Living Large in San Francisco

I am so miserable. I have spent the last 2 days of our vacation lying in bed in the very pretty room of our swank hotel just off Union Square in San Francisco. There is plenty to do just outside my window and the weather has been beautiful. But I am afraid to venture more than 10 feet from the room, and even when I ‘ve been willing to risk it, I haven’t had the energy to walk more than a block or so.

Late Tuesday afternoon, I realized I was getting a bladder infection. This is the third one I’ve had; the last was nearly 15 years ago. It’s not hard to know you have a bladder infection. For those who have yet to experience this little bit of hell on earth, imagine a hundred fire ants crawling around inside your bladder, producing a constant and intense urge to pee, coupled with a burning pain that lasts several long seconds every time you try to go.

As soon as I recognized my symptoms I headed for CVS to buy some AZO Standard. These little red pills have, in the past, done wonders to stop the pain until I could get started on antibiotics. I popped a couple and felt pretty good for the rest of the evening.

Wednesday morning, Sam and I got up early to catch our plane. I didn’t feel great, but assumed my morning dose of AZO would help. I was wrong. I spent the next 4 hours in the air, in misery. There was a lot of turbulence, which meant the pilot kept the “fasten seat belts” sign on for long stretches of time. A woman a few rows ahead of me got up to use the restroom and the kind (not!) stewardess used the woman’s daring dash to remind us over the loud speaker to please respect the pilot’s opinion and stay in our seats. (I know Sam just posted about his enduring love for Southwest. For the record, I was feeling all kinds of things on that flight and none of them could be classified as love!)

Anyway, although I certainly respected the pilot’s opinion, I was pretty sure that staying in my seat was going to result in much embarrassment so I screwed up my courage and made a run for it. The stewardess who had used the loudspeaker to demand respect got up from her jump seat as I neared the restroom door. For the love of God, could this woman not see that I was in a serious hurry? She started to tell me that the pilot… blah, blah, blah…but I slid around her and into the bathroom, tossing a sharp, “If I could have waited, I would have!” over my shoulder.

The problem with a bladder infection is that it tricks you into thinking that if you could just reach a restroom you will be ok. But, oh no, that is simply not true. Instead you are met with this unbelievably ridiculous amount of pain, and typically, very little urine. You feel better for about 60 seconds before the entire thing starts over again.

I climbed over my seat-mate several times before deciding I might as well just stand in the back next to the bathroom door. This was not a popular decision with Stewardess Ratchet, but she tolerated me.

Four long, miserable hours later we made it to San Francisco. We hired a cab to take us to a Walgreen’s near our hotel, where my doctor had called in an antibiotic prescription. I was nearly in tears by the time I reached the pharmacist. I ripped open the package and swallowed a pill, then begged to use their non-public restroom. I think I scared the young Asian boy who was waiting on me as he knocked over a display stand of pamphlets in an effort to get me into the restroom.

I spent the rest of Wednesday in bed, and in the bathroom, while Sam attended the advertising conference that brought us here. The only bright spot in the day was the NY strip steak with French fries I had sent up to my room for dinner. It was staggeringly expensive, but I was feeling so sorry for myself that I could hardly muster up the energy to care. And I’ll tell you, that was one damn fine steak! And the French fries? Those who know me know I like a little food on my salt. Those fries were so hot and salty and crispy! Mmmmm..

Thursday I expected to feel better, and for the first hour I did. But as the morning passed I felt worse and worse. I tried to venture out, but found I had no energy. I took a walk around the block and then came back and recovered with a 2-hour nap. The entire time those fire ants were gnawing away at my bladder. At times, the pain was so intense that I could feel the pulse of my heart in my bladder.

I read all the magazines I had and even turned on the TV for a bit, (my disdain for television programming was quickly reconfirmed).
I napped and watched the clock, waiting for Sam to come back to the room between meetings. I started writing this post, but the pain was so intense that the only way I could get comfortable was to lie flat on my back. Finally, I took an ativan and went to bed, hoping I would wake up feeling better.

This morning I awoke to more of the same. I called my Dr. in Kansas City. He is not working today and the nurse suggested I go to an urgent care facility.

I checked the internet and found an Urgent Care office just 2 blocks from our hotel. The office opened at 9am and I was there waiting when they unlocked the doors. You know, I have never had this feeling before when visiting a doctor, but this was the coolest doctors office I have ever visited. The office was painted ocean blue with black trim and all of the furniture was retro stainless steel. The staff wore fashionable clothes instead of scrubs, even the docs had traded their white coats for regular, trendy wear.

I was seen within 10 minutes of arriving by Dr. Jessie Davis, who took a urine sample and then loaded me up with drugs. I got an injection of antibiotic (because it works faster) and another prescription of antibiotics to start taking as soon as I could get it filled. He also gave me Norco to knock me out for the flight home in case I still wasn’t better. And a prescription for Diflucan. I had the sense he would give me whatever I asked for (this is California after all) and I briefly thought about all the other drugs I would like to have, but stayed focused on the problem at hand.

Dr. Davis said I should be feeling better by tonight and sent me on my way. I was so happy that relief was on its way I practically skipped down the street to the pharmacy.

Which brings us to the present. Three hours have passed since a healthy dose of drug was injected into my hindquarter, and I don’t yet feel one bit better. In fact, I hurt as bad as I did last night. But I am hopeful. Apparently the particular strain of bacteria that I am growing is resistant to the first drug I took. Dr. Davis thinks this one should do the trick, but I realize that the bacteria could be resistant to this variety of antibiotic as well.

Sam will be back from his meetings within the hour and then we are driving to Wine Country for a couple of days. I really hope I am feeling well enough to enjoy it. And I hope there are lots of places to use the restroom along the way.