The Hospital Again! Denial, and Other Stages of Grief

Hubs and I arrived at the emergency room of our hospital on March 4th. I was told to come in as a precaution for a low fever that was inching up. It was cold outside and our car has no heater, so by the time I was rushed into a room, I was shaking uncontrollably again. 

It was as if all of the strength went out of me. I couldn't do anything but close my eyes and let them do whatever. Someone was asking for consent to undress me, someone else was going to get hot blankets, a third - a man - was trying to get me to stop shivering long enough to get a needle in my arm. 

I'll stop here to say a couple of things. First, my veins have always been fat and healthy. This two-month experience of dehydration, toxic body organs, hospital visits, blood draws, I.V.'s had made them go into hiding. I was now officially the patient you cannot stick. 

Secondly, when I ended up in the ER with my first drain pulling out, I had gotten a smart-mouth male nurse. My eyes were shut, but I know that I had him again. How? He made the same smart remarks that a sick person doesn't appreciate as he did the time before. For the record, I do not like this guy. Also for the record, I did not say so. 

Okay, back to that night. They tried all up and down my arms, in my hands, and I am not kidding you - in my armpit - to get a vein. (I thought I hallucinated that but no, there was a mark and bandage glue on my armpit after.) There was no vein to be had, even using the 22/butterfly. 

During all of the shaking and vein chaos, Chris was answering questions and I was mumbling along trying to answer between chattering teeth as well. Did I have pain killers? Yes. I think that is why I am so dizzy and feel so sick. I do not like to take them. When was my last dose? Uhm, was it around three or five? 

Last dose... got that? Not 'only' dose. Last dose. I had spent March 1st and 2nd in the hospital on whatever drugs they were pumping into me. I had spent March 3rd and (up to this point) 4th at home taking Norco half and whole doses on a regular schedule because, even though it makes me feel so sick, I had woken up with all meds worn off and it hurt so bad that I could not take it. That is four days of drugs. Four. Add to that the fact that I was completely dehydrated, and believe me, I felt SO sick. 

Somewhere in the shuffle, nurse Mr. Smartmouth (in my defense, he and the gal down in I.R. are the only nurses out of dozens that I genuinely disliked... I'm not a nurse-hater. I love my nurses and treat them well, trying not to ask for help unless I absolutely have to have it) thought we said that I was in the E.R. 'for pain' (no, the surgeon called me in for fever/chills) and that I said I had only had ONE dose of Norco. Uhm... what? No. 

Instead of clearing this with us, we heard him in the hallway saying that I had said I only had one dose but my blood showed more pain meds than that. I'm sorry, but I have never been more insulted in my life! I go off pain meds before I am supposed to - ALWAYS. I got by after my c-section (which was also a hernia repair) on just ibuprofen the second I got home from the hospital on day three. I did the same after my tubal on day one or two. Shoot, I did not even have a tylenol after my traumatic and very damaging vaginal birth. So, for him to imply in a heavy tone that I was in there for pain pills about made me come unglued! Thankfully, nobody else seemed to share is arrogant ignorance.

Anyway, I still couldn't open my eyes. They brought in someone who specialized in placing lines using ultrasound (Chris had to tell me that). I heard this man tell them that he set about 3" of tube 3/4" deep into my arm. I was so thankful to have an I.V. that wasn't in a bend and wouldn't pull out or break down a fragile vein. 

I stayed in the hospital longer this time, on antibiotics round the clock while they figured out what they were dealing with. At first, my surgeon assured me up and down that this had nothing to do with my surgery. Two more ct scans and a list of other tests later, they determined that an abscess had developed at my surgical site and was sending infection throughout my body. I was told that I was septic, and very lucky that they figured out why and were able to treat it in time. My surgeon was struck. He is still trying to figure out if this has ever happened to him before.

I had been saying the same thing - half tongue-in-cheek - that I have been saying since the beginning of January: "I can deal with anything, as long as I don't have to have another drain."

(Continued on the next blog post.)