Monday, September 28, 2009

Another Hospitalization


The pain was unbearable. I could not sleep the other night (25th) because of how bad it hurt. I passed out for 2-3 hours but woke up at 5 AM with tears in my eyes. I went to sit in the kitchen while Mom was getting ready for work. When something hurts that bad, it's like I go into a panic. I'm not sure what to do, where to go, or even how to move. This always upsets my mother, who after watching me silently for a few minutes sighed and told me I need to go to the ER. This made me cry even harder but I knew she was right. It's been one week since I last went to the ER. I dread this but there is no choice. Damn. I quickly pulled on some warm pants and a sweater (the ER gets very cold) and she woke my dad so he could drive me there. I make him leave me though because I hate the idea of him just sitting in the waiting room. We thought I'd be out in a few hours and he'd pick me up when I was done. Little did we know....

I prefer to visit the ER after the shift change. There's a lot less confusion and people can answer your questions with less attitude. I'm serious. I arrived just an hour before the next one at 7:30 AM but luckily there appeared to be a small amount of patients waiting there before me- maybe 30. Even so, I wasn't called to the actual ER until four hours after I arrived. All the while I was in pain and the Tylenol the nurse gave me might as well be mints. Even in the back room, I was left waiting in the halls or in a small room until an actual doctor could see me. When she does, she informs me that I have a serious infection that requires IV antibiotics. Okay. I was thinking a few hours with a pole hooked to my arm. No. They wanted to admit me. *sigh* I really wanted to attend the UCLA Patient Conference on Saturday the 26th but...I could have refused to be admitted, but then the infection would have gotten worse and I would have ended up right back in the ER. The doctor pleaded with me, "Let us admit you and the medicine will kill the infection and you won't have to come back." I knew she was right but I still felt hopeless. The weight of constantly being sick and constantly being rushed to the ER threatened to explode in a rush of tears. And it delivered on that threat. They seemed to be startled by my sudden rush of emotions. They asked if they could help. Of course not. Unless they have a secret cure for Lupus. The doctors tried to talk to me but I was not in the mood for the kind doctor who really understands me and my illness. They don't get it. They can't. And I can't stop crying. And my foot hurts. The pain pills are not relieving any pain. I asked for better pain meds- NOT Tylenol- and I was given Morphine. That was okay.

I wondered if the fact that I was alone in the ER was why I was so sad. Usually I have a parent or my guy by my side. When Daddy finally calls to ask if I'm ready to go he was surprised to hear I was admitted. He brought me a light lunch and went home. I didn't want any company. Closing my eyes and crying the hours away seemed to be a better idea. My guy and I weren't on the best of terms so I hesitated on calling him but I figure I'd want to know if he was admitted to the hospital. He reacted just as I knew he would, like it bothered him. But he promised to stop in and see me after work. That didn't make me feel better. I waited and waited for an open bed upstairs and he finally showed up. He waited with me. He held my hand when the Morphine wore off and watched me cry in agony until a concerned nurse got the doctor's okay and gave me another shot. I just wanted to lie down. Time passed faster at that point and twelve hours after I arrived, my bed (with a window) was ready. Thank God. After all the intake questions were done, finally, I am permitted to rest. Seeing my guy has made this process a little easier but I was still so blue. That was day one, a Friday.

Weekends as an inpatient can be lazy and slow or interesting. Sometimes I have roommates that I never see behind their blue curtains but this time I was in a room with three other women either pre or post op. They are talkers and they attempted to draw me in but I had to decline. I'm not much of a talker when I'm sad. I just enjoyed listening to them and the stories they were telling each other. I spend most of the weekend with my mom. She visits me always and tries to cheer me up by bringing me magazines, books, a juice or two. Finally it is Monday and I am dying to find out when i can go. I hear maybe today. I hear probably by Thursday. I hear frustration in my voice as I ask who is correct. I hate this. I hate that I injured my damn foot. I hate that on a normal person they would have just gotten a bruise and a tender spot and went about their day. I hate that my kidneys are not working normally and that is why my feet were swollen in the first place. I hate that I must take Prednisone daily and this makes my skin thin so it's easier to injure myself. I hate that gaping hole I saw when i looked down. I hate that the stitches the first ER doc gave me didn't hold. They would have held but my feet swelled up again and made them burst off creating a hole again. I hate that I will always have a giant ugly scar on my foot to remind me how fragile my body really is. And I hate that I have to hate from a hospital bed where there is no privacy and no quiet, no cats, no dogs, no family, no boyfriend. All this hate can't be good.

When a fresh faced blonde doctor arrives and tells me my labs look great and that I'd be home by dinner today I want to laugh. I thank her profusely. She said they got to the infection before it wreaked havoc on my body. Wonderful! I'm not being sarcastic, I really mean that it is wonderful news. I have had quite the opposite experience before where the infection got so bad that it turned septic.

So that was my three days in the latest installment of my list of hospitalizations. I called my guy with the great news and he comes to keep me company as we wait for the discharge meds, instructions, appointments, etc. We even make it home by 7PM and it feels so good to be here. This hospitalization did not turn out to be as bad as I had feared and that is a small miracle in these tired eyes. I had put off coming to the ER because of what happened the last time (Date Night!- The waiting game in the ER). At least this time I was seen, treated, and I hope it does not happen again.