Giving my Insurance a Run for it's Money

I’m fairly confident that if I lived in any other period in History I wouldn’t have lived past 21.  That’s not to say my abhorrently bad luck with people would have placed me smack in the path of Jack the Ripper, but I definitely would have come down with polio or consumption or some generally terrible infectious disease.  Because, just like me my body is god damn accommodating to whatever virus or bacteria crosses its path.

“Why Hello nasty virus, come in, make yourself comfortable.  Can I bring you anything? A beer to further wear down my defenses?  Well okay.”

Almost a month ago I fell victim to a UTI, an infection that I am all too familiar with.

I went to Urgent Care, got some antibiotics and went on my merry way.  Lalala!  The glory of modern medicine…and peeing pain free (which is an underappreciated pleasure if you ask me).

A couple weeks later I went out to brunch with my sister and her horde of children where I munched on Crème Brulee French Toast (yes it was awesome), after a nap I found myself doubled over retching.  I had a kidney infection. I went on my (less merry) way to the doctor and was mentally preparing my will afterwards when I waited in the slowest line ever.  Like seriously.  I waited 19 minutes.  Have you ever waited 19 minutes for something when it felt like your entire innards were going to explode?  It’s not pleasant.

Which is why I almost bite off the head of the pharmacist when she tried to explain the side affects with my birth control.

Happily medicated a few days later I returned to the hospital-this time to see a Sports medicine doctor about my hip that has been aching since the marathon.  I signed all sorts of papers promising I wasn’t prego so they could do an MRI to figure out what was wrong with me.  

Flash forward a week.  

I was stressed out.  About Honey B.  About my job (that keeps me away from ya'll).  And about the fact that my MRI showed the tissue/muscles/etc cushioning my hip and leg bone is torn to shit and I won't be  able to work out until it GETS SEWN BACK TOGETHER.

And my period was a day late.

Those side affects of the meds I was on that the pharmacist tried to tell me about?  Yeah, how about MAKE YOUR BIRTH CONTROL INEFFECTIVE. 

I wigged.  Not because I could be pregnant.  But because I had had an MRI, and if I was prego I would give birth to a mutant baby. 

A MUTANT BABY!!!

I spazzed for an hour.

And my body promptly announced I wasn’t preggo-just stressed out and behaving all PMS crazy.

Thank God for modern medicine.