For as long as I can remember, I was plagued with chronic urinary tract and kidney infections. Growing up in a small town, my mom and I would venture into the local family practitioner’s office almost weekly. The doctor would write me a prescription for an antibiotic and send us on our way, without any answers. Essentially we were treating the symptoms but never curing the ailment.
Much like the addiction that was soon to come, I remember the pain eroding my quality of life. I’d spend hours crying, running into the bathroom, and begging for relief. One day, I went for my routine office visit and I was greeted by a fill-in doctor. Anxiously annoyed, I updated the doctor on my medical history. He quickly realized that my frequent visits warranted further investigation.
Finally, someone validated my pain.