So, this 3-week stint in Antibiotic Hell has left me with a few...ahem...Lady Problems (guys, seriously, you might just want to skip down to the next paragraph). Without going into too much detail, let’s just say that normal microflora have been killed off, making room for other types of microflora to flourish. Like the Garden of Fucking Eden (gross). While this has been wholly irritating and rather inconveniencing for bedroom-type activities, as far as I can tell, it’s back under control, thanks to the grace of god, a back-ally exorcist, and two round of fluconazole.
And just where, you might ask, does one find a back-ally exorcist?
Only in New Jersey, my friends. Only in New Jersey.
(Keep skipping down, guys) And now, another super fun side effect of long-term antibiotic therapy has reared it’s ugly head: the infamous UTI.
Apparently, intensive antimicrobial treatment can actually increase your risk of a UTI, despite the fact that you’re taking the very agent typically prescribed to TREAT said condition.
Go figure
(Guy safe from here on out, I pinky swear)
So, I call my doctor this morning and explain my situation and pretty much demand a different antibiotic to treat this most recent medical malady. The thing about my doctor is, I go to him because he pretty much just gives me whatever I need. He is fully aware that I’m a bright, educated woman working in the fringes of the medical field, and normally trusts my judgment when it comes to diagnosing my own conditions (hence the Lyme test despite lack of definable symptoms).
I’m all, “Give me the drugs, bitch”
And he’s all, “Yes ma’am”
And I’m all, “Now go make me a sandwich”
This time?
No dice.
He says something about how I have a strain that is obviously already resistant to a broad-spectrum antibiotic, so he really needs to test it to see what’ll work against it...blah blah blah
And I’m all, “Not even a sandwich?”
And he’s all, “Don't make me have to smack a bitch”
In other words, he wants me to come in to the office. But I’m, like, negative PTO right now (especially after that Monday Migraine Madness), and can’t really just up and leave my job to pee in a cup for the guy.
The receptionist suggested that I come in early in the morning, but they don’t open until 8:30 and I have to be at work at 8:45, so that obviously won't work.
And then she says,
“Well, you could get a sample earlier and, like, leave it in a box outside the door.”
So, if you told me this morning that I would spend tomorrow morning leaving urine, in a cup, in a box, outside of my PCP’s office, I’d never believe you.
But that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what I’ll be doing.
6 comments:
I love that you called it your PCP's office. Cause no one NOT in the medical field would call it that. In fact, I wonder how many people not in the medical field would be able to figure that out. NERD!!!
I think it's funny that girls think guys won't want to read about schnazz oozing out of their vaggies when, really, we're totally obsessed with every little secret and schmear you harbor from us.
Seriously, we can't get enough. And I speak for us all, the bepenis'ed masses, if you will.
What a rough couple of weeks for your lady parts! Hopefully it's not the new medicine doing it. I had a problem like this when I took Zyrtec for a few weeks straight.
Antibiotics create havoc for me, so I know exactly what you're going through. At least you get to live your doctor a present. How many times can you say you're leaving urine for someone on their doorstep?
here's a cute story for ya : )
long ago when i was wide eyed innocent 23 y/o, i had my 1st job at Planned Parenthood. We used to to pregnancy tests there and one of my duties (heh duty!) was to bring the patients to the potty and hand them a cup to whiz in. A chick comes in "I'm here to get a pregnancy test" blahblahblah. "Excuse me, ma'am, don't forget yr Dunkin' Donuts coffe" "oh that's not coffee, it's my piss"
Tim Meadows, Ladies and Gentlemen, Tim Meadows. And no, I had no idea what PCP meant, unless you were talking about the drug, which I was 70% sure you weren't.
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