I did not die. I did finally give in and all my doc Monday only to say I was on deadline and couldn’t come in until the afternoon. And then he poked my stomach and suggested admitting me to the hospital which made me panic because I didn’t know if they had wireless and again, DEADLINE, and he sent me for tests and home to await a CT scan.
Then they called to tell me to go to the hospital and to imaging but imaging sent me to admitting which made me panic AGAIN because I did not want to be admitted. And the lady in admitting was stroking out because I didn’t have a diagnosis and they had to have one to admit me even though they weren’t actually admitting me and HELLO, the whole reason I was there was to GET a diagnosis NOT to be admitted.
Whew. Apparently feeling poorly causes me to write run-on sentences.
But then admitting but not admitting me was taking FOREVER and I asked J if perhaps I should collapse on the floor and writhe in pain and he just told me to go for it. Fortunately, that was when the women called me over to ask me if I wanted a private or a semi-private room if I were admitted which totally confused me because I thought the whole hullabaloo indicated I WAS being admitted. It appears the difference is, insurance doesn’t cover private rooms. And I still don’t know if I was admitted or not.
Me: It would seem I have to have a semi-private room. What if they put me with a crackhead?
J: Then we will use the little plastic divider.
Me: What if the crackhead goes crazy, rips DOWN the divider and kills me in the middle of the night?
J: Then I will sue the hospital and name a wing after you in my gun range estate that I build with the settlement.
Anyone else see why he is NOT helpful? He later told me, “I’m not giggling because I don’t care. I’m giggling because I’m an asshole.”
Because I am occasionally smart, I prepped for the occasion by wearing yoga pants, a tank with a bra and a t-shirt–and, HOORAY, I got to keep my clothes on. After I drank icky stuff mixed with diet pepsi, I got to have radioactive iodine injected in my veins. Despite that I have had this particular test done several times, it still makes me giggle and holller, “YUP! I totally feel like I peed on myself,” which always seems to tickle the tech. On the inside, I am an 8-year-old boy.
My doc called me at the hospital after my tests were read to tell me I had an icky infection called Diverticulitis. Which is gross. I get to take two antibiotics for 10 days–one of which is used to treat anthrax poisoning so I am sure I will develop a tolerance and be screwed should people start mailing me anthrax laced letters.
The past couple days have been not fun because my stomach is so swollen I have the pregnant lady waddle AND I look like I should be cast in a Sally Struthers Save the Children commercial. I’m also paler than normal–and that’s tough to do. The next part is gross so I am going to put it in italics so if you want to SKIP the really gross part, just go down to where it’s not italicized anymore.
It would seem people that suffer from diverticulitis are not supposed to have peas and I now understand why. Yesterday, there were lots of peas in the, ahem, toilet and I had not eaten any for at least a week and a half. I am also so gassy I am offending the dog.
Okay, it wasn’t really THAT bad. I’m off to see if bratchild wants to help me spraytan so I can quit looking all sicklike and yellow…
I have had issues with my stomach since forever and as a toddler spent time in the hospital for them to decide that I got to eat rice, lamb, yellow beans, bananas and special hot dogs for several years. People wonder why I am a picky eater.
Regardless, for three days I have had a sharp, stabby pain in my lower left side and since I am used to stomach issues, it’s hard to know if it’s serious or if it’s oh crap I ate pizza. While I was alone, I decided to sneak a peek at WedMD. I have to sneak because people think I overreact to things, J has threatened to put a parental blog on the website and my mother says a severe hangnail can drive me to take to my fainting couch. (In a side note, I really want one of those Cricket for kids TV remotes because it’s exhausting trying to remember which channels I like versus the ones that terrify me with all their the end is nigh/lack of bees/electromagnetic pulse programing.)
According to WebMD I have diverticulitis, an ectopic pregnancy, appendicitis or irritable bowel syndrome. To the last, I respond no shit Sherlock. (Another random sidenote? I often get advertising pitches for my blog which I tend to ignore because a. I’m lazy and b. this is my blog and I don’t want to deal with advertising type people but I did get an awesome one that gave me pause-they started the email with this: “As someone who has discussed poop on their blog…” I don’t know that I HAVE discussed poop THAT OFTEN. Have I?)
Anyways, it has been a long time since I took anatomy and even then we dissected a cat so I always forget what is exactly where in the human body so I went downstairs to bother J–which is my normal response to most things. He tried to find a good example of human anatomy on the web but they sucked and were mainly male. As I explained calmy, whined, about my pain, he said I was fine. So I said, “THEN I AM GOING TO GO TO BED AND WATCH MEDIUM AND DIE IN PEACE AND YOU WILL BE SAD.” Once he started giggling, I went upstairs.
As all this is happening, bratchild is watching Mythbusters and lecturing me how heels, wedges and then snowboots are the most dangerous shoes to drive in. Let’s ALL be glad I don’t own snowboots, shall we? She then hollers at me that 7 drops of super glue can actually hold a car aloft for a short period of time. Filing that away under good to know. (I met the Mythbusters a couple times when I worked for HP.)
While I am listening to bratchild give Mythbusters a play-by-play, J comes to my closet room to tell me he’s sorry to inform me I have testicular cancer. And then he laughs AGAIN and tells me maybe I should call my GI doctor. You think?
Anyways, due to the magics of the internet I am posting this tonight but scheduling this for the morning so perhaps I will have expired by the time you all read this. I will let you know. But internet smarties-what is on MY left side between my belly button and my hip bone?
(My hip bone is starting to protrude nicely thanks to Huntsville Adventure Boot Camp. I lost a TOTAL of 13.5 inches in my last four-week session. Not that I calculated it, Joe did. If I am still alive, I will be there EARLY in the morning .)
