I wish I wasn't right...

For those of you that are a part of my at least monthly if not daily life, you know I've been suffering for about three weeks at the hands of incompetency provided by my dear friends at UW Medical Center. Snce the saga is now coming to a close, and not a pretty one, allow me to finally shed some light as to what the hell as been going on.
Three weeks ago I noticed some discomfort downstairs. Those who know my lovely randomly errupting ovaries of doom history may think they know what's coming, and hey, I did too. I booked a doctor appointment for Monday, and explained that I was concerned one of my ovaries may be ticking down to doomsday again. Over the weekend while I waited for the appointment, I noticed the pain becoming more acute, and well...centered. Not exactly the geography of a cysty-boom, which happens on either the right or left side of the abdomen. So, I go in, get poked and prodded quite uncomfortably, get a lot of fluids removed, and am told "Not a cyst".
"Sooooo...what are we looking at?"
"It's more near your cervix. Ever had Gonorrhea or Clamydia?"
"WHAT?!!"
"Ectopic pregnancy..."
"Dude, I've been with one partner for over two years, and we religiously use condoms AND birthcontrol"
"We'll test you for both anyways"
"Fine, well, I know those are not the culprit, so any other options?"
"Cervical Cancer or Endomytriosis"..................Fuck.
So, this doc sends me down to UW for an ultrasound first thing in the morning, and I call mom to completely freak out. She pops up, takes me to the 'sound, and we start frantically calling my doc for results. The dipshit takes 6 hours to finally get ahold of me (oh, and in the interim, his office gives me 8 different reasons why my calls aren't returned, only to find out that night that he never even came into the damn office and was passing me off onto a nurse. Shoreline Clinic BAD). He's referring me to the Women's Clinic in the U district, which I was right fucking AT during the ultrasound but now missed my window to book an ASAP appointment. I call the hotline in the morning, now the pain is becoming ungodly, and I'm told I have to wait weeks to get in. I start whimpering, and they tell me to go to the ER.
OK, here's where it gets screwed up. By "pain getting worse", it's only during certain times. Namely, when I am...peeing. Granted, I'm moving pretty slow, have added nausea to the symptom roster, and sudden movement/jostling around causes a lot of spikes, but if I hit the toilet I am SCREAMING. But...the doc in shoreline already ran my urine test and there was no urinary tract/bladder infection present. Just a high white blood cell count. So what the hell?
After waiting 5 hours in the UW's emergency waiting room, I am scuttled back into a room, and stripped, non to nicely either. They jam a nedly in my arm to do an IV and blood draw, which promptly breaks and my mom enters the room to see blood shooting out of my arm. Nice, eh? The get it in, I unfortunately have to go through the hell of peeing, and as I hobble to the watercloset aforementioned IV in my arm pops loose and I now start trailing a nice heavy stream of blood down the hallway. I faint, mom freaks, nurses go agro. Yeah, this ER was a great fucking idea. They get it situated, and apparently to make up for it start pumping my IV with dillodin, which is medical term for HappyFloatyFuckYouUp Stuff. They run my fluids through the ringer, poke some more, and STILL have no clue what's causing this. All my tests come back clean, with the exception of my white blood cell count. IE, something's wrong, we just don't know where.
I get my veins pumped with more happy juice, and a couple of antibiotics, and am sent home with a perscription for Oxycodone (yea, it's that bad), Zofran (supposed to help with nausea, but sooooo didn't!), and an antibiotic called Doxy-something. Since they gave me so much dillodin, I was dizzy and apparently not talking quite right, because I was in the damn stratosphere. My landlord had to help mom get me upstairs, because I couldn't figure out which way to move my feet.
The entire next day I slept between pills and projectile vomit episodes. I had to see the docs the next day for a follow up, who were shocked the doxy didn't work, freaked at the accuracy of my vomit aim, and decided to stop all treatment. And so I was SENT HOME. Mind you, I still feel like I'm being stabbed everytime I pee, can barely walk, and can't keep food down, much less even try since my appetite went away. But these bitches decide the best course is to "wait it out". When I ask what to do when the pain gets worse, I'm told directions to that hellhole they call an ER.
