I realize lately I have been complaining a lot about my well being. I apologize for that, but since I feel rotten and this is my blog, you get to ride along. Personally, kidney- bladder infections are the pits. I have been letting my family practice doctor handle my chronic bladder infections these days; perhaps it is not working out so well.
Last Wednesday I felt an infection start. My urine smelled like ammonia; I knew I was in trouble. The doctor told me to “make sure I needed antibiotics”, so I waited until my urine was cloudy and my bladder and body was wracked with so much pain I could barely stand it. I went to the Saturday clinic, thinking that I could drop off a urine sample and then get some antibiotics.
But, no, this is where my story gets started . . . .
After inspection of the cloudy urine, I was told I needed to wait until 9:45 to see a doctor. I was not going to be given antibiotics until I saw a doctor. It was a Saturday and I had a baby shower brunch that morning, a visit with my daughter after that, and a WACAP Auction (Fundraiser for Homeless children) to go to later in the day. So for 2 hours I waited on that uncomfortable chair, in agony, as my body throbbed. And, of course, I did what any red-blooded American girl would do in that situation: I wept. I cried because of the discomfort. I blubbered because the system is so screwed up. I sobbed because I was infuriated that I knew I was getting a bladder infection on Wednesday, but had to wait until my urine was cloudy. I was outraged because the doctor insisted on seeing “cloudy urine”, my kidneys hurt and their degeneration was once again evident, as I tried to sit on that horrible chair.
Wait, it gets better . . . there’s more!
So, I was finally called in and my tears flowed. By that time, my eyes were puffy and I had to have my temp taken, my blood pressure taken, my height: all the time-consuming stuff . . . I admit I was not patient with the nurse. I explained that I was a “frequent flyer”, that my records were on file . . . nonetheless I needed to to answer all of their questions. By this time, I felt ready to faint.
Now, here it goes. She left the room and came back: With a Form! Just one more, she says. How much alcohol do you drink on a scale from one to 10; and Do you think you are clinically depressed? Oh my goodness!! NO, I told her. “I am not an alcoholic; I am not clinically depressed. I had a very painful bladder infection and was made to go through so many hoops to get help.” “I was honestly really angry and I cry when I am frustrated.”
Finally, I was able to see the doctor, and given antibiotics.
They did not kick in until the next day, so I continued with my Saturday appointments still prickly and pissed off from my morning encounter with the healthcare system.
Bladder infections are the pits. Sorry to unload. (Whew, that does feel better)