On Saturday, while the boys, my mom and I were in Springfield I felt what I refer to as "an attack" coming on. I hate it because I know it's coming and there's no way to stop it. Generally they last anywhere from a few hours to a full 24 hours. This summer I had one last 2 days. I carried on though. I was hurting, and after we had lunch, I decided it was time to just go home for the rest of the day because all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch.
Mom went home on Sunday morning and the boys and I stayed home from church. Not because of my attack, (which I was still having), but because the allergies I had, had turned into a full blown cold after my garage sale on Friday. It rained all morning and I ended up with a nasty cough. I didn't want to be that person sitting in church hacking up a lung and blowing my nose.
Monday, Jacob was gone all day. Well, I mean, duh. But he was gone all day Sunday as well at a vocal festival. I took Daniel to preschool and then relaxed with James. I texted Kendra as some point to let her know I was still dying from the attack that started on Saturday. She gets it. She deals with a lot of stomach issues as well.
Tuesday, I woke up and pain just tore through my whole abdomen. Because of the shock from the pain I took a deep breath. Cue an even more intense pain. I texted Jacob and told him I was probably going to go to Urgent Care when he got home. This was at 7:30 and he wouldn't be home until 5. He called later in the morning and told me I really needed to go get checked sooner, but I didn't have anyone to watch the boys and I really didn't want to drag them along. I knew Jacob felt helpless, but he needed to be at school. I was emotional and started crying. After some thinking and Googling and asking around I concluded Urgent Care couldn't help me and that I would have to go to the ER. (Cue panic over the RIDICULOUSLY high copay I have to shell out)
I took a shower, and then started crying again because the pain was not letting up. All I kept thinking is, "I'm 32, but I want my Mom!" I texted Jacob again, and he called back a bit later and told me that his mom was on her way. I have such a hard time asking anyone for help...except for my mom (who was 4.5 hours away). I don't like being a burden. I'd hate to hand off my kids to someone else, and be like, "Here you go...my crazy kids. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I do.
Of course at noon, Daniel wanted lunch, so I shuffled to the kitchen to get the boys food. I wasn't hungry, but I ate a sandwich because I've learned that hospitals are not going to feed you until they know what's up.
After deliberation, I decided I was going to Springfield. I've had positive and negative experiences with our local ER, but I've already got a tab going at St. John's anyway. Ha!
I got there and parked in the ramp. There were no close places of course, so I had a painful little walk to the ER. I waited in the waiting room for about 45 minutes and then was taken to my room. A few minutes later the nurse came in, followed quickly by the Nurse Practitioner. I'm thinking, "Awesome. This isn't going to take long at all." She asked questions. Pressed on my abdomen...OUCH! And then says, "This seems like classic gallbladder." Yep. Exactly what myself and everyone else thought too. She ordered blood work, I got to pee in a cup...I mean, that's always a fun adventure for a woman, am I right? And CT scan. She also wanted to give me fluid in an IV in case I was dehydrated, and they also put some Torodol in (like 2 hours later). She also asked the infamous, "Any chance you're pregnant?" question. I'm like, "No!" "Well...I mean, I'm almost certain I'm not, but I suppose there could always be a chance." (In my head, I'm going, "Oh crap! I hope not. I just sold ALL of my baby stuff!) Hey...and good news...I'm not! LOL!
After an eternity, they wheeled me down for my CT. Since I was still hooked to the IV, I got to ride in the bed, which was fine with me. The whole procedure was really fast. They did a couple of regular pictures and then added contrast dye. The tech told me I would feel warm and like I was peeing myself when it went it. It seemed odd, but okay. Well, I'm glad she told me, because I totally would have thought I peed myself if she hadn't!
More waiting. More waiting. More waiting. New nurse comes in to see if I need anything. Water. I am dying of thirst. Sorry. No water until the results are back. Sigh. More waiting. More waiting. Nurse comes back. Can I have water yet? Nope. Results still haven't come in. Waiting....
Finally, I get the news. It's NOT my gallbladder. In fact my gallbladder looks great. WHAT?! I'm about to cry again because, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. I KNOW I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.
Then she goes on to tell me, I'm being placed on antibiotics for diverticulosis. What the heck is that? So, I learn all of the details, or at least some. And then I'm on my way. Got my meds, including painkiller...and finally almost 6 hours after I left I was home.
Today is the first day, I haven't felt like I was dying a slow and painful death. I don't feel great, but I am in less pain than I was. I even smiled more today.
While, I know I must have diverticulosis, because they could see it on my CT scan, I'm still not 100% convinced that's all it is, but at least this is a start. Maybe that's all, but at least I wasn't sent away with, "Let it run its course."
From all that I've read this is something that generally presents in people over 40. Here I sit, thinking, I've been suffering from attacks since I was at least 16 years old. 16! Maybe even before that, but I have a very vivid memory of going out for my birthday with my 2 best friends. We went bowling and to DQ. I know this wasn't my first one (so I guess I was at least 15), because I remember feeling it coming on as we were bowling. I suffered in silence for the next 3 hours because I didn't want to ruin the fun. I can't tell you the number of times I've been in similar situations, where maybe only one person if any knows that I'm in pain. I can hide it well around others, even though I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry. But, obviously, this year they have intensified. Hopefully I can get it under control, although now I know it's yet another thing I get to battle for the rest of my life.
But hey...I'm alive, right? So, there's something to be thankful for!
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