Let's Talk About Bladders!

Hey, ladies! I realize this might be an awkward post, but I want to share what recently happened to me in the event that it might help someone else. Remember (as if there were any doubt!) that I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, and this is not intended to be medical advice. I'm just sharing my experience with you!

Everyone knows that your bladder can be affected by things you DRINK, but did you know that it can also be sensitive to things you EAT? I certainly had never considered that fact...at least not until recently. Here's what happened to me, and maybe it's happened to you, too!

Last fall I was suddenly hit with what I thought to be a bladder infection. If you've ever had one, you will never forget those uncomfortable symptoms! It hit so hard that I sent Spouse to the grocery store late at night on a cranberry juice run. I knew from past experience that with enough cranberry juice, I might be able to stop this bladder infection in its tracks.

Long story short: The cranberry juice didn't work. By the time I went to the doctor a few days later, I was a miserable mess. 

When being tested for a bladder infection, the doctor's office will require you to provide a urine sample. I was 100% confident that as soon as the test results came back, I'd get my antibiotic and be on my way to recovery. 

But there was no sign of infection. My urine, they said, was perfect! On a different day, I might have been excited to hear that news but at that moment, I WANTED MY ANTIBIOTICS! I was sent home with nothing. No answers, no medication.

Even longer story short: This story repeated itself over the next few months. I went back to the doctor's office two more times with what I KNEW to be a bladder infection, each time testing negative. In between visits, the symptoms would improve, then get worse again, at which point I would drink more and more cranberry juice.

In spite of the negative test results, I still believed I had some kind of Secret Undetectable Bladder Infection. Since I couldn't get antibiotics to fix it, I was sure that if I could just drink enough cranberry juice, that would eventually solve the problem. 

Remember the Blueberry Girl from Willy Wonka? I was headed in this direction...turning myself into a CRANBERRY!

 

Then I discovered cranberry supplements. I decided I'd add these to my cranberry juice regimen. (NOT THE BRIGHTEST IDEA I'VE EVER HAD)

 

You may not be surprised to learn that after a few weeks on my Extreme Cranberry Program, I developed shooting pains in my bladder. I went back to the doctor who recommended that I go to a urologist to rule out REALLY BAD STUFF.

As the doctor talked me down from my panic attack, she mentioned a condition called interstitial cystitis. So before making an appointment with the urologist who I knew would tell me I was dying, I thought I'd look it up. 

BINGO. Every symptom matched. This condition mimics bladder infection...without the infection. And it can be managed in most cases by avoiding acidic foods and drinks.

Here's the gist: In women of a certain age, fluctuating hormones produce changes in the lining of the bladder, making it thinner and more "irritable". Foods and beverages that didn't irritate the bladder before can suddenly begin to do so. Anything acidic -- coffee, grapefruit, CRANBERRY JUICE, tomatoes, yogurt -- can cause the bladder to feel irritated and painful. Even bananas can cause irritation, not because they're acidic but because of the potassium they contain.

 The list of food culprits includes just about everything I was eating! On a daily basis, I was consuming coffee, yogurt, at least two bananas, many glasses of cranberry juice, cranberry supplements, and a variety of other acidic goodies. Cranberry juice really DOES work for bladder infections, but it's one of the worst things you can drink if you're suffering from an irritated bladder.
 
No wonder I was in such a mess! My poor bladder was obviously in a state of high irritation.

I decided to modify my diet to see if that would help. After eliminating or reducing these foods and increasing my water intake, the shooting pain subsided and my symptoms improved substantially. After several weeks of modifying my diet, they completely disappeared. Of course, too much coffee can still cause a bit of discomfort, but I've found that drinking plenty of water will generally help.

Do I think I actually have interstitial cystitis? I don't know, and only a urologist could tell me that. But reducing my acidic food and beverage intake solved the problem, and that's really all I cared about! I reported this happy outcome to the doctor on my next visit.

I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only woman "of a certain age" who has experienced this. If you've had the symptoms of bladder infection without the infection, try reducing your intake of acidic foods and beverages. It worked for me!

