What She Wore: grey running pants, white t-shirt that says, "America"; tennis shoes. Nothing matched, I am a bit of a mess. Mrs. K even commented: I can’t believe you’re wearing tennis shoes–with laces and everything.
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD!
So yesterday I awoke feeling a little out of it–I slept too much and still felt sort of goofy. I typed my blog and while doing so, I noticed that I was using the bathroom a lot. But we all know I’m a caffeine addict, so this isn’t exactly breaking news. My husband came home, I wrapped things up on the computer, and we got ready to go try this new pizza place.
The Hub and I have been on a quest to find a great piece of pizza. Some of you know that this is an art form. The rest of you are reading this and wondering, "what’s the big deal? Cheese, sauce, crust." You are not a pizza person like I am. So far, the pickings have been slim in our new home.
We pull into the parking lot of what is clearly a hole in the wall–this is not a bad sign for us, but I started feeling a little woozy. After settling in to a booth in the shape of someone else’s butt, I realize that I have to go to the bathroom AGAIN!
In the bathroom I had what I can call one of the greatest shocks of my life–there have been bigger, but this one was very close to the top. In the bathroom I urinated blood. My pee was red. With little clumps. I was fairly sure that this was not a good sign, so I pulled up my pants, washed my hands, and joined my husband in the dining area. I told him that we would need to get that pizza to go, and we went home. What surprised me was how calm I was. On the car ride home I explained to the Hub the deal. He didn’t believe me. I’m a bit of a hypochrodriac, and he felt certain I was having "woman problems." I actually just ended up peeing in front of him to make my point.
The on-call doctor diagnosed me with a Urniary Tract Infection over the phone. He advised me about an over-the-counter product I could take, and told me to report to his office by seven a.m. And drink lots of water.
So I’m feeling pretty gosh-darn crappy today. The drugs are working, and I know I’ll be back soon. The Hub is feeling bad for me and keeps checking on me. And this man is no Florence Nightingale.
The good news? Best damn pizza I’ve had in years.