I am writing you this post under unusual circumstances.
Two hour ago, I discharged from the hospital in a mad rush to make it home in time to get Jude ready for his last day school Christmas party, in which he wraps a present he made for us, and last year it was a huge list of why Andy and I are awesome, and it made me cry for, like, four days, and I refuse to allow him to miss that, 1. Because he is super excited to wrap this year’s gift with his classmates, and 2. that school costs fourteen vagillion dollars, and if me getting a laminated scroll filled with crayoned reasons of why I am the best person ever, I think it’s a fair trade and will make my LinkedIn that much stellar.
*I just threw up. be ready for this to happen 40 more times during the authorship of this post, which I probably didn’t even have to share, but this is like the James Cameron 3D movie of posts, in that you see, feel, touch and smell the whole experience. You are welcome.*
I wanted to write this all down to you, before I took one of my pills and spent, what I am guessing, is the next two days in bed throwing up and covered in ice packs. Bear in mind, I haven’t slept yet and I am also still under the influence of morphine, hence the vomiting and overall brain weirdness.
So, here is what happened.
Last night, around midnight, I laid down in bed feeling kinda nauseous.
By 12:30am, it had morphed from just nausea to a cramp in my side, like from running. Only, this felt different, like deeper. I tried a heating pad, and after ten more minutes, it had escalated from a cramp, to all out pain in my back and right side.
I had never felt anything like it. It was…excruciating. Laying on my side, my back, my stomach, standing up, leaning over, nothing offered any relief.
I screamed for Andy in the living room, who came in to find me on the bed sobbing, and seeing as he was already playing some dorky online wizard role playing game with one of his best friends, who is also a doctor, he put him on speaker over the computer to ask me questions.
None of which I could answer, because the pain was, honest to God, that bad. All I could do was moan and cry.
It was decided really quickly I needed to go to the emergency room.
Within ten minutes, my mom was here to watch the kids and we were in the car.
The entire ride, I remember wishing I would pass out from the pain, just to just get a moment of relief.
In fact, I was screaming so loudly, Andy diverted from our original plan of going to our normal hospital, to pulling into one that was ten minutes closer. Even though it’s way older looking, and I told him ten times I heard a rumor way more people die there than the other hospitals. Which pissed him off, because he was like, you made me get my vasectomy at this hospital, and I was like, right, because I can’t find my way home from the other hospital in the city without your help, and you would have been all drugged up and out of it and I had to weigh the costs and benefits, and decided a vasectomy was a fool proof procedure a monkey could do, and that trumped getting lost and raped downtown.
But really, why are we even arguing about this now, I needed an OR prepped, something inside is pissed.
We go in, and the registering nurse tried to ask me a million nonsensical question, but I was just, not even really coherent, and Andy got all hot and sexy like those guys in the movies like, listen lady, my wife can’t even stand up, here is our insurance card, enough of this bullshit, get her in a room.
We get in a room, nurses go in and out, I am basically just flopping around like a fish crying.
Then, the doctor comes in, and I immediately decide that I don’t like him. He appears to be drunk, and he looks exactly like John Boehner, whose politics I hate, and have concluded is a huge liar, as there is no way his name is pronounced BAY-NER.
So, drunk Dr. Boner feels around, I totally regret wearing leggings, because they’re basically stretched up to my nipples because when they cut me off at the waist they make me look fatter than, well, than what leggings normally make me look, and decides that, probably, I have a kidney stone.
He injects Toradol into my IV for pain relief and sends me for a CT.
Throughout the CT, the pain was getting worse, not better.
The technician kept asking me if there was a chance I could be pregnant. I said no, and she was like, are you sure, and then it hit me….OMG I pregnant and in labor and I don’t even know it! This is my penance for mocking those stupid women on that show that go in the bathroom to poop and come out with a baby.
I tried to hold it together, both physically and mentally, because oh my God, I don’t even have names picked out, but by the end of the CT, the technician was paging the nurse to pick me up fast and bring much stronger pain medication.
Which she did. Morphine. And, within a minute my body felt warm, and for the first time, I exhaled and opened my eyes.
I was semi-conscious when I returned to the room.
People went in and out, drawing blood, talking to Andy, I think I was dreaming on and off.
I don’t remember much, but I do remember this short dream about how I opened a furniture store that sold glass coffee tables that had legs made from real dogs. Which is silly, because really, I have no idea what type of dog is even coffee table height, and I am too sore to hold Henry down so I can measure his legs.
Drunk Dr. Boner came in to tell me I did not, in fact, have a kidney stone, rather a 3 centimeter ovarian cyst that has ruptured and causing blood to leak in my abdomen, and he needed to monitor me more to make sure I was stable, then he would be sending me home with percoset. He told me told me things would be pretty painful for 2-3 days, and he gave me another dose of morphine.
He left, and I was like, Andy, go ask him if percoset is safe for the baby, and Andy was like, what baby?
The next thing I remember, we are pulling into the garage, and putting me into bed with a big glass of Verner’s Ginger Ale, which, as everyone knows, is only used when you are puking your guts out or dying.
Based on the painful face Andy makes when he has to say the words ovarian and pre-menopausal, you’d think I was doing both.