What a couple of days I've had. Goodness. I was nearly arrested yesterday and today I have spent a good few hours in the doctors room, to sort out the wonderful sensation that feels like I'm pissing a combination of rusty razor blades and shattered glass.
Let me start with yesterday. After a fairly chilled out weekend, I was driving to meet up with Twin for breakfast when I drove smack bang into a road block. Ok, I didn't literally drive into it, but you know what I mean.
Now, I still have not got my drivers license or ID book since it was stolen in my Smash and Grab. Not for the lack of trying, let me tell you, but please don't get me started on Home Affairs or the Traffic Departments.
So, there is little Blogshell driving on her merry way looking forward to a Sunday brunch of poached eggs, bacon and coffee.
I suddenly saw the traffic and thought there was an accident up ahead but the blue flashing lights turned into a road block and I honestly shat myself. I tried the postive thoughts like:
Please don't stop me.
They're not going to stop me.
I'm going to sail straight through with a smile and a wave.
Don't stop me.
PLEASE don't stop me.
Oh My God, what if they stop me?
They won't stop me.
This went on and on and I pleaded with the universe even more desperately, the closer I edged to the front.
The Metro cop waved me on and I nearly blew kisses when I realised that he was actually waving at me to pull over. My heart sank.
My license disc has also not been attached to my window purely because I don't have a sticker-thingy so the piece of paper sits on my passenger seat.
I'm already making excuses for this ; already on a losing streak. The conversation went like this...word for word, this will be forever tattooed into my mind.
"Can I have your license please?"
"Yes, um, about that...well..um...I was smash and grabbed and it was stolen."
"Ah madam. You are not serrrious! Ah madam, but now? Show me your ID book."
"Well, that was stolen too. I can show you my passport, it's the only form of identification I have. It's in the boot of my car. I don't leave my bag lying around here anymore."
I step out, get my bag, hand him my passport.
"Ah, but now? Where is your Affidavit to prove you have a case number and that your license was stolen?"
"Huh? I wasn't given one. Didn't even think of that to be completely honest."
"Ah, you are lying! You lie to me this day!"
"I promise you right now I was smash and grabbed and I do have a valid drivers license. I got it when I was 19. I've had it for 6 years now."
"Madam, you cannot prove this! Please step out of your vehicle!"
"Why? Um..." I get out and he calls the female Metro officer over in his African language.
The woman told me she was going to search me. I couldn't believe it! My voice started to wobble and I wanted to know why.
"We have to arrest you." The male officer said.
"WHAT?? Oh. My. God! You can't arrest me! I can't have a criminal record. I'm a victim of crime! I can't be arrested!"
"We have no way of proving you own a license."
"Wait, wait...you can phone the Douglasdale police station and get my case number. You'll see I'm not lying - it's all stated there!"
He took his handcuffs off his waist belt and I saw my future flash before my eyes. Poof went my clothes; instead ugly prison outfits flashed across my eyeballs. Poof went my 2.4 children (or whatever the stat is), handsome husband, golden retriever and home in a gated community; instead I wondered if my overweight hairy sweaty prison cellmate would want to spoon at night in a teeny tiny dark and damp cell.
Eventually I managed to tell them I would personally drive over (with them if they wanted) and get the case number and Affidavit.
They agreed I could go (on my own) to the police station as long as I came back. To ensure I did they took my registration number, ID number and all the good things they needed. I was almost waiting for them to take blood; a urine sample and eyeball scan, they were so thorough!
I shat myself.
I went to the police station, got the bloody piece of paper and case number and drove back. They took my name off the system so that I wouldn't be arrested.
I wept. In the safety and "privacy" of my car of course.
I need to get my drivers license immediately!
This morning I woke up and felt like I had the mother of all pee's on board. I was absolutely bursting. Sorry for TMI, but hey...whatever.
I went to the loo, as you do, when you feel the desperate call of nature screaming at you. No gush....just a small trickle. A small but excruciating trickle. Oh. Fuck.
Bladder Infection. How? No idea.
The whole morning I kept feeling as if I was desperate to wee and dreaded going for that burning trickle to bring on a bead of cold sweat on my forehead, goosebumps and a clenched face.
I sat in the doctors rooms waiting to see the doc while I had spluttering kids with runny noses and coughs that could rival Great Danes around me.
Breathing on me.
I sat, clenched legs, wishing the doctor would hurry the fuck up. Finally I got to hop up for a urine sample and to lie on my doctors bed for her to prod and poke my kidneys and tummy.
She gave me a 2 page script (I have so many pills to take, that if you shake me;I'll rattle) and told me that one of the pills would give me instant relief.
Yes, yes, yes!!!!!!!!!
I wanted to kill. Perhaps I would have been arrested. Thank goodness we can't be arrested for our thoughts.
The queue at the Pharmacy was ridiculous and the pharmacists took their sweet time!
I needed to pee/trickle sooo badly and now I couldn't. It was making me break out in a new sweat.
I finally got through to the front and waited for the stupid pharmacist to s-l-o-w-l-y decipher my doctors handwriting...OK, well maybe she's not stupid if she can decode that and well, yes, she is a pharmacist...but seriously lady, I. am. in. pain. Hurry. up. before. I. force. feed. you. lethal. doses. of. pills.
She took 15 minutes to fill my script. No exaggeration. I watched the clock behind her head purely because if I looked directly at her I may have turned her into ashes.
I feel much better now...I'm much calmer and there's no urge to pee every 5 seconds and the passing rusty razor blades/shattered glass sensation seems to have died down too.
Note to self: Blogshell, don't have natural child birth. You will never survive the pain.