The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Wednesday, 2 December 2009

Don't think of waterfalls, don't think of waterfalls. . .

Dear Fang

For the last few months, I've had a little infection in my urinary tract. I know, I know.  More information about your mother than you ever wanted  to know.  But work with me, here, because there is a story about to unfold.

I've spent a great deal of my life in various stages of such an infection.  Sometimes,  this is due to taking too many baths,  sometimes,  it is because I've changed a laundry detergent or other factor.  Often,  it was because I consumed enough coffee to make even Tourette sufferers  marvel at my twitching and short temper.  A host of reasons, really.  Anyway, I  digress.  

Since you and I became partners in crime,  I've had to give numerous samples of blood and urine.  You'd think I was on probation for dealing or possession,  or the like.   I keep a little log in my phone (I know, I know; again TMI) calendar of these donations.  Not including the 17 pregnancy tests I took with you (again, I know,  I'm a freak but I just wanted to MAKE SURE you were in there to stay),  I've given 5 scheduled samples of urine in the last 4.5 months.  Every time I go for any medical appointment, I give a sample. And each time I give a sample,  I get a letter saying I have to come back and give another sample (if you're keeping count,  that means we're now at 9 'hospital' samples, not counting the one I left today at the hospital).  And the last few times I've been to the GP, I've mentioned 'Oh, by the way, it is very uncomfortable when I go to the loo. I've cut down on sugar, caffeine, etc., to see if that helps, but to no avail.  I think I may have an infection.'  And the GP responds 'You're overreacting. Some people just experience discomfort when they pee.' Yeah, Fang. If someone ever says this to you, you have my permission to thump them and say 'Suck it, TWINK!'  Because a urinary tract infection is like peeing needles of freaking fire.  No lie.

Anyway, last week,  I dragged my pained aching body to the doctor.  The car stalled as I turned onto the road leading to the doctor's office and I stood in the rain, in my pajamas (don't ask; it was a low day), trying to push the car into a parking space.  3 strangers saved me and the car and I walked into the surgery like heavily pregnant walking corpse.

When I finally got in to see the Duty Call doctor -- who was 25, if she was a day -- I gave her my rundown of symptoms and she gave me a vial to pee in. I know! More pee! Woohoo! She then sent the vial to the lab and told me that there was nothing that could be done to make me feel better that I wasn't already doing.  She also said that 'mixed growth' meant I wasn't giving my sample properly and that 'some people experience discomfort when they pee.'

On Monday the Dr called with the results of my most recent sample. I phoned her back. She phoned me. And so it went. I phoned this morning at 0830 before we went to our scan appointment. I left a message. I left my phone number. I left so many different ways to contact me that I made myself and the receptionist dizzy. And after the scan, I stopped in to the clinic.

Finally, at about 1pm the Dr called back to say 'Hey, you DO have an infection! So, I'll prescribe you antibiotics that won't harm Baby.'

'That would be good.' (Me, looking around for Jennifer Gray who played 'Baby' in Dirty Dancing, which is what I automatically do when people mention 'Baby.'

'Are you on any oral contraceptives?'

'Um, no. I'm 20 weeks pregnant.'

'Oh. Did I know that?'


Oh, Fang. It is going to be a long walk to week 40, pettest.

And in other news, you have a very big belly! And you look like a baby now not a shelled turtle! Times are indeed changing. Take that, postal clerk who had the gall to ask me if I was 'pregnant or something?'

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