TMI Thursday: Lost in translation

OK, folks, time for another TMI Thursday. Click the picture above to read more awesomely cringe-worthy TMIs courtesy of LiLu at LivitLuvit.com.

After Jason and I met in December of 2003, I went back to visit him Costa Rica in February 2004. We had a great time surfing and, uh, getting to know each other again.

Surfing with Jason in February, 2004

The second or third day I was there, which also happened to be my birthday, we were out in the water in the late afternoon, when I had to pee.  So I peed.  And felt that twinge, that slight sting at the end, that made my stomach sink.  Because I knew I was getting a urinary tract infection.

It was the third one I'd ever had in my life (and I haven't had one since, thank goodness).  The first time I got one was in law school, and when I started experiencing severe pain and, oh, yeah, blood while urinating, I seriously thought I was dying.  I went to the student health clinic and the baby-faced med student who treated me gave me some pain pills and some antibiotics -- but not before engaging me in extensive, meaningless chit-chat while I was sitting there holding my crotch in agony -- and I was fine within an hour or so.  

Yes, they're easy to treat.  But holy shit, they're awful, and they go from mildly uncomfortable to excruciating in about 12.7 seconds.

So I'm out in the water, feeling that little painful tingle, thinking, Fuck.  I know what's coming.  And I'm in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, without a fucking clue as to where I can find a doctor who's open after hours.

There was a little chemist shop next to the surf camp, so I went over there and pleaded with the pharmacist to give me something.  And they did, but I can't remember what it was, though I do remember it didn't help.  The night wore on, Jason threw a little birthday party for me, and we were sitting there in the restaurant at the surf camp, hanging out with everyone, as I became more and more uncomfortable.  I had to pee constantly, it was intensely painful, it was getting bloody, and I desperately needed to find a doctor.

I whispered to Jason, practically crying, that I couldn't take the pain anymore and needed to go to a clinic or something.  But at that point, it was 8 at night, and the closest place that was open was an urgent care-type facility about 30 minutes away.  And neither of us had a car.

Jason went and whispered to Jorge, one of the guys who worked at the surf camp, about whether he could take us in the surf camp's van.  Apparently, he wasn't supposed to, but he did it anyway.  So we climbed into the van and went speeding down this narrow country road to the clinic.

Once we got there, everything was fine. The doctor was very nice and perfectly competent, but he was out of oral antibiotics, so he asked me if I wanted to get the antibiotics in a shot.

And I'm all, yeah yeah, I've got a monster pain threshold and no issues with needles, bring it on. I leaned over and exposed the top of my butt cheek.

"You might want to lie down on the table. This could hurt a little."

Mmm hmm. Fine. Whatever.

I got up on the table and proceeded to get the most painful shot of my life.  It felt like it took hours, and the doctor kept pushing and rubbing and jiggling the needle in my butt, trying to help my muscle absorb the thick liquid he was pushing into me. It took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. But then it was over.

I hobbled outside to find the boys, who had decided to wait by the car.  My ass-cheek was throbbing and sore.

The car was there, but there was no sign of Jason or Jorge.

I looked down the street.  Off in the distance, I saw a blinking sign for Imperial, the national beer of Costa Rica.

Motherfuckers.

I limped down the street and found the guys sitting at a bar.  Rather than stay mad, I joined them and ordered a beer.

I was telling the guys about the experience at the doctor, mostly in Spanish because Jorge's English wasn't great.  

Jorge asked me, "¿tienes infección de la pepa?"

I leveled a withering stare at Jason. "'Infección de la pepa?' You told him I have a pussy infection?? So now everyone at the surf camp is going to think I'm some kind of nasty skank?"

Jason's eyes got big, then he shrugged and looked sheepish.  He pretended to be intently concentrating on the foam on the side of his glass.

I turned to Jorge, rolling my eyes at Jason in the process.  "No.  No es 'de la pepa.'  Es urinario.  No es 'de la pepa.'"  It's not "de la pepa," it's urinary.

Jorge nodded as if to say, yeah, right.

We finished our beers and made our way back to the surf camp.  I got better and Jason and I enjoyed the rest of our weekend.

And of course, I did end up marrying the guy. But I think the lovely and wise Mrs. Banks had it right when she said, "though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they're rather stupid."