I’m a wimp. I wont even try to hide it. So, after
coming home with a bug bite on my back from Guatemala that would randomly
just hurt (a sharp pain), I texted my doctor (she's cool enough to let me do that).
She suggested that if it hurt, I should have it looked at. About a week
ago, I went into walk-in. They were able to rule out a few things and prescribe some antibiotic, but that was about it.
It didn’t get better. The pain got a little stronger,
the bump underneath got bigger, and the surface refused to heal. So, on Sunday night, I found myself in Missouri with my sister and friend Rachel before our planned road trip. I was
putting a warm compress on the bite and asked my sister to look at it. She
noted a white part sticking out and showed me a picture on my phone. There's really only one thought that runs through your mind when there's a mass sticking out of your skin. So, despite the pain, I tugged on the white part. I pulled it out, looked, and immediately set it on the t-shirt beside me and made
the other girls look at it while I momentarily buried my face in the bed spread (distancing yourself from reality is always a safe course of action).
There, wiggling on the shirt, was a small larvae. The surreal nature of it sent us all into hysterical giggles and occasional heeby-jeeby squeals. Rachel called her dad (an ER doctor), who immediately concluded that there’d been a human botfly in my back. It was a shockingly fast and accurate diagnoses.
Via the all knowing Google, we further learned that mosquitoes can inadvertently carry the eggs and lay them as they bite. It’s pretty unusual…but then, I’m unusual. So, long story short, a fly egg hitched a ride on a mosquito and stowed away in my body as an illegal immigrant to America. We named him Ted and put him in a zip-lock.
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| Ted! (And Rachel) |
There, wiggling on the shirt, was a small larvae. The surreal nature of it sent us all into hysterical giggles and occasional heeby-jeeby squeals. Rachel called her dad (an ER doctor), who immediately concluded that there’d been a human botfly in my back. It was a shockingly fast and accurate diagnoses.
Via the all knowing Google, we further learned that mosquitoes can inadvertently carry the eggs and lay them as they bite. It’s pretty unusual…but then, I’m unusual. So, long story short, a fly egg hitched a ride on a mosquito and stowed away in my body as an illegal immigrant to America. We named him Ted and put him in a zip-lock.
It was a bit of a relief to be rid of the bug going into the evening, knowing we had one relaxing day in town before driving out to start the trip. I planned to get up bright and early to get a run in, but sleep sucked. I was hot, and nauseous, and developed some strong abdominal pain.
I tried to rest up all day, but everything became worse as the day progressed until around 6pm, when we agreed that I should see a doctor. Rachel's mom took on the role of my substitute mom and drove me to urgent care. Much like my actual mother, she knows most medical professionals in the area and is well versed on medical procedures. I originally felt pretty stupid going in for what would undoubtedly turn out to be the stomach flu, but by the time we reached the clinic, it was pretty clear it was more than that.
I tried to rest up all day, but everything became worse as the day progressed until around 6pm, when we agreed that I should see a doctor. Rachel's mom took on the role of my substitute mom and drove me to urgent care. Much like my actual mother, she knows most medical professionals in the area and is well versed on medical procedures. I originally felt pretty stupid going in for what would undoubtedly turn out to be the stomach flu, but by the time we reached the clinic, it was pretty clear it was more than that.
I was very dehydrated, sick, and in severe pain. But, I'm a wimp, so it's hard to know how much that means. I was not pleasant company. Talking no longer really felt worth it. Completing small tasks just really really hurt. I was given some good drugs for the pain and nausea and Rachel's mom drove to the pharmacist to pick up a bag of fluids. The pharmacist than came in and met her at the door (after hours) to send the saline along. Based on the pain, we were sent to the ER to rule out Appendicitis.
My surrogate super mom stayed until around midnight (when my sister arrived) as I talked to an assortment of nurses, doctors, had a CT scan, and basically just showed off pictures of Ted to anyone who asked. By the time I was taken up to a room for the evening, I was feeling much better (thanks to the meds), and was dead tired.
My surrogate super mom stayed until around midnight (when my sister arrived) as I talked to an assortment of nurses, doctors, had a CT scan, and basically just showed off pictures of Ted to anyone who asked. By the time I was taken up to a room for the evening, I was feeling much better (thanks to the meds), and was dead tired.
It did feel better in the morning, but it just wasn't yet. My heart rate was crazy high, my white blood cell count dipped low before sky rocketing, my blood pressure was low, my intestines were still inflated like balloons, and I was quite dehydrated.
