I am nothing if not a woman of my word. I promised I would tell you all about the treatment for my condition. I will tell you. Besides the dietary restrictions (nothing good is allowed) and the 11 prescriptions (I have approximately 15 more waking minutes,) pain management is an treatment component. Once a week I venture over to the office for my pain cocktail.
Before you get too excited, the pain cocktail is not served in a lovely highball with a nice cheese tray. It's inserted. With a catheter. I'm not telling you anything else. You can figure it out.
Actually Twinkle knows one other treatment component. She got it out of me with forbidden cocktails and peer pressure. If she wants to tell you she can, or you can ply me with more illicit alcohol. I really never want to talk about it again. I doubt you want to hear it. She probably went home and scrubbed her brain.
On to the funny, funny incontinent part. I went for my cocktail, which I try to schedule conveniently around trips to Churchill Downs or lunch. On this particular trip I needed to pick up a birthday gift. Lidocane, Marcane, Elmiron, Heparin, and some medicine that starts with a "T" cocktail properly administered, I journeyed over to Play It Again Sports for some 14-year-old birthday weights. Bad move. Never pick up weights in that condition. The cocktail found itself on the floor of PIAS. Looked like my water broke. Oops.
I thought this was an anomaly brought on by too much heavy lifting. Never gave it another thought past some major humiliation. Then came the day I needed to pick up one of my many prescriptions after cocktail hour. While waiting in line at Kroger, I felt a little drip. I felt a little river passing the hem of my skirt. Hell.
The lady in front of me couldn't figure out the complicated new Kroger prescription system. I pointed to the box. "Push that. Sign here," I told her. She told me she was too short to see the box, as I gazed down from my Amazonian perch of 5'4". I glared. By the time the boy got back with my scrips, I had signed my name and swiped my card (I don't need to tell them my name anymore.) "This ain't my first rodeo," I informed him. He looked at me so quizzically. He couldn't see the little rivulets flowing into my ballet flats and onto his tile. Only the rest of the store was watching...
Hey, at least I have a good excuse to get lunch if anyone's interested. I'll schedule my sick time.
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