As for the cranberry juice, I only use a splash of it now and then to make a cosmopolitan! :)

jp

Life: Making Better Choices

I started taking blood pressure medication this summer. I've suspected my blood pressure was high for some time. Years, in fact. I've ignored it, blamed it on circumstances, made excuses for it. I didn't want to take medication. In some twisted way, I considered taking pills a failure. Choosing to not take them meant that I was in control.

I believe that we all see life through a filter of the events that have affected us. Those events shape how we view the world and how we make decisions. And although my mom would not be pleased that I'm sharing details of her story, it illustrates how making the wrong choices can ultimately hurt not only you but those around you, in ways you would never have anticipated.

One of my my most vivid childhood memories is of standing at the kitchen counter and watching my mom carefully slice pills with a paring knife. At first I didn't understand what she was doing or why she was doing it. Over time I watched as she shaved more and more from those pills until eventually there were no more pills to cut.

You see, when I was in first or second grade, my mom had had open heart surgery to close a hole between the chambers of her heart. She was one of the first two patients in our area to have the surgery, and I later came to understand that it had been a very risky operation. There were even newspaper articles written about it. Although she never verbalized it to me at the time, when I discovered her funeral plans tucked into the family Bible, I realized that my mom had not expected to survive that surgery.

But she did survive. She thrived, in fact. The only downside was that she had to take one pill each day for the rest of her life. 

At some point, Mom felt so well that she decided she no longer needed to see her cardiologist, the one who had saved her life. And those pills? She would wean herself from them by slicing off a little bit at a time. To her, that meant taking control.

Many years and many heartaches later, I have my theories as to why my mom didn't want to take her medication or see a doctor. But the truth of the matter is that Mom did just fine without her pills -- or at least it appeared that way -- until the last year of her life.

Mom's breast cancer diagnosis came as a huge shock to me. It wasn't a shock to her, but that's a story for another day. Unfortunately, her tumor could not be removed until reducing it in size through chemotherapy. We found some relief in learning that her cancer, while considered "locally advanced", was the type that typically responded well to chemo. Although the situation was grim, at least there was a treatment plan. In fact, her prognosis looked promising.

Sadly, it was at that point that all those years of neglecting her health caught up with her. Tests revealed that failing to take her medication had caused her heart to enlarge and weaken significantly. Chemo, they said, would be too much for her heart to endure. 

I was shell-shocked to hear those words. My mom could not receive the very treatment she needed to save her life. In one sickening moment, I realized the horrendous impact of failing to take those pills.

After consulting with other oncologists, her doctor came up with an alternative treatment plan which proved surprisingly effective in reducing her tumor in size. In the meantime, she was started on medication to strengthen her heart, with the hope that it could tolerate the chemotherapy which would eventually be required following surgery. 

But that day never came. On a Friday before her scheduled surgery date, she received a call from her surgeon, hung up the phone, and suffered a massive heart attack. All those years of neglect had weakened her heart beyond repair. When push came to shove, when she needed the emotional and physical reserves to get through the stress, her heart just couldn't handle it.

There's a lot more to this story, but it's not for today. Did my mom -- or God -- take ultimate control to avoid a surgery she didn't want to have? Who knows. It's taken a good deal of painful therapy for me to unravel -- and re-ravel -- all of those conflicting thoughts which make grief so complex and move past the anger I feel toward my mom. On most days, I've come to terms with it, but occasionally those feelings bubble up inside me. I loved my mom dearly, but I believe that if she had made different -- better -- choices, we would still have her here today. Oh, how I wish she had chosen differently.

After all these years grappling with how we lost her, I have come to one very sad conclusion: How easily she might have prevented so much heartache -- saved herself, even -- by taking that one little pill each day. ONE PILL.

So back to this summer. Once again I found myself sitting at the doctor's office, my blood pressure sky high. It occurred to me that by continuing to neglect my heart, I was guilty of the same behavior that ultimately killed my mom. I am my mother's daughter, that's for sure.

 But that's where it stops. I can -- and will -- make better choices. I looked at my doctor and said, "I need to do something about this." 

I took control of my health in a different way. I made a better choice -- for me and those who care about me. After years of angst, it turned out to be a simple solution.

I take the pill. 

Missing you, Mom.