All I can say is that you know your weekend is off to a great start when, on Friday evening, out to dinner with your roommate, you accidentally walk in on a midget using the restroom.

Just sayin’.

It went DOWNHILL FROM THERE, people.

And today, because Monday mornings are normally SO FANTASTIC to begin with, I hauled my ass once again to the company health clinic and promptly alerted the nurse that I was almost positive I had a UTI.

“How many a year, you think?” asked Chris, the nurse, in a thick Long Island accent.

“Oh, I’d say at least three.”

“That’s considered ‘frequent’.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. And abnormal.”

“GREAT.”

I recognized the symptoms some time Saturday night, the familiar pressure on my bladder, the need to go even more than usual. In a panic, knowing that all clinics were closed through the weekend, I raided my medicine cabinet and discovered three tiny pills, leftover antibiotics from a UTI in 2007. I promptly swallowed one and took the remaining two on Sunday.

I KNOW ALL THE THINGS THAT ARE WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE.

I am aware that antibiotics are meant to be taken until they are gone. I am aware that you put yourself at risk for VERY SERIOUS THINGS, things like BLINDNESS and DEATH should you stop taking antibiotics prematurely. I understand that it was a colossal error to cease taking the medication and keep the three leftover pills for future “JUST IN CASE” purposes.

But people? In 2007, I was 24. And 24 year-olds do STUPID STUPID THINGS. Things like, attempt to save antibiotics because they don’t have health insurance and they know they are prone to UTI’s and they figure the damn thing will come back ANYWAY, might as well keep some on hand. And keep some on hand I did. And you know what, you medical self-righteous people who are judging me?

I AM NOT SORRY AT ALL.

Since my younger self was sort of stupid, my almost-26 year old self reasoned that even though, logically, it would be best just to toss the leftover, probably expired meds, the pain in my urethra was all I could think about and so, against my better judgment, I decided to swallow the painkillers and risk blindness and death because really, I would rather be blind and dead than pee razorblades for an entire weekend. Also, please note that is the longest sentence I have ever written.

Bright and early this morning, after stomping through sidewalks piled high with approximately two feet of snow to get to work, I felt the familiar pangs of my bladder protesting against microscopic bacteria. I WANTED TO IGNORE IT. I wanted to believe I was being a hypochondriac, wanted to believe that since I had taken the leftover antibiotics, I hadn’t given myself enough time to properly diagnose the UTI. Maybe it wasn’t a UTI at all! Maybe I was fine!

Wait. Maybe peeing ten times in five minutes isn’t normal.

And so, I found myself once again in the health clinic, swinging my legs off the end of the examining table, listening to how abnormal I really was and how my poor urethra should probably see a specialist, watching a nurse dip a piece of paper into my urine sample, noting how she nodded her head and muttered, “That sure is the beginning of an infection alright.”

She disappeared for a few minutes and I played with the blood pressure machine, tried to sneak a peek at the pH of my pee, read a pamphlet on sleep apnea. She returned, triumphantly holding a prescription for Cypro-something or other and it didn’t take me more than a few seconds to realize A HA!!!!!!!! It was the same medication I had taken over the weekend. In essence, making poor medical decisions ended up being AMAZINGLY FANTASTIC medical decisions as I figured that I had essentially started kicking the infection’s ass over the weekend with my leftover pills.

You can find many holes in this story, I’m sure and still point out all the ways in which I was wrong. But hey, all you need to know is that I have a lovely little bottle of new pills and that I plan on taking them TO THE VERY END, so help me God. I promise not to leave any behind, not to save any for a rainy UTI-filled day and I just want you to know that should I ever come down with a UTI over the weekend again and should my medicine cabinet remain EMPTY of expired medication, thereby resulting in me, peeing razorblades, screaming in agony for two days straight, I WILL BLAME YOU.

Yes, you.

For now, I’m going to take my abnormal urethra and build an igloo.

You are welcome to join.