“Jeez! You’ll do anything for a vacation,” my brother said to me as he entered my hospital room.
Tuesday morning, I ran my usual 5k. I felt pretty low, but I just thought it was the meds I was taking for what the walk-in PA thought was diverticulitis. I only had a few more days on the stuff, so I wasn’t too worried. I dragged my butt back out the door to take my son to school, then drove back home to get some breakfast. It was a piece of homemade bread with turkey and mustard. I remember this clearly.
I went to work, and one hour in, I was sitting at the circulation desk, reading book reviews, when this incredible stabbing pain in my abdomen made me double over. I was alone at the time. The patrons were all downstairs (thank goodness) and my boss was on her way back to the library after a school visit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to see her as I was that day. When she came up the stairs, I ran to the bathroom, but all I did was curl in a ball and try to hold myself together. After a few minutes I figured someone might need to use the room, so I went to the workroom to continue my fetal position. I knew I needed to go to the ER, but I was trying to convince myself that I was ok…..when clearly I was not.
So after a few more minutes of whimpering and sweating, I drove myself to the ER (it’s only a mile up the road, so no worries). Once I got there, they took me right in. After having to drink a few bottles of some contrast stuff, I had a cat-scan where they determined that “yes,” something was wrong with my pancreas but not sure what. This was after several hours of being in excruciating pain. The thing is? I can’t even blame the doctor, because he wanted to give me a narcotic for the pain but I wanted to drive home. He finally reassured me that I was not going to be allowed to drive anyway because of the amount of pain I was in. “Fine,” I snarled. “Give me what you got.”
My husband was there at that point, and we both decided it would be better if I was transferred to a hospital closer to our home. So I got to experience my very first ambulance ride! (I said I wanted to do new things for my birthday month, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.) I thought I was going to be sick on the ride, but thankfully that didn’t happen. Instead, my body waited until I immediately walked into my hospital room, where I found the nearest trash can. I do like to make an entrance. 😉
The past few days have been filled with ultrasounds and MRIs and NO FOOD (not even ice chips, just wet swabs to moisten my mouth) and medicine that took away the pain, but also took away all feeling and emotion. I was living in a gray world and fucking hated it.
Yesterday morning, I received my last dose of pain meds. No more. I want to be back in the land of light and color and beauty…and food. (I had my first sip of chicken bullion after 56 hours of nothing but the occasional damp swab, and let me tell you–it was nearly orgasmic.)
I now need answers and I need to get back home. Neither my son nor husband are sleeping, they’re eating junk every night, and my 7-year-old is now nagging my husband. “Papa! My laundry basket is full and it needs to be emptied before Mom gets home!” (Now do you understand why I’m so in love with this child?)
So….answers? There are none. The docs are treating me for pancreatitis, but they have no idea why I have it. No gallstones, I’m not overweight, very little alcohol consumption (and now they tell me I should just skip my 1 or 2 glasses of wine a week because it could aggravate the situation—boo!). I’m the healthiest damn person here! Now how do I prevent this from happening again? I still don’t know. I’m truly hoping the doc can tell me something…..anything.
And honestly, I’m not sure they’ll even let me out today, but I’ve offered to arm wrestle the doc if that’s what it takes. 🙂 With my family and friends rooting for me though, I know I can do just about anything.