So you’re going about your business just generally being awesome and you get punched in the junk with a bladder infection, BLEH. So that sucks, but you’re taking your antibiotic and it’s no big deal. Eight days later, you’re back in the doctor’s office and you’re barely alive and he’s talking about the hospital, WHAT? How did this happen!?!
Apparently, if you have an upset stomach on a Saturday evening after LitFest, it is not just because you had ice cream and you’re lactose intolerant, although that’s never really your best move. Then your Sunday is okay but you’ve got a yuck bug in your belly and you think, well, it’s just whatever. And then on Monday, you’re feeling great, you do your exercise, you go walking with a neighbor buddy, you leave the house earlier than ever, you get your oil changed before work! Life has never been so good!
You work your eight hours and although whatever you ate for your late lunch isn’t being very nice to you, you figure, well, it probably just had dairy in it, right? But the thing is, you’re stuck in the daily everybody-wants-to-get-home-at-the-same-time traffic jam, and now you’re starting to think, ugh, there is something really wrong. And by the time you get home you can barely get in the door and mumble “I don’t feel well” as you tumble down the stairs into your loving bed, where you may or may not moan like a baby until Husband brings you all the meds, and you go to sleep.
And you sleep the rest of that day, all night, wake up and realize Tuesday morning is a horrible time to be alive, and pass back out sleeping all that day. You’re feeling so low you’re actually proud of yourself for making it up the stairs to eat toast, because, you know, #goals. Husband continues to hover over you and make sure you have everything you need, because it’s really obvious you’re half-dead and he would really rather you not die.
So you try to sleep through the night but fever and chills and sweats are pretty awful and then there’s that whole throwing up thing (you don’t really want to talk about it) and finally Wednesday arrives and Husband is rushing you out the door to the doctor except your limbs are really not so into this whole “rush” thing, and everything hurts, etc. Doctor is very displeased at how high your white blood cell count is, perscribes a Super-Duper Antibiotic and some nausea meds, commands you to return the very next day and threatens you with The Hospital if you don’t get better stat.
You take the new meds, take a new nap, and LIKE MAGIC you feel… not dead! Suddenly you’re not hurting everywhere! Suddenly you have energy! Suddenly everything does Not Suck! You return to the doctor triumphant the next day and he confirms that you’re on the fast track to recovery. Good thing, too, because apparently a bladder infection that spreads to your kidneys is like, serious bad news or something. Kooky, right?
Also, everyone compliments you on the weight you’ve lost and you’re thinking, YOU GUYS I ALMOST DIED and apparently the way to lose 4 pounds in 4 days is not eat anything and vomit, but you really do not recommend it. Because toast is beautiful. And smoothies are divine.