So.....yeah...I actually wait almost an entire week before crawling back in there. I pee in more cups, stifle vomit while they try to find my veins for an umpteenth blood draw, and endure another pelvic molestation. They've now decided my "exquisite pain" is centered around my BLADDER (no shit, folks), and give me some more antibiotics that I am promised won't turn me into the hurling Annie Oakley again. And of course, if it gets worse...ya know where the ER is!
God I hate these people. Tests all come back negative, even for signs of kidney stones. Oddly, nobody has bothered doing a catscan. Well, I don't get an answer on that. The 'script does no good, and I finally ask why I am not seeing a urologist if we determined it's not in my reproductive setup. The answer I am given is the most miraculously stupid thing I have ever heard...
"We've decided that because you have such a history of problems in your abdomen (those cysts), you're nerves are damaged and they are just misfiring" I haven't had a damn cyst in two years. WHat the FUCK?!?!
Does that explain the peeing?
No.
GIVE ME A DAMN REFERRAL.
I'd love to say I was immediately referred into the urology clinic of UW, but alas, no. I spent two days going back and forth with those bitches, flat out denying me, or giving me the "we'll get back to you" treatment. I finally get a call saying it went through, call the uro-clinic, and I'm told the next appointment is in November. I start contemplating suicide. "Oh, but you can always go back to the ER..."
So, I decide to go to the ER, but I go to a differnt hospital, because UW is way out of the way from where I live. They do a catscan, find nothing, and upon my explaination of bein a patient from UW, I'm promptly treated like a leper and handed my chart with the warm sentiment to go back to the harpies...oh, and here's some ciodin for pain. Luckily, one of the nurses takes pity on my now frantic missives of"I don't want drugs I want a DIAGNOSIS" and tells me to research my symptoms, and when I go back to the women's clinic to ask for a surgical consult. Apparently Surgical Consult is the magic words for Treat Me MotherFuckers.
So, I jump on WebMD, type in my symptoms, and find something called Interstitial Cystitis that matches all my symptoms to a T...right down to the whole nothing showing up on urinalysis, catscans, etc.
AHA! I scrible down the term, book an appointment, and say very loudly to the nurse "SURGICAL CONSULT", to which she turns pale, scampers away, and get three doctors. They start poking and fluid taking, and one of them says..."I think I know what this is.."
I promptly ask "Have I been tested for Interstitial Cystiphic?" because I forgot how to pronounce it.
But...well, yeah, that's what it is, according to her and a few other head nods. She gently explained that she couldn't do anything, but now earnestly helped me get in with a urologist at Virginia Mason, who I see next week. I left feeling victorious, because I was able to get a damn diagnosis.
The shit part is I didn't bother reading more about this hard to pronounce problem til I got home tonight. I was expecting to read about a pretty pill I get to take for five days and no more peepain. But, well, I really wish I wasn't right this time. Apparently it's a permanent condition, not just a minor annoyance, and I have a few surgeries in my future, a cystoscopy, a cystoscopy hydrodistention, biopsy, and a few other tongue twisters. I'll have to change my diet, and get with a "community" because it's a relatively newly discovered illness, and there's not a whole lot available on it yet. I'll get to have my bladder coated with random crap, and DAMN I wish I wasn't right this time.
Folks, I hate being weak and reaching out, I frankly suck at it, but if you are still reading after this long ass post, please know that Mama..well, she needs a litle love right now. I'm pretty freaked out, not only at the realization of how longterm this is, but about how little is even known about this godforsaken problem. I spent the last three weeks embarrassed as hell about explaining that it hurts when I pee. But now, well, when I'm about to have my bladder friggin disected, it's a little les silly and prety damn unnerving.