... made glorious winter by the urologist. We hope.
It seems there will be no pills for me. I had high hopes I would be on Mom's miracle drug, Vesicare, but it seems I have the wrong type of difficulty. Perhaps the urge vs stress vs mixed question will be cleared up by the gamut of tests and preparations.
First: I go see a physical therapist who will teach me ... how to do Kegel exercises.
"Oh, no," I said smugly to the doctor, "I have been doing Kegels since I was a teenager." The doctor suggested I should go just to see if I've been doing them right.
I've since read they can put electrodes UP ones vagina and measure the force or torque or psi. Bionic vagina. Think of the photo! Think of it.
I'm going to see this therapist not only so I can crush her measuring devices, but so I can prove Gary wrong. I had lunch with him after the doctor appointment, and he said:
"I don't want to offend you, but you aren't exactly fit. You don't have any muscle tone anywhere else, why do you think you have these bulging muscles inside you?"
I clenched my Kegels in quiet rage. He went on to suggest I once had Kegel power, but unless Kegels are worked out by lying in bed he didn't think I retained the finger-crushing force of my youth. Later at home he did a little subjective test on me WHILE HE WAS WATCHING TV and claims I have weakened.
So, that's a good part of why I want to see the therapist, to measurably prove him wrong, plus I gotta get my Kegels in fighting shape. The Internet says menopause will sap Kegel tone.
After I see the therapist I have to spend two days at home keeping a bladder diary. After that I take some antibiotic and get a urodynamic test to see things go in and come out correctly, and if things are still not resolved, I get surgery to put my crotch in a sling.
Yes, they actually make a sling to ratchet up your urethra. I imagine this new tilt to my urethra will just make me piss upward like a fountain when I choke. Another option the doctor didn't mention is a physical plug, which will just wound me in the foot when I choke.
Hopefully it doesn't get that far, because they must cut an ONE INCH SLICE in my vagina to install the crotch sling. Then no sex for six weeks. (I'm thinking sex may be in the picture soon, because I followed up my kissing dream the next night with another so deeply perverted I can't even talk about it here. Worse than the threesome dream with Mom and me and Bruce Willis.)
So, I start by calling the physical therapist tomorrow. First I will ask if she has a Kegel biofeedback machine that sounds a buzzer when you do it right. Then I will bulk up and crush my husband for his disrespect.