So. I said I'd update sooner. Hopefully all will be forgiven once you learn that I've been in the local hospital since Thursday with TheSinusInfectionFromHell. The local (albeit fabulously appointed) hospital. As in, sorry doc, I can't drive 20 minutes (let alone 2 hours) without loosing my lunch 4 times. (Ok, or what I drank with lunch, given that wee fundiplication complication, but the point remains). Remember those awful "migraines" from a few posts ago? Never went away, only got worse, weren't migraines after all. And Wednesday night was the last straw for me.
Anyone who's ever been to a multilingual ER or a pediatrician's office will recall a little chart with the numbers 1 through 10, with smiley and not-so-smiley faces corresponding to the numbers. One is then asked to rate the pain they are experiencing on a scale of 1 to ten, theoretically aided by the graphic, 2-demensional, often grotesque expressions demonstrated on the chart. I have never had an extraordinary tolerance for pain, but I have been known for an extraordinary sense of pride (as well as suspicion regarding the psychological inferences made by hospital staff relating to their assessment of my "pain level" and the smiley/number I half-heartedly point too. But I digress). By Wednesday night, while I am hesitant to make extreme declarations, I will say that I personally experienced the closest to a "10" I ever have, "ever" including infiltrated picc lines, picc placements involving proud PAs, poor supervision, and double-digit shots of lidocaine, an insulin-induced grand-mal seizure and a kidney stone a cubic inch in size. My nausea was somewhere around an "8." Both put me in the two tears range of the not-so-smiley smiley chart (despite my inability to cry, due to the degree of my pain - a skill that evidenly does not exist before the age of six). See "illustration" below.
Desperate for relief, but afraid of overloading my kidneys any further than I had already been advised, I simply took another maxdose (800mg) of Advil, 25mg of my (formerly) ol' reliable phenergan, and settled in for a night of mindful meditation with occasional retching. So I thought. I won't put you through all the gory details, but I wasn't able to sleep for more than 15 min. at a time, and by 4:30 I was moaning in ways that, until that moment, I had judged harshly from a few curtains over in ERs. Nevertheless, I am terrified of ER's, and refuse to go during "ER hours" - when everybody's normal doctors are closed and you have a disturbingly American mix of yuppie superbug breeders showing up at 1 am with a sniffle and a plea for a Z-pac and working poor just getting off their 3rd shift and finally caving and getting that woefully infected gash checked out so they can stand at their job in the morning. Starved and exhausted, I finally got some "sleep" from about 5:30-6:30, but by the top of the hour I was pulling the old "smack something else so you'll focus on THAT pain instead" trick. It was time to face my demons.
As soon as I was able to change in to slightly fresher elastic clothing, brush my hair into a ball and my teeth without retching, and gather my Type-A health files without which I cross the threshold of no medical establishment, we were out the door to ER. I gaspered (gasp-whispered) my problems and requests to the attendant, took a seat, and be it God, fate, or the blessings of non ER hours in a small-but-well-insured town, was brought back to the ER quite quickly. Vitals were taken, deemed normal, gown was donned (deemed breezy and inadequate), wristband was created and I settled in on my freshly appointed cot...with my sunglasses on in the dark, and a cold washcloth across my head. And My God, must everyone around here breathe so loudly?! By the time my (precious, wonderful, scentless and quiet) nurse came to start my IV, my head hurt so bad I WAS ALMOST EXCITED. You have to know me to understand just what a statement of pain that is; even at my coolest, I dissolve into a preschooler at the sight of an IV, as do my teeny, hiding, rolling ninja veins (headed for my arms, I'm not bothered by those already placed or headed for someone else) and have only recently stopped demanding a dum-dum and scratch and sniff stickers. Only two tries later (have I mentioned how much I love this woman?) I was administered some anti-inflammatory I don't remember and some supposedly anti-nausea drug I don't remember. Both were, for lack of a better expression...weak shit. Sometime while waiting for said weak shit to go into effect, they rolled me back and took a CT scan of my brain, to make sure it wasn't swelling, or infected, or fragmenting into pieces, all of which I was legitimately concerned about by this point. Did I mention I was still wearing my hairball, washcloth and sunglasses? (bowchicaboowwwoowww...)
I return from radiology with all of their bright lights and loud voices and churning machines and strongly-smelling non-smells to an inquiry of my pain level. I eek out an "ennngghhh" and nurse awesome returns promptly with two beautiful syringes with lots of cc's in them. The first had Zofran, and up-to-this-point unfamiliar anti-nausea drug, and the second contained...wait for it ladies...dilaudid. I was heretofore unfamiliar with this 8th Day Creation of God, of which I became a devoted fan over the following few days, but suffice it to say that while it did deliver me the best 90 minutes of sleep of my life, I needed another double hit upon awakening (and then, reawakening) to bring things back down to a "6" - to the uninitiated, more of a simultaneously frightened and constipated, not-quite-frowny face on the Kindygarten scale. This desicription wouldn't really fit until later, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
This is getting long, and I'm getting nauseous, so I'll leave our little tale at this stopping point. Lest you worry, simply know that I got home around 6 last night with a PICC line, a minifridge full of Tobra, Zosyn, and precautionary Vancomycin, two new pals known as Zofran and dilaudid (oral tabs, but even I wouldn't send folks home with IV narcotics…is that even legal?) and a fresh stock of jello, applesause, italian ice and gatorade. In case things don't continue to trend upward - in which case, I'll be back tomorrow - Happy Inauguration Day everyone!
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