The One With the Sex Pills

OK, guys. It’s time for full disclosure. If you’re not into TMI, of the lady parts nature, or, more specifically, MY lady parts, then you should probably avoid this entry. Go here instead.

Still with me? Good.

In my life, there is sometimes sex. I know that it’s something that I have only touched on (hee!) briefly and with the utmost of vagueness, but I’m going to go ahead and say that I am an adult and that I have been known to take part in adult-like premarital relations.*

I bring this up partially because it has to do with the story I have to tell, but also because I’m working, ever so slowly, at being more. . .open, I guess, whilst writing. There are bloggers out there that will tell you each and every time they and whomever get busy. (Hint: I am not one of those bloggers.) And then there are some bloggers that pretend they don’t know what sex means. (Hint: I am not one of those bloggers either.) I’m trying to reach some kind of happy medium with what I write about, and this, I feel, is the first step. Sometimes, there’s sex.

The problem with this, I discovered, is that the aforementioned sex sometimes causes problems for some people. For some people (not me!), it’s STDs. For others, it’s an unintended pregnancy (again, not me!). And for still others, it’s a nasty little thing called a Urinary Tract Infection. (Bingo.)

As you all know, I’ve not been involved with The Sex for all that long. I’m a relative newbie. So after the first couple of. . .encounters, when I found that I was MISERABLE-feeling in the bladder area, thanks to Cosmo (the one useful thing Cosmo has done for me. . .self-diagnosing a UTI), I immediately knew that the problem was. I went to one of those urgent care clinics (Dad refers to them as Doc-In-A-Box), and they gave me an antibiotic and sent me on my merry way.

A while later, it was back. (I’ll mention here that there was no reason, legal or otherwise, why I shouldn’t have been having sex, and lots of it, at the time. I wasn’t because my partner, and I think you all know who that was, but I’m not going to explicitly state, because OBVIOUSLY, was out of town a lot.) So every time I’d see him, I’d end up with this issue. It was causing me no end of grief and costing me more money than I had to spend on a lady parts issue. I enjoyed The Sex, but how worth it was it, REALLY?

When I’d gone the first time, the DIAB had told me that it’s a good thing I hadn’t waited any longer, because it could cause kidney issues.

Back the truck up. KIDNEY issues? Suddenly, I was having horrible back pain and was convinced that my kidneys were going to fall out and I was going to die of some sort of diseased kidney issue.

So every time I had the problem after that, I became CONVINCED that my back was killing me, and that it was because my kidney juice was leaking out into the rest of my body and I was going to die.

(Um, the back problems may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was still living at Dad’s and did not have a bed there, resulting in me pretty much sleeping on the floor on top of a fully deflated blow-up bed. But it was KIDNEY PROBLEMS!)

Cutting to the end of the story, I eventually made an appointment with a urologist and she gave me a mild antibiotic to take after every. . .sexing. Kind of a pain in the ass, but much better than a pain in the bladder.

The problem that I have had with said antibiotic has nothing to do with the antibiotic itself, but with the package it came in. Here's a picture:

The problem I have with this is that. . .um. . .I have a prescription bottle that says "intercourse."

Intercourse is one of those words like "moist" or "panties" or "lover." It should just never be used by anyone, ever.

So, in the course of the year I've had this prescription, I've been suffering the indignities of everyone at the pharmacy knowing EXACTLY why I'm taking these pills. There was one time, this kid (he looked younger than me and he was a punk. A kid.) who glanced at the instructions, legitimately laughed, asked if there was anything else he could help me with, and then said in this TONE, "Have a. . .good evening." (I should note, D was with me at the time. That couldn't have helped.)

I felt super-uncomfortable with that guy, and with a couple of other people who've filled it. It's like. . .there are several medications you can get, and it doesn't clarify WHY you're getting it on the package. But this one? Yep. It's due to The Sex.

So I had to call the urologist last week because my prescription had expired. (This is because when they were prescribed, I was to take one. . .immediately afterwards and then one 12 hours later, as indicated on the original bottle. I figured out that I only needed the one. . .immediately afterwards, and I was OK. So I had a surplus.) My old NP wasn't there anymore, but a new doctor was willing to refill it over the phone.

I went to pick it up, and was met with this:

Instead of "intercourse" in 10-pt. font, now it's up to at LEAST 14. There's NO QUESTION about what's in that bottle. People probably think I have herpes or something. And I want to say to the pharmacist, "It's because of UTIs! I'm diabetic, and we're very susceptible to UTIs! I'm AN ADULT!"

I think the new urologist and I need to have a chat. I need to, between now and the next appointment, think of a better way to phrase that, and ask him to put THAT on the label.

I know it's not just me. I showed D the bottle, and he laughed. Out loud.

HEY, TARGET PHARMACY! I HAVE TO TAKE SEX PILLS!

Awesome.

*Sorry, Mom