I'm prone to them, who knows why. Maybe it's due to all those years in leotards and tights (did you know you can get them from non-breathable undergarments?), though I haven't had one in a while because I'm pretty diligent about preventing them. You know, peeing after sex, drinking lots of cranberry juice, wearing breathable undies, etc.
And I usually feel them coming on and can stop one before it gets evil. But today? Oh today. It came on like a neon light in Vegas after the apocalypse. Or maybe it was announcing the apocalypse. Either way? Pain. So much pain.
I lasted a couple hours at work, actually, though I don't know how much work I actually accomplished in between jogs to the restroom, where I'd get about 2 seconds of reprieve, glorious reprieve, then go back to my desk in pain. Then I threw in the towel and went home.
You can take antibiotics for a UTI, but I try not to pump full of the antis since my childhood was spent on too many and my immune system is doing its best to become the tough bastard I know it can be. But sometimes it's unavoidable. My plan leaving work was to go home, pump full of cranberry juice, and hope I can flush it out without having to see a doctor.
Plan is as yet still in effect.
The drive home? Utter misery. I pee before I leave the office, but then 8 floors down in an elevator, trying to escape the chatty front desk (whom I normally delight chatting with, but desperate times yo), walk to the parking lot, trying to get my key from the parking attendant, and the ensuing traffic all the way is. completely. torturous.
Fuck speed limits. The pain is so bad and all I want to do is just pee. Peeing sounds like heaven. Even though I know only a dribble will come, right then, peeing is better than anything I could or would ever do ever in the history of doing things. Ever. EVER. As I'm driving, I'm concocting plans that if I get pulled over, I'll just pee on the cop. That'll teach him to pull over a woman with a bladder infection. If it's a woman, she'll simply understand.
And I have to stop at the store to get my juice (happy, happy juice). But of course the parking lot is a clusterfuck (as always) and then (of course) this 157 year old woman in a landyacht hoopdy cuts me off to get into the parking lot before me (as if I'd still her handycapable spot anyway.) (not that I didn't consider it.) (but I do have SOME scruples.) and then slows down to a pace so slow that I'm pretty sure snails could beat. At this point, I'm in so much pain that if I don't pee, I'll yank granny from her boat and knock out every one of her fake teeth and pee on her face.
I finally park and run into the grocery store, suddenly developing the superhuman ability to locate the restroom purely on instinct. I could have closed my eyes and been able to find it, dodging the carts and screaming miniature humans and walkers. I could have leapt over the entire bank of cash registers if that had been necessary. You've heard of mothers pulling cars of their children? If the toilet had been crushed by a car, I would have lifted it off and tossed it onto a child. That's how bad I had to pee.
I finally pee, shoving aside a germaphobe mother with two kids who is deliberating which stall is the least teaming with potential plagues, because I would pee in a whole in the ground in Calcutta at this point. Fuck germs. What are they gonna do anyway? I already HAVE the infection! HAH! So there.
Tiny reprieve. Grab my juice. Remember to pay for my juice. Sprint back to my car. As I'm leaving the parking lot, I wait for the slowest jeep on the planet to pass all the while shouting from my car, "GOOOOOOOOOO!" and he slows down and stares at me as he passes, all serial killer-like, never losing eye contact, like those busts in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.
Normally, the serial killer uber creepy stare would freak me the fuck out, but I'm so manic at this point that I could peel his skin back from his creepy skull, pluck out his eyeballs, and pee on his face. Apparently peeing on people is my ultimate revenge today. However, he doesn't appear to be scared of me. His mistake.
The short drive from the store to my house is a blur. It's excruciatingly long yet I don't remember any of it. For all I know, I don't even have my car. I just floated home dreaming of pee and cranberry juice, clutching my burning abdomen for all its life.
Screwing my assigned spot and taking a visitor spot near the door, I sprint up the stairs to my apartment (in heels), making a mental note that if there is ever an Olympic event for heeled stair sprinting, I'd win the gold.
Rushing into the downstairs bathroom, I scare the shit out of my working-from-home roomie, pee the most glorious 5 seconds of my life, then prepare myself for a day of pain.
Which is where you'll most likely find me right now. Unless you're reading this several days from posting. If that's the case, and I'm still peeing like an old man with a prostate the size of Montana, just shoot me.
Crazy Lady's tips for surviving a UTI:
- Get yourself a crapton of cranberry juice. Not juice cocktail. Not from concentrate. You need 100% cranberry juice. Just go straight to the organcic or health food section of your store. You'll die a little inside when you see the price, but when you think about how little juice you actually get in those juice cocktails, you'll see you're getting your money's worth.
- Drink said cranberry juice. I like to cut the tart a little with club soda, though. But that means I just have to drink more. I like to keep the whole bottle of juice near me so I don't have to waste any time in between cup fills.
- Drinking tons of fluids is good. I know you don't want to pee anymore, but you want to have something to pee out right? Right. Plus, you're flushing that asshole infection out.
- If you can be home, awesome. You'll want to be close to the bathroom and have the freedom to bitch and moan without anyone around running in fear. Also: making happy moans while peeing makes it feel even that much better.
- If you have to work, hope to hell your workspace is next to the bathroom. All I'm sayin'.
- Another point for staying home is you won't want to fiddle with extraneous and silly things like locking doors and undoing zippers and/or buttons. Waste of time.
- Write a snarky blog post full of hyperbole to make yourself feel better. Works every time.