Here's the deal though, I walked into urgent care in pretty rough shape. After three days, I get to walk around feeling close to a million bucks. But then, that might be the steroids talking. So, if I sound overly positive, it's because by contrast to Monday, things are looking up. (Here's my play-by-play). Life is grand.
7pm: Monday: basically holding myself up with the counter, unable to focus or talk much due to pain, etc
9pm: the nausea evaporated and pain is reduced from 8 to 3 or 4 thanks to two shots in the rump.
9pm: the nausea evaporated and pain is reduced from 8 to 3 or 4 thanks to two shots in the rump.
11pm: We realize that my IV is in the same vein that blood was drawn from as the CT contrast solution makes my arm feel like it's going to burn up
Midnight: I developed a fever and started hoarding blankets (fever is gone in a few hours)
3am Tuesday: Crazy low white blood cell count
Early morning : Sue arrives with my laptop, phone charger, etc. Life is better already
8am Tuesday: high white blood cell count.
10ish: I gain an NG tube and the throat irritation removes most incentive to talk. But my nurse (Nikki) sings my praises for taking it like a champ. No tears, vomiting, etc.
11am: I work with my gown to try to walk around the floor a bit. I look a mess, and both gowns are about 10 sizes too big. But I get to move around...and then get kindly chastised for walking too quickly. Nikki says a doctor said to her, "She weren't walkin. She was runnin!"
Noon: We agree that I wouldn't be joining for at least the first part of the road trip.
11am: I work with my gown to try to walk around the floor a bit. I look a mess, and both gowns are about 10 sizes too big. But I get to move around...and then get kindly chastised for walking too quickly. Nikki says a doctor said to her, "She weren't walkin. She was runnin!"
Noon: We agree that I wouldn't be joining for at least the first part of the road trip.
8pm: vitals looking up, but I learned I'd be sleeping with the tube (or at least trying)
3 am Wednesday: Paige, the super sweet radiologist, stops in to take an x-ray (kudos to her for bringing the machine up to my room). She's surprised that I'm still here and asks how I'm doing. With tears rolling down my face, I just whisper, "Hurts to talk." Besides the pain waiting in urgent care, this was my worst moment of the whole experience. I mean, she gets it, but I want to thank her for everything, and be friendly, and let her know that my stomach pain is so much better, but after sleeping with the dang tube in, everything just hurts like crazy.
6 am: Blood sugar dropped to 77 (No duh, I'd spent the day having the minimal contents of my stomach removed), so they started regular testing and pushed syrup water (Dextrose 50) into my veins
9:30am: Sue arrives. I'm feeling good. I just.can't.talk. :/
9:30am: Sue arrives. I'm feeling good. I just.can't.talk. :/
10am: I wont be leaving until Thursday, but blood pressure is regular, white blood cells are stable
11am: New criteria for judging appearance: If you look less crazy than the guy down the hall they keep having to ask to "cover up" and call "Wild Bill", it doesn't matter what your hair is doing. Go walking.
noon-ish: The ladies set out on the road-trip. I'm along in spirit :)
11am: New criteria for judging appearance: If you look less crazy than the guy down the hall they keep having to ask to "cover up" and call "Wild Bill", it doesn't matter what your hair is doing. Go walking.
noon-ish: The ladies set out on the road-trip. I'm along in spirit :)
12:15: 3rd IV blows. Nikki says they'll send in the house supervisor rather than risk plucking me a dozen more times
12:20: A young man who looks about 16 walks cautiously and awkwardly into the room. Not sure I want to give him a needle.
12:21: Young man IS 16, and just a volunteer at the hospital. He took AP Chem last year. We talk about the redesign.
12:20: A young man who looks about 16 walks cautiously and awkwardly into the room. Not sure I want to give him a needle.
12:21: Young man IS 16, and just a volunteer at the hospital. He took AP Chem last year. We talk about the redesign.
12:40: New IV placed in my hand by actual professional. I'm a happy camper.
2pm: NO MORE TUBE. I literally called out, "Freeeeedom!" when Nikki pulled it out. Quality of life improved 3000%. I can talk and am strapped down to one less thing.
5pm: Clear liquid dinner tastes like heaven.
6:30pm: Parents arrive while I'm strolling the hall like a good girl.
