I decided that I wanted to consult a doctor; so my sweet husband duly got everything ready for a trip to the urgent care: insurance info, a fully charged iPod, and my knitting bag. (It was really strange to walk into the building where I work as a patient instead of a staff member.) Anyhow, we were in the process of checking in when the nurse came by to chat with us--and when I say "us" I mean "Patrick" because my voice has slowly been sneaking off for about three days and I didn't have much left by this point. As "we" were talking about why I was coming in, she advised us to go to the ER since we don't have ultrasound capabilities on the weekends. (Which, of course, I know...)
Frankly, I was surprised. I didn't think my pain warranted an ultrasound, much less an ER visit...it wasn't as intense as it was long-lasting. Still, we decided that it was better to figure out what was going on, and we might as well be thorough...so off to the hospital we went.
I--with the help of my trusty translator--again went over all the details of my complaints with about four different nurses and assorted medical staff. We were promptly shown to a room where I was elegantly gowned in a revealing cotton robe and asked to rate my pain on a level of 1-10. I told the nurse that most of the time I was hovering between 5-6, but if I moved suddenly or coughed it would spike up to about 8. (Looking back, I'm reminded of the Brian Regan skit "Did you get some 8?") Apparently they don't use the bell curve system with pain rating--they just take your highest score. Makes me wish all my college classes did the same...
So after they finished writing my responses down on about 40 sheets of carbon copy, I peed in a cup, got an IV and some blood work, and then came the "joy juice." I was given a heady cocktail of Zofran and Morphine. To be perfectly honest, I can't recall what happened with much clarity for the rest of the day. I know I received an ultrasound (which really hurt!), a CT scan (the techs were laughing--I just hope it wasn't at me), a pelvic exam (why wasn't that done first??), a couple more boosters of morphine (yay!) in there somewhere...and a rather undignified shot in my butt (boo!). I can honestly say that's one place I've never had a band-aid before. And apparently there was something about "puddin pops" but you'll have to ask Patrick for more details on that score...
I won't go into a lot of detail, but as it turns out, I have an infection that was caused by my Mirena birth control. Not fun. So I traded it for some antibiotics and percocet. I feel much better already and I hope that this will soon be just a rather expensive blip on the radar...but for all the stuff that happened that day, my only coherent thought as I fell into a drug induced slumber that evening was: "Dang it. I didn't even get to work on my sock because of the stupid pulse monitor strapped to my finger...well that was five hours wasted..."
[Please note: there are no pictures to accompany this post because my husband is a very sweet human being who also knows that I would kill him if he took 'sick pictures' of me.]
