Monday, July 12, 2010

PSA: Don't Tell Your Doctor or Anyone Anything

If you're at Fountain Square on a Saturday night, just minding your own bid'ness watching Apollo 13 on that screen sponsored by Macy's (thanks Macy's!) and you pee blood and some clots again, just keep it to yourself.

You know why? Because everyone and their brother's-sister's-cousin will come at you like a freakin' tsunami when you say,'Geezus Christ almighty, you should have seen how bloody my pee was on Saturday! Clots mean I'm healing, right?'

And whatever you do, do not casually tell your doctor this happened when you're just trying to reschedule another appointment. Because your doctor will lose her shizzle all over you on the phone when you tell her you're probably too busy to come in… indefinitely.

Because nobody will understand that you can see around corners they can't and you already know everything is going to be a-ok because on Saturday night you dreamed you were being bounced around in a gale storm in the Gulf, tossed about with sea foam, BP oil and giant hunks of debris in 40 foot waves, and while it sucked and was exhausting and freezing and you wanted it to be over with, it was also kind of an interesting ride, like a rollercoaster, only wet and oilier, and you washed up on the shore tired but totally fine. (Except you were wearing acid washed jeans... so, mostly fine.)

And even though the dream wasn't really about your bladder it's all still connected and illuminating and armed with this sense of security you go ahead and succumb to your doctor's orders only to be told during another camera in your pee-hole experience (why stop at just one, party people?!), 'Hey, your bladder looks a lot better; blood and clots are signs of healing in this case,' which is what you said all along and you could have just avoided the hassle.

But you will get another little jar of M&Ms, which might be worth it if they were peanut M&Ms, but whatever, you'll eat them anyway.

So don't tell your doctor or anyone anything, unless you really want that little jar of M&Ms. And don't forget to thank your pal Rachel who offered to front bail money and a ride home if you did happen to lose your shiz and assault anyone who might mention another pee bag. And thank God it didn't come to that because you know she has a newborn and can't just be driving to the jail whenever your ass gets tossed in the slammer, because what kind of role model would you be then, and besides infants can't eat M&Ms so bribing them to forgive you is nearly impossible and Rachel would not be happy about that anyway.

This has been a public service announcement. And another photo of my bladder.

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