Minutiae
Posted on | 2 years, 3 months ago, in the late evening | 1 Comment
Since there was some confusion about my previous post’s subject line, well, here you go.
And first of all, and right out of the gate — thank you so much, everyone, for all the commiseration and well-wishes. You guys sure know how to make a girl feel loved, and I appreciate it immensely. I guess I ought to post something a little more in-depth and some follow-up, as a matter of general principle and curiosity satisfaction for those of you who don’t mind a bit of TMI.
So I didn’t go to the ER until I’d been having real problems for about four hours. The reason for this is two-fold: (a). I didn’t want to be one of those people who hits up the ER for every little thing,* and (b). I thought it was merely indigestion, or possibly food poisoning following an enormous and ill-advised lunch of nachos.
By as the night wore on and the pain went from “merely gastrointestinal” to “Lipizzaner Stallions practicing their drills across my abdomen and back,” I reconsidered my reluctance and — following two long hot showers that failed to improve my situation — cried out for a little face time with a doctor. By then, I couldn’t stand upright and I was just lying around crying, which ain’t like me.
Poor Aric. He tried so hard to be accommodating, and the ride to the hospital would’ve done Mr. Toad proud. He dropped me off at the ER window and went to park the car while I did my best to string a few sentences together for the nice lady at the front desk. Then I collapsed into a chair, curled up into a ball, and waited for Triage Man.
Triage Man was perhaps in his forties, with a 70s porn-stache and an English accent. He began taking my vitals and complaints, and then there was trouble. I’d been talking STABBY IN TEH BELLEH and then, all of a sudden, I realized I was going to spew. Ensuing conversation:
Me: Oh God, I’m going to throw up.
Triage Man: All right, I’ll get you a bucket.
Me: You’re going to have to move faster than that, buddy—BLARGH
Triage Man: [:: doesn't blink as I barf all over his desk ::]
Me: Oh God, I’m so sorry.
Triage Man: [On the phone] Do we have an open room in back, for a 32 year old female patient with severe abdominal pains and vomiting?
Person on the other end of the line: [:: sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher ::]
Triage Man: No, not vomiting earlier. Vomiting now. Right now. As we speak. All over triage, yes.
Me: [:: dies of embarrassment ::]
Moments later I’d been given a gurney to curl up and whine upon, and shortly thereafter I got a room of my own. In this room of my own I was treated to a fashion-forward hospital gown with full-on fanny-flashing action, plus an assortment of heated blankets right out of a dryer. I was given a cup to pee in and (after a couple of tries) an IV drip. Then a cat scan. Then I fell asleep under my pile of warm blankets.
Alas, poor Aric was confined to a knobby-looking chair for the next few hours, but he was patient and sweet, and I was exceedingly glad to have him there. That adorable footprint-shape on his face (from where he zoned out and started snoring cheek-first against the wall) is a badge of honor which he did valiantly earn.
So the results are as follows: I have a collection of kidney stones, one of which decided that last night was its big debut. They’re smallish, and very likely treatable with meds instead of sonic therapy or surgery; but I’ve made an appointment with a specialist for Wednesday morning, so I’ll know more then. I was also creeping up towards an infection, since the wayward stone was blocking up processes and shoving bacteria back up into my kidney.
When all was said and done, they cut me loose around 3:00 a.m. Once I got back home, I threw up some more and then failed to sleep due to the sensation that my bladder was wearing a toaster oven for a hat, yet I could not pee. So I sat up and watched TV and finally, come dawn-ish, Yellow River Productions resumed operation. I am forced to assume that I passed the troublesome rock, but the urologist is just going to have to forgive me if — after a night in the ER, no sleep, and a couple hours hooked up to a hydromorphone drip — I lacked the either the presence of mind or simple coordination to strain my own damn urine to make sure of it.
Yeah. They gave me a kit and everything.
It’s … erm … cute. It looks like a mixed drink kit Ikea might sell on Tatooine.
Anyway. For the moment I’m all right — just exhausted. I’ve hardly slept since Saturday, and I just finished half a can of Spaghettios and a fruit cup. It’s the first food I’ve kept down since yesterday morning, and so far, so good.
I’ve got meds. The antibiotics are sitting fine, but I’m not entirely sure why I filled the hydromorphone prescription; I don’t plan to take them. I’m not in real pain anymore, and doctor-given pain meds wreak havoc on my stomach. Frankly, I’m happier being a little uncomfortable than ready to projectile vomit at a moment’s notice.
And now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to take a day or two off blogging. I need a break, and I need more sleep, and I think I need another fruit cup. You’ll probably be able to find me over on Twitter, though; it’s less labor-intensive to post a line or two than to type out proper content.
Have a good one, guys, and thanks again.
I’ll be around, but I want a few days to get good and sparkling again.
* My dad and my stepmother are a CRNA and a long-time ER nurse, respectively. I grew up in and around hospitals, and I find them strangely comforting, but I also am aware that the emergency room is all too often abused by trivialities. I’m not talking about people who lack health insurance and have no other recourse; I’m talking about over-insured people who feel free to wander in over a hangnail.
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One Response to “Minutiae”
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June 4th, 2008 @ 8:57 am
Erg! I am so sorry to hear about your recent ER visit. I work in a hospital (and so does my wife and about half of the other people who sit down at the holiday table), so I know what you mean about not wanting to go in unless you absolutely have to.
I did the same thing when I passed Sputnik, er, I mean, my kidney stone. My wife kept trying to get me to go to the EC (because we have a Center instead of a Room), but I just kept getting ready for work despite the pain, nausea, and claminess. Finally the pain drove me to one knee and I acquiesced.
It must have been a busy night, because the unit was full, so they put we on the nearly empty peds ward. This led to the hysterical scenario where a resident walks is with my chart in front of his face and said
“Hello Mikey, how are you…oh, my you’re a big boy, aren’t you?”
Sure, it’s funny NOW. Actually, I think they had me on some mind altering drip, so it was pretty funny back then too.
Hope this gives you a smile, get better soon.