So about a month ago my body started to act up. More specifically -– it was my urethra.
Let me just cut to the chase. I was having a full-on UTI and it was making me crazy uncomfortable. I felt like I had to pee every 5 minutes and no matter how much water I drank, the symptoms were not dissipating. However, high five on the preceding sex, right?
Anyway, I don’t have insurance because I’m a freelance writer and have better things to pay for, like rent and makeup. So I started chugging garlic and cranberry pills for like two weeks until one of my lovely editors at xoJane told me to stop being a fucking idiot (I’ll let you guess which one) and called her doctor to get me a script for some antibiotics. So in a way, I scored drugs from my editor. Badass.
And boy is modern medicine really something. My symptoms cleared up within hours.
However, I took all the antibiotics as they were instructed and experienced some very unpleasant symptoms –- like the most insane bout of constipation of my life. My digestive system took two weeks to recover.
Then, about a week later, the UTI symptoms came back. DUN DUN DUN. But something was different and new. Along with my symptoms, I began to develop a weird dull pain in my right kidney.
Instead of heading to the doctor, I decided to Google my symptoms instead. You know how that goes. After a few hours of convincing myself I have a kidney infection on top of cancer on top of AIDS, I decided to drop the money on seeing an actual physician.
I made an appointment at the clinic in East Village. Because I’m a freelance writer and can’t really prove my income (I hadn’t finished my 2012 taxes by then) I had to pay the maximum amount for their non-insured patience. It was $105 and money well spent.
I tried to get a walk-in on a Friday afternoon, but no such luck. After I cried to the nurse, she sat me down and took my temperature. I did not have a fever so she told me I should just keep drinking cranberry juice and that she would schedule me an appointment for that following Monday morning.
That Monday morning I showed up all bright-eyed and bushy tailed.
“I don’t see your appointment,” said the receptionist.
“But. But. She told me. In there,” I point, “She told me.”
“OK. Calm down. Go in and get it figured out,” she said with a smile. They are so nice at the clinic.
There was some sort of a computer glitch but they figured it out and were able to fit me in for 10 am instead. So I spend an extra hour imagining myself living with Cancer AIDS.
Finally 10am rolls around and a nurse asks me to accompany him down a hallway. I hate this part because it always reminds me of going to the principal’s office. I think my emotional age will always be 13.
I tell him all of my issues and he sends my blood test away and tells me to sit tight and wait for the doctor.
So as I’m waiting and imagining talking to the mild mannered old man/lady doctor about my symptoms.
“You’re Olga, right? I’ll be right with you,” a booming hot guy voice cracks the air. I look up and sure enough, it’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. Tall, fit with hipster glasses, probably anywhere between the ages of 28–32.
All I can think is “I can’t talk to him about this stuff! Where’s the unattractive doctor?”
And, of course when he calls me into the office the first thing he asks me is about my constipation. What? Did he just say “constipation” to me? Oh, my god. I can’t deal with this.
So he starts asking me all the other protocol questions, including:
- “Are you sexually active?”
- “Do you have a history with STDs?”
- “Was this the first time you were this constipated?”
- “Does it burn when you pee?”
- “When was your last menstrual cycle?”
You know. First date stuff.
“Are you taking supplements?” he asks.
“Yes. Garlic pills--“ I manage to blurt out before he cuts me off.
“Garlic pills? What are you taking garlic pills for, your cholesterol? You’re like a skinny mini.”
Is hot Doctor Dude flirting with me?
After he makes fun of the other daily supplements I take (“Fish oil for your hair and nails? Your hair looks great. I don’t think it’ll be falling out anytime soon.”), he finally instructs me to go get more blood tests and he said he’ll call me regardless of the results.
Later that week, I was having drinks and recanting the story of the hot doctor/probably love of my life with a friend and we decide I definitely need to ask him out. It would be unethical for me not to. We devise a plan.
If he calls and tells me I have Chlamydia, I’ll say, “OK. Thanks. I’ll pick up the prescription at the Duane Reade. Bye.” And hang up the phone and go crawl into a cave and die. But if he calls to tell me I’m fine, I’ll smoothly reply with, “That’s fantastic. We should get a drink to celebrate.”
What can I say? I should be writing books on this shit.
He did call, except I was in the bathroom so he ended up leaving a voice message. I was fine (in the event you were concerned). I tried calling back immediately to ask him more specific questions and then try to ask him out but he was already busy and I didn’t want to seem like a stalker.
So how do I go about this? Do I make up reasons to go to the doctor? Should I just call and I ask him out? Or should I just let it go and have faith that if the universe wants me to be with a hot doctor, it will eventually happen?
For more Olga, check out our sister site, xoVain!