The Pipi Dance

Every hour on the hour, I’m downing a concoction of herbal teas found here:

I’ve had a UTI for over two weeks; for about a year, depends when you start counting.  Seems I was ripped out of my wedding dress into ripping pain where no woman should ever have troubles.  My immune system was already weak  during this time. Autoimmune symptoms increased after that. My body no longer heals the way it did just a year and a half ago. I’ve had some good weeks, but not this time. Last week, I held out medieval torture in the nether regions to avoid a trip to the ER for pipi pain, all to no avail. I was in a backless gown of the wrong kind for the wrong reason. Antibiotics, as many of you may know, can grow resistant to certain bacteria strains if there is overuse throughout the years or  poor immune. Well, add to that my recent introduction to birth control pills for population control in our new household, which puts all women at higher risk for lupus (information I didn’t know at the time), all things medicine that was being administered by my doctors got me where I am today: excited about peeing like a racehorse.

Although I will discuss in this blog all the hardships, different symptoms, and trial and error remedies that comes with being chronically ill, I don’t intend to really explain too much beyond the basics of what, how, when, and why this pathology works. I do enough research and fret enough about how tough its been to make the adjustment without becoming an alcoholic. I lie, I’m not an alcoholic cause liquor is off the menu. The point is, I’ve devoted intense time and effort finding out what I have, where the doctors misled me (and mislead so many more), what treatments work or don’t work, and how far one can and should push themselves when rest is the only thing that makes inflammation symptoms tolerable. I’m not going to educate others too much on the subject unless they’re interested.  I relate best with those who have had some serious tribulations with sickness or are experiencing freakish ailments that they can’t figure out. I commiserate well and empathize all too well.

I’m just here to talk about how hard it is to deal, but how possible it is to be okay with it most days. It’s not about complaints, unless I specifically choose to vent. If you don’t let it out, it’s gonna blow out of some orifice. It best be the mouth.

Today, at my wits end and wallets dark corners, after the antibiotics plan going kaput, and the homeopathic remedies not working, and peanut butter making me clench my nice parts so much…I decided to use the very little energy that Lupus rations you per day to attack this mofo. And so I found the abovementioned site. Spent too much money at Chuck’s health food store. As a housewife who doesn’t know how to boil, steam, or even cut vegetables all that proper, I managed to trek our locality in bumper-to-bumper traffic, find some rare produce for a simpleton, and slave in the kitchen making celery and parsley smoothies for a bladder flush that may or may not work.

After what is plain laboring to most housewives, to me it’s a mountain on top of an infection. My feet are swollen, my back feels strange with sensations I still don’t know how to accurately describe (part of the mission is to determine and know what I’m going through in an articulate way), my head pounding, my skin breaking in hives, and stomach rejecting more liquids, I feel proud. Proud that I don’t take no for an answer. If that doesn’t work, I will see a doctor tomorrow. I will not cry unless the pain physically pushes out tears from tear ducts. There is no space to wish these problems away.  One day, I plan to barely have inflammation. I plan to use an elliptical like I used to. I will defy the weaknesses of my body. I will pee in the wind.

My kitchen is mostly a wreck. Some groceries unpacked and pants will be propped on the same floor spot they were undone. The laundry will rest motionless in the dryer overnight. My joints and muscles are spent and if that’s what my home will look like tonight, so be it. Because tomorrow I may be hit with a sunburst of painless energy and I’ll rearrange the furniture. Excuse me, I shall leave you until next time. Gotta go potty.

1 Comment

Filed under Housewifing, Under the Weather

One response to “The Pipi Dance

  1. Pingback: Micturating and Celery Juice | Housewifing Around

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