8pm: I get my own vanilla pudding pack like the big girl I am. Vitals are solid
(Best night's sleep eva)
2pm: NO MORE TUBE. I literally called out, "Freeeeedom!" when Nikki pulled it out. Quality of life improved 3000%. I can talk and am strapped down to one less thing.
5pm: Clear liquid dinner tastes like heaven.
6:30pm: Parents arrive while I'm strolling the hall like a good girl.
8pm: I get my own vanilla pudding pack like the big girl I am. Vitals are solid
(Best night's sleep eva)
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| No one told me I was back on solids. This breakfast felt like winning a new car. |
3am and 5am respectively: vitals, and blood drawn. It's the third time it's happened, but the first time I've slept well enough to dislike being woken up for it. Taking that as a good sign.
6am: Potassium is low, so I'll get it via IV, Nikki is very very apologetic because everything going through my veins has been a major pain the the ...well, vein in this case. She explains the injection schedule which runs through 5pm. This is disheartening, as I want to be half way to La Crosse by then
8am: Parents arrive in time to meet the amazing doctors (Dr. Collins and Dr. Jenson (surgeon)). Sounds like I'll be going home after all. We just need to get a few more things moving before hand
10am: Dr. Collins is working through my discharge stuff extremely quickly, and I'm stopped on my walk to have my IV removed and get dressed.
10:30am: I can move my arms enough to do my own hair, put on make-up, and get ready to face the world. I learn that the chaplain has relatives in Cashton...and used to be Amish.
I've learned a couple things from my mini adventure.
First, I was reminded about all the amazing people in the world. I've been helped by emergency substitute parents, been pampered by the real ones who'll drive six hours to take care of me and bring me home, gotten warm wishes from dozens of friends at home, and met an amazingly friendly group of doctors, nurses, radiologists, security officers (seriously, that guy was one cheerful dude), a Chaplin, nutrition specialists, and hospital staff.
Second, I have a profound new respect for people who have to spend time in the hospital for more serious issues or for longer periods of time. The reason I got to feel so grateful all the time was because there was always a very bright light at the end of the tunnel. Each IV prick had to be close to the last and every test showed improvement. But with all the bruising, and blood tests, and restrictions, and crazy complications that arise when we try to take control of a body's normal functions (eating, drinking, digesting, healing, feeling pain, etc) I figured out that being in the hospital sucks. And feeling dependent, and not being able to talk, and hurting, sucks. So, I can't imagine a week long stay or a stay for a more serious issue. Kudos to you who know how much it sucks and somehow deal with it. You're my new heros.
6am: Potassium is low, so I'll get it via IV, Nikki is very very apologetic because everything going through my veins has been a major pain the the ...well, vein in this case. She explains the injection schedule which runs through 5pm. This is disheartening, as I want to be half way to La Crosse by then
8am: Parents arrive in time to meet the amazing doctors (Dr. Collins and Dr. Jenson (surgeon)). Sounds like I'll be going home after all. We just need to get a few more things moving before hand
10am: Dr. Collins is working through my discharge stuff extremely quickly, and I'm stopped on my walk to have my IV removed and get dressed.
10:30am: I can move my arms enough to do my own hair, put on make-up, and get ready to face the world. I learn that the chaplain has relatives in Cashton...and used to be Amish.
I've learned a couple things from my mini adventure.
First, I was reminded about all the amazing people in the world. I've been helped by emergency substitute parents, been pampered by the real ones who'll drive six hours to take care of me and bring me home, gotten warm wishes from dozens of friends at home, and met an amazingly friendly group of doctors, nurses, radiologists, security officers (seriously, that guy was one cheerful dude), a Chaplin, nutrition specialists, and hospital staff.
Second, I have a profound new respect for people who have to spend time in the hospital for more serious issues or for longer periods of time. The reason I got to feel so grateful all the time was because there was always a very bright light at the end of the tunnel. Each IV prick had to be close to the last and every test showed improvement. But with all the bruising, and blood tests, and restrictions, and crazy complications that arise when we try to take control of a body's normal functions (eating, drinking, digesting, healing, feeling pain, etc) I figured out that being in the hospital sucks. And feeling dependent, and not being able to talk, and hurting, sucks. So, I can't imagine a week long stay or a stay for a more serious issue. Kudos to you who know how much it sucks and somehow deal with it. You're my new heros.
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| FREE HOSPITAL SWAG! (plus some lozenges and throat spray) :) |
