“Irony is just honesty with the volume cranked up.”
Y’all are never going to believe this…..
So about four seconds after I hit publish on that last damn post (Pancre-Ass Act 1 & Act 2), I swear to you I felt like I got hit by the proverbial Mack truck. And obviously I forgot to knock on wood because Husband and I ended up spending the better part of Saturday evening and Sunday morning in our home away from home, along with the trailer park best, in the ER.
I’m sure you didn’t notice but my Pancre-Ass posts were published at four in the morning on the 30th. I was up writing that next great American novel about my pancre-ass because, surprise surprise, I was feeling a little worse than usual and so obviously my broken-ness was taking up a significant amount of gray matter. And in a less than ladylike manner, kicking the optimistic thoughts of puppies and rainbows out on their buttocks.
All I could think was: You-Have-Absolutely-Got-To-Be-Effing-Kidding-Me. Now pancre-ass? You pick NOW to freak out? Nobody invited you into this conversation and obviously you think you’re such a freakin’ comedian pulling off a stunt like this. Does anyone want some extra irony? Because I got a little too much of it going on around here.
(And yes I do often talk to myself in the third person. And no, we don’t care what you think)
So, already miserable, I spent the day just digging myself a bigger hole. I had promised Husband I would do laundry on Saturday because I really have been slacking in my Executive Vice President of Domestic Affairs duties. So despite really really hurting, I was quickly running out of clean underwear so I forced myself to do like 9 loads of laundry. (Stop judging, I told you I had been slacking)
Fast forward to 8 pm, Husband comes home from work at the Secret Squirrel factory and I am LITERALLY on the floor, in the fetal position, clutching my heating pad, and feeling like I’m dying. I did have a semi-valid reason for being on the floor and wasn’t like there because I had passed out or anything. I had just changed the sheets and broke out a new duvet cover and had made up our bed to look like those really nice hotels and refused to mess it up. I wanted to show Husband that I’m not completely useless as a hausfrau.
So combine my stubbornness to procrastinate seeking medical interventions way past the point of being logical and this weird nesting desire to prove I really am a good wife despite being broken and all but being held together with duct tape. So there I am and Husband, just sighed. Because he knows that I really probably should of been seen like days ago but understands my almost pathological need to avoid extraneous hospital visits. So Husband patiently helped me off the floor, found my purse, all but put my shoes on me and escorted me out the door and on the way to the ER. All the way there getting a lecture the basically went like this: “Seriously Alison, you’ve got to stop doing this because you know you’re just going to be going anyways. Basically the only one who doesn’t understand you need to go to the ER is you. You need to stop putting it off because you know its not healthy and you just make it worse in the long run by avoiding it.” But I was just more upset that Husband hadn’t commented on how nice I had made our bed look.
So there we are at the ER, I’m walking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame because I hurt that bad and because God forbid my veins cooperate just once and I’m stuck a total of five times until the IV is placed, labs drawn and the magic of IV drugs are starting to kick in. Doctor this time mixed it up a little bit and instead of having the usual abdominal xray or CT, I had an ultrasound to rule out something crazy. Lab values were as expected, liver enzymes climbing higher, pancreas enzymes just barely in the normal range. So plan is IV fluids, IV pain meds, IV nausea meds, then discharge with different pain meds for home.
So here I am, feeling much better, I’m telling you it is amazing. While I’m still having pain, its back to the normal baseline and the crazy, breath-taking pains are few and far between again. My hands and arms are swollen and bruised from the fluids and the disaster that results from trying to start an IV on me. My joints are all pretty sore and my hands and feet are just swollen enough to be uncomfortable and achy to move. All the extra fluid from the IV’s making me puff up like the StayPuff Marshmallow Man.
So the Mack Truck has been diverted from now and this annoying reminder is just a preview of what I will be experience in a month or two after my next ERCP but I’m doing ok for now and that’s all that matters.
Husband did feel bad though because he had to go infiltrate the KGB in Eastern Europe for the next few days but he promised to bring me back some nice new iron curtains. Sister-in-law is here, although I think she is currently hiding from me because I might secretly be a total bitch while on drugs. And as always the more than selfish yet entertaining child surrogate, Amelia. The dog who has no clue she actually is a dog and not really one of the cats or our child.
Because of course if and when you’re on the floor in the fetal position clutching your heating pad like a life line, what comes next is your crazy dog standing over you licking your feet. Four out of five dentists have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about but they agree.
Because duh lady, that is what makes you feel better.
Amelia said so.