When I was a child I had chronic bladder and kidney infections.
It was so common that I had a standing prescription at my doctor’s office for antibiotics. All my mom had to do was call and say I had another infection and the script would automatically be sent to the pharmacy.
So when I presented with symptoms that once again seemed like a kidney infection my mom called the doctor and got my prescription.
The antibiotics did nothing. I was getting sicker and sicker. Fever, vomiting, extreme back pain.
My doctor told my mom to bring me in and she did. My doctor tested my urine and sent it off for culture.
The initial urine test came back negative for infection.
My doctor recommended my mom contact my urologist while we waiting for the culture to come back.
Within 24 hours I had been admitted to the hospital for testing. My urologist and his hospital were a three hour drive from where we lived so we had to leave around four in the morning to get there early that morning.
I don’t remember much about the next three weeks. I do remember the tent being put over my bed to protect me. I remember the word Malaria being spoken. I remember my mom crying as she was told there was nothing else they could do for me and I was probably going to die.
I still didn’t have a diagnosis.
I hadn’t been eating. My pain was getting worse. Nothing they tried worked. I honestly don’t know what all was done while I was there but I know I was scared.
My mom decided to take me home. We were out of options.
As we were loading our stuff into the car and my mom was trying to explain to me we might have to go to Dallas for more options, the doctor that had been taking care of me came running out the front door of the hospital.
They had finally figured out what was wrong with me.
I had a kidney infection.
Submitted by Anon