The Drugs Don’t Work

Often, in the middle of a story, well, maybe more of a question than a story – I’ll be explaining how I feel or something that’s happened with the children and it will all suddenly become clear to me. The answer is obvious, it was there all the time. I didn’t need to ask anyone – I just needed to talk it through.

Sometimes, we just need to say it out loud. Sometimes, we’ve been so busy doing, that we’ve forgotten to just stop and think. Sometimes, the quizzical look of a friend can make you realize that you’ve been ignoring the signs.

That’s how I felt this morning at the doctors.

I woke at 5 a.m. in pain. I knew immediately that I had another urinary tract infection. The signs were the same as always. I could feel the infection slowly taking over my body. I had a fever, I felt nauseous, and I’d lost my sense of humor.

Have you ever stood outside of a bathroom, cross legged and busting to go? That’s the sensation of a urinary tract infection, a constant feeling of needing to go but just not being able to. The feeling of banging on the door begging the person inside to hurry up, my bathroom door was the doctors surgery, I had three hours to wait for them to open. Three hours of crossing my legs.

Three hours of smiling at the children’s stories while wanting to poke my eye out with a fork. Three hours of walking from my bed to the bathroom hoping that there would be some change. Three hours of a very long suffering G making calls to explain why he wouldn’t be at his meeting this morning. Three hours of more water, more cranberry tablets, and more ural sachets.

The back pain (which is a new development) had begun a few days ago, I’d been doing a bit of running, so I put it down to being back on the treadmill.

As I sat in front of the Doctor I explained what was going on. “I have a UTI…” before I could get any further she pointed to the door and told me the nurse would show me where to give my specimen.

I walked back out to a waiting G in the reception area.

“What did she say?”

“I gave a specimen, I didn’t really get a chance to tell her anything”

He nodded, and we returned to waiting.

When I made it back to her room she made the grand announcement. “You have a very bad infection”

No shit Sherlock.

I really had lost my sense of humor.

I have a diverticulum” I explained. She looked at me blankly, blinked and moved on. She told me to drink more water, to try cranberry juice. I nodded while wondering if it was just faster to just let her go, take the advice and leave.

One more try.

“I have a urethral diverticulum“.

She paused for a split second, and then kept talking.

One last try.

“I already have antibiotics, I brought them back from Australia – I only stopped them two days ago”

And then it clicked. As dumb as it sounds, it took me saying it out loud to realize my antibiotics are not working. I’ve been keeping the symptoms at bay, but I haven’t killed the bugs, they’re there, niggling at my back, urging me to the bathroom, clouding up my thoughts.

My antibiotics are not working. This horrifies me. I am secretly sure that when the next round of SARS or some sort of contagion like illness comes around, I will be the unresponsive patient that people come to visit in a plastic tent.

I have 5 weeks until this diverticulum is removed – I want it out, gone, over.

I want the antibiotics out of my house, gone and over.

I want this surgery to arrive and then disappear, I want it to stop messing with my family.

It’s all very clear to me.

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