I struggle to type (I’m a great typist, 88 wpm, not to brag or anything) that I suffer from chronic illness.  I have an idiopathic immune system “issue” that makes my body more susceptible to bacterial/viral infections.  Despite being more wordy, for whatever reason, that’s a lot easier for me to type.  So basically, I get sick. A lot.

I developed symptoms for a UTI on Sunday evening.  The discomfort, while annoying, was tolerable.  I figured I could call the doctor Monday morning and request antibiotics..no need to go in, easy peasy.  My doctor doesn’t call me back or call antibiotics in for me. Monday 10 pm, symptoms have worsened.  That evening at around 1 am, I have to get up to pee.  Bleary eyed, with mild back pain, and thoroughly annoyed, I zombie walk to the bathroom and plop myself down onto the toilet seat.  I tinkle and god it hurts, I wipe, I throw the tp in the toilet bowl, I get up and as I’m about to flush I look into the bowl to see red. Bright red.  Shocking red. Blood red.

Hmm…that doesn’t seem great..but I don’t feel like death, so it’ll be fine..sometimes it happens with UTIs.  An hour later I am having such horrible lower back and lower abdominal pain,  I have a low grade fever and intense nausea.  I text my partner, I call my brother.  No calls or texts back…I’ll leave my door unlocked so it’s easier for them to get to my dead and decaying body when they eventually find me (I attribute this thoughtful dramatic thinking to my fever). I call urgent care and ask them what they can offer me versus the ER.  I decide urgent care is the less daunting facility to go to.  My body decides it will remain in the fetal position on the floor.  7am comes around, my brother calls me and with clinical coldness that doctors have perfected he tells me to go to urgent care asap.  I go to an urgent care facility and go through the process of getting diagnosed (our healthcare system is so disappointing and fragmented).

This experience just made me think of how when I’m sick, my flesh is what is most real and my thoughts and feelings no longer matter to the outside world.  And that is what I am to anyone directly or indirectly involved in my path to healing.  My brother asked strictly about the symptoms my body was experiencing and did his job as older brother/doctor in the family.  Urgent care staff poked, prodded, palpated my body.  My fear, my sadness, my pain, my frustration, none of that was even questioned.  But it’s just not part of the healthcare system experience to show real empathy or treat patients as people.  And I do understand the merits of that, but damn.

My brother isn’t heartless! He was pretty worried, got in touch with my sister, who then made a 2 hour drive to make sure I was alive.