a bit at me and then let me ask my question. She answered it. It took twenty seconds total once she shut the fuck up and stopped putting words into my mouth.
Next stop? The post office!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Piss On This
I am working on a new motto for the uninsured people in this country:
"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll figure it out during your autopsy."
Three years ago I had a bladder biopsy. Even though I continued to have issues, I didn't go back to the urologist because he WAS A DICK!
There ain't no pretty way to dress up that SOB.
I did try another urologist at another clinic. After I called them in intense pain and they didn't return my call, I called back three days later and they sort of shrugged and said "Waaaahhh?"
Didn't go back there either.
I come from this place known as CIVILIZATION. Imagine if you will, a cityscape where there are many different urologists. Where you are able to get in and you are treated like a human being and you feel better when you're done.
Now, WAKE THE FUCK UP! THIS IS DULUTH, BITCH!
So I went back to HE THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED, cuz my recurrent bladder infections are so, how shall I say, recurrent.
I'm allergic to eleventy million drugs because back in that charming cityscape I referred to earlier, the prevailing wisdom was to surgically reroute a kid's plumbing and then put them on antibiotics forEVEH! Funnily enough, it makes you REALLY SENSITIVE to a lot of drugs. Now, they need to figure out why I can't get rid of infections.
Hmmm. After I waited an hour for the doc and was treated like shit again, I got the answer I figured I'd get.
"Waaaaaahhh? Don't have a clue, but here, have some antibiotics for the next six months."
Yeah, about that. When you get to where I'm at, those antibiotics run $500 a month.
Now it's my turn to say "Waaaaaaaaah?"
He also found the fact that I piss blood to be a problem. What the hell! I should have told him that it wasn't a big deal, I drink blood too.
Actually, it all revolves around what I eat. If I eat certain things, my bladder bunches up in a ball and tries to crawl out of my left nostril. IT'S NO BIG DEAL.
So I told him to cancel that kidney CT scan. "If it's cancer," I told him "I'm sure you'll find it on my autopsy."
He didn't find me humorous at all.
Frankly, I found the fact that every single large anatomical chart in his office displayed only the male genitourinary tract to be annoying. Combine that with all of the erectile dysfunction and prostate information everywhere and I wanted to drop my pants and let my cooter hang out just to prove that not everyone had a swinging dick.
Maybe he's such a dick because that's all he's surrounded by.
"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll figure it out during your autopsy."
Three years ago I had a bladder biopsy. Even though I continued to have issues, I didn't go back to the urologist because he WAS A DICK!
There ain't no pretty way to dress up that SOB.
I did try another urologist at another clinic. After I called them in intense pain and they didn't return my call, I called back three days later and they sort of shrugged and said "Waaaahhh?"
Didn't go back there either.
I come from this place known as CIVILIZATION. Imagine if you will, a cityscape where there are many different urologists. Where you are able to get in and you are treated like a human being and you feel better when you're done.
Now, WAKE THE FUCK UP! THIS IS DULUTH, BITCH!
So I went back to HE THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED, cuz my recurrent bladder infections are so, how shall I say, recurrent.
I'm allergic to eleventy million drugs because back in that charming cityscape I referred to earlier, the prevailing wisdom was to surgically reroute a kid's plumbing and then put them on antibiotics forEVEH! Funnily enough, it makes you REALLY SENSITIVE to a lot of drugs. Now, they need to figure out why I can't get rid of infections.
Hmmm. After I waited an hour for the doc and was treated like shit again, I got the answer I figured I'd get.
"Waaaaaahhh? Don't have a clue, but here, have some antibiotics for the next six months."
Yeah, about that. When you get to where I'm at, those antibiotics run $500 a month.
Now it's my turn to say "Waaaaaaaaah?"
He also found the fact that I piss blood to be a problem. What the hell! I should have told him that it wasn't a big deal, I drink blood too.
Actually, it all revolves around what I eat. If I eat certain things, my bladder bunches up in a ball and tries to crawl out of my left nostril. IT'S NO BIG DEAL.
So I told him to cancel that kidney CT scan. "If it's cancer," I told him "I'm sure you'll find it on my autopsy."
He didn't find me humorous at all.
Frankly, I found the fact that every single large anatomical chart in his office displayed only the male genitourinary tract to be annoying. Combine that with all of the erectile dysfunction and prostate information everywhere and I wanted to drop my pants and let my cooter hang out just to prove that not everyone had a swinging dick.
Maybe he's such a dick because that's all he's surrounded by.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
It Doesn't Help To Be Filled With All This Venom
A lifetime of bladder issues combined with a lifetime of antibiotics was bound to converge on this exact point in space and time.
(Watched the new Doctor Who last night...gotta frame everything in both space AND time.)
I'm stuck in the no man's land of an intractable bladder infection with allergies to twelve different antibiotics and antibiotic resistance up the wazoo. (Yes, that is indeed where your wazoo is.) Years ago I was down to two different antibiotics that I could safely take. Then one of them stopped working.
So, I've been clinging like grim death to my last lifeline. For the longest time, I didn't have infections. We're talking years and years. Now, over the past 6 months, I've gotten an infection every 6 weeks like clockwork.
