This morning I went to see a urologist.  For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a doctor who specializes predominantly in problems with the bladder.  Yes, I’m having bladder issues.  Specifically, I pee too often.  I will be minding my own business and suddenly I’m running to the bathroom, all for a tiny result.  In the middle of the night?  I’m up 6 or 7 times.  It’s a joy.  She told me I have an Overactive Bladder and she gave me a prescription.  I argued with her.

“I do not!  You’re wrong!  THEY have overactive bladders!”  I pointed to the two pamphlets on her counter.  One had an old lady and an old man dancing together because neither one of them had to run to the bathroom to pee.  The other one had an old couple sitting together with big smiles on their face, not a bit worried about where the nearest bathroom is.

The doctor reassured me that just this morning she saw three people in my age range with the same problem and even children get it.  She gave me my prescription and a print-out describing the disorder and how to lessen the effects.  Then she told me the side effects:  Constipation and dry mouth.  Fantastic.  At 6:15 every night I will be taking a crazy pill and a don’t pee pill, both of which cause dry mouth, which  means I’ll spend the rest of the night unable to think about anything else but water.

Right before I left, the medical assistant asked me to give a urine sample.  Please.  I pee so much I could give her three.  I got into the bathroom, got myself ready and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  I freakin’ couldn’t pee!!  I was at the damned doctor because I pee too much and I proved them wrong with an inability to pee.  After a few minutes I managed to produce and I went on my way.

When I got home, I read the print-out she gave me, which was very interesting and also made me very angry.   First of all, apparently Overactive Bladder (OAB) is caused by spasms in the bladder, and the medication helps stop that (in 1-6 weeks).  So basically it’s like my bladder has a seizure disorder so I’m taking the equivalent of Keppra or Depakote.  Okay.

Then the really fun part.  I need to eat fresh fruits and vegetables and lots of whole grain and fiber due to the constipation side-effect.  What do I have to avoid? Tomatoes and all citrus fruits like oranges, which I love, love, love.  No caffeine, which means no coffee.  Bad.  No carbonated drinks.  Bastards.  I also have to avoid chocolate.  What?  How can I live without my Peppermint Patties or Jr. Mints?  Last, worst and how-will-I-make-it-through-the-night?  No alcohol.

What. The. FUCK?

1.  Screwdriver – Vodka and orange juice (that’s TWO things I can’t have).

2.  Seabreeze – Vodka and cranberry juice.

3.  Wine.

4. Peppermint Patties/Jr. mints – chocolate.

How Will I Live?

Let me set the scene:  I’m doing laundry (which I try to do as often as possible because folding is my favorite thing), and it’s Noah’s turn.  I pull his clothes out of the washer (top load – don’t judge) and as soon as it’s empty, I do a double take when I see this:

W.T.F?

Now you’re getting a closer look at it than I did, and mine was a quick glance.  I swear my knees got wobbly, my bowels locked up, I think my heart stopped or maybe it sped up, and a scream threatened to let loose.  A life flashed before my eyes: Giving birth, his first steps on his birthday, his first day of kindergarten, his first flight with Gramma and Poppa, finally trusting the water, his curls that everyone wants to touch, his voice changing.  And now this.  This.  He’s thirteen for fuck’s sake!  Terrified, I took a second look, reached down, and with a squinchy face I pulled it out from under the drum or whatever it is.

AND breathe

A rubber glove from his science class.  Okay, so he stole it.  Big Ef’en deal.  At least he’s not stealing virginity.  Gross.

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So in case you haven’t heard, I have a couple of routes I take when I run/walk the pups.  My favorite and most-used route starts with a moderate hill that I walk up.  I walk fast, but I walk.   Except for the part where I stop to let Luke poop.  I try to get our cardio 3 times a week, sometimes less sometimes more.  Last week I decided to do something totally crazy.  I decided I was going to run up the moderate hill.  I walked to the corner from our house to “warm up,” turned the corner and said, “Let’s go pups!!”  We then proceeded to run up the hill.  To clarify, I’m not sure run is the correct word for what I was doing.  I would call it, “aggressive jogging.”   I pushed my way up that hill, pups in tow, and Luke didn’t poop and before I knew it – or forever later – I was at the top!  I made it!  I ran/aggressively jogged up the moderate hill!  I so badly wanted to jump up and down with my arms in the air, Sylvester Stallone style in “Rocky.”  I didn’t, though, because it’s a busy street and someone I know always passes by me and by then I had probably already had triangle sweat down there and a line of sweat under my up-tops, plus one line straight down my lower, lower back.  So I held back my excitement and continued on my aggressive jog/walk journey and when I got home my time was (obviously) the best ever.

As soon as I got home, after I drank two sports bottles of water and walked around trying to get rid of the shakes and splashing cold water on my face I called Beth, Hot Joe and Mom (probably Hot Joe first, though) and told them all, “I ran up Ventu!!  I did it!  I can hardly believe it!  I mean, it wasn’t like a fast run, but it wasn’t walking either!  Best. Day. Ever!”  Then I listened to them each rave about how awesomesauce I was and how proud they were of me and I drank it in and walked around the rest of the day like I owned the world.

The next morning after dropping the kids off at school I decided to clock my mileage so I could be even prouder of my accomplishment.

A whopping 0.2 miles.