You know those old people who are so consumed with their health and the health of their friends and neighbors, that’s all they can talk about? Yeah, this post is going to be like that.
What a week.
We all have weeks like this, I know, and it’s my turn. Everything seems to happen at once. I can’t get into it all here, but let’s say this: I do not look forward to be ever more involved with the health care system as I age.
Here’s one thing I can tell you: Don’t sit around in your wet swimsuit after swimming in the Wisconsin River at the Wisconsin Dells. A big no-no. I was warned, too, and I arrogantly thought, pooh-pooh, I’m impervious. Well, the pooh-pooh was tougher than me, and I got a urinary tract infection. Not fun.
Some women suffer all the time from UTIs, as they’re known in the business (that’s the health care business to you). Thank God I’m not one of those women. I’ve never popped so much cranberry extract and Advil in my life. I couldn’t even drink coffee — coffee, man! the elixir of the gods! — because it aggravated my already urgent need to go.
So a visit to my primary care doctor was in order. Since I hadn’t seen him since my last health care debacle (click here for that story, brilliantly told), he insisted he see me in person.
Thank God he got me in 4 hours after I called. I could. Not. Have. Waited. If you know what I mean.
All I wanted was a simple prescription for antibiotics, but I had to be weighed (down 9 pounds from two years ago — yay for me!), blood pressure cuffed (118/78, thank you very much), temperature checked (boringly 98.3 degrees) and pulse monitored (83 beats per minute, which I thought was sorta high but I guess is uneventfully average).
Anyway, it turns out that my menopausal chemistry apparently sets me up for a greater risk of UTIs (so that decision to sit around in a wet swimsuit after wading in the unsavory waters of the Wisconsin River was even worse for someone old enough to know better).
Click, click and the prescription was issued and I picked it up at the pharmacy literally 10 minutes later and consumed the first dose with the bottle of water also purchased at said pharmacy.
I should be grateful because the system worked as it was designed and my problem has been solved. As a side note, I’m reading Diana Gabaldon’s Dragonfly in Amber (yes, that makes me, what? six books behind this week’s best seller?), and the main character who’s traveled back in time to the mid-1700s has an interest in healing properties of herbs, which comes in real handy when doctors of the time have to perform amputations with whiskey for anesthesia and the idea of “comfort” in a hospital means having a bed at all, let alone a private suite. Thank goodness modern health care isn’t that.
But, and there’s always a but with me: I can’t wait to see the bill. See, my doctor, as gentle and helpful as he was, wouldn’t have gotten paid if he simply wrote a prescription without seeing me. So he had to get me into his office on a week in which is was highly inconvenient for me to be there (because of everything else that was happening in my life, which I just can’t get into here). And now I’ll have to pay for the privilege of being told what I already knew.
What a pisser.
If you know what I mean. And if you’ve ever had a UTI, you do.