Hmmmm. Kinda makes you think it's not going away, doesn't it?
I have no idea why I'm suddenly getting infections. The only thing I've changed body-wise is my weight. And my crappy diet.
Do McDonald's Egg McMuffins actually fight bladder infections? I'm willing to take one for the team if that's the case.
Lay all this wonderfulness on top of not having health insurance.
And having no money.
It's amusing to see the look on the doctor's faces when they hear some of my troubleshooting ideas. I'm quickly approaching the point of IV antibiotics which means that they want to put me in the hospital. My cost saving measure? Throw a port in my arm and give me the damn meds to take home and administer to myself. I've worked as a paramedic, I've given myself injections for migraines, and I've got more pain in my wallet right now than I'll EVER have in my body.
They were less than thrilled with that solution. They countered with trying an antibiotic that is close enough to penicillin that I might have a reaction. Since I sort of swell up and stop breathing with penicillin, they wanted me to come into the ER and lay my little self next to a crash cart before they would give it to me. My cost saving measure? Call the prescription into Walgreens and I'll bring it into the ER waiting room myself. I will sit myself amidst the horrible daytime television and the screaming babies and I will take the pill and I will wait a couple of hours and see if I feel like dying.
What I didn't mention with that last plan is that I took penicillin every single day for eight years before I reacted. Yeah, those are just minor details.
I'm on my second run of antibiotics, actually, I just finished my second run. I've been barfy and achy and totally icky for the last week because the med Gods hate me. Then, this morning I woke at 2 a.m and felt like certain parts of my anatomy were insistent upon exiting my body through the nearest orifice.
Back to square one. I HATE SQUARE ONE!
Perhaps the sweetest thing was that my new guy friend (Do I call him NGF? It sure beats STBX) brought over some cranberry juice to make me feel better. Unfortunately, I can't drink it because the acidity SCREWS WITH MY BLADDER.
Yeah, I feel it's always best to let them know you are high maintenance. Break any illusions that a friendship with you will be a walk in the park.
But the thought was much appreciated.
So, here I sit, waiting to hear from the docs. If need be, I'm willing to do the home cure thing and take a steak knife, remove my bladder, and replace it with a ziplock bag and a bendy straw.
I'm guessing that they won't go for that either.
(Watched the new Doctor Who last night...gotta frame everything in both space AND time.)
I'm stuck in the no man's land of an intractable bladder infection with allergies to twelve different antibiotics and antibiotic resistance up the wazoo. (Yes, that is indeed where your wazoo is.) Years ago I was down to two different antibiotics that I could safely take. Then one of them stopped working.
So, I've been clinging like grim death to my last lifeline. For the longest time, I didn't have infections. We're talking years and years. Now, over the past 6 months, I've gotten an infection every 6 weeks like clockwork.
Hmmmm. Kinda makes you think it's not going away, doesn't it?
I have no idea why I'm suddenly getting infections. The only thing I've changed body-wise is my weight. And my crappy diet.
Do McDonald's Egg McMuffins actually fight bladder infections? I'm willing to take one for the team if that's the case.
Lay all this wonderfulness on top of not having health insurance.
And having no money.
It's amusing to see the look on the doctor's faces when they hear some of my troubleshooting ideas. I'm quickly approaching the point of IV antibiotics which means that they want to put me in the hospital. My cost saving measure? Throw a port in my arm and give me the damn meds to take home and administer to myself. I've worked as a paramedic, I've given myself injections for migraines, and I've got more pain in my wallet right now than I'll EVER have in my body.
They were less than thrilled with that solution. They countered with trying an antibiotic that is close enough to penicillin that I might have a reaction. Since I sort of swell up and stop breathing with penicillin, they wanted me to come into the ER and lay my little self next to a crash cart before they would give it to me. My cost saving measure? Call the prescription into Walgreens and I'll bring it into the ER waiting room myself. I will sit myself amidst the horrible daytime television and the screaming babies and I will take the pill and I will wait a couple of hours and see if I feel like dying.
What I didn't mention with that last plan is that I took penicillin every single day for eight years before I reacted. Yeah, those are just minor details.
I'm on my second run of antibiotics, actually, I just finished my second run. I've been barfy and achy and totally icky for the last week because the med Gods hate me. Then, this morning I woke at 2 a.m and felt like certain parts of my anatomy were insistent upon exiting my body through the nearest orifice.
Back to square one. I HATE SQUARE ONE!
Perhaps the sweetest thing was that my new guy friend (Do I call him NGF? It sure beats STBX) brought over some cranberry juice to make me feel better. Unfortunately, I can't drink it because the acidity SCREWS WITH MY BLADDER.
Yeah, I feel it's always best to let them know you are high maintenance. Break any illusions that a friendship with you will be a walk in the park.
But the thought was much appreciated.
So, here I sit, waiting to hear from the docs. If need be, I'm willing to do the home cure thing and take a steak knife, remove my bladder, and replace it with a ziplock bag and a bendy straw.
I'm guessing that they won't go for that either.
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