So...Saturday morning I woke up in a great amount of pain. I won't elaborate too much, because when it comes to pain, elaboration isn't altogether necessary. Let's just say that it was somewhere in between "Wow, this is kind of bad" and "This is appendicitis and I need to go to the hospital."
I thought I could tough it out, honestly, because what are the chances that I'd wake up with appendicitis out of nowhere, really? I figured that the pain would stop and I'd go about my day. Only, it didn't stop. It got a bit more bearable, but it didn't go away. I think I've mentioned that I'm not the kind of person who goes to the emergency room for just anything (and the fact that I went to a walk-in clinic for what I thought was a heart attack should be proof enough) but this time I decided that I should probably go and get checked out. I couldn't stand up straight and it felt like I was slowly being stabbed in my right side. Granted, as the pain had lessened a bit, I knew I wasn't in immediate danger or anything, but if something inside of me is getting ready to explode, I thought it might be best to see about getting ahead of any unpleasantness. I was determined to take a shower and put on clean clothes before going, so I (quickly) did that and we drove to the hospital.
We were taken back to a room impressively quickly, and I was immediately given an IV and had blood drawn. Then I was given pain meds and everything got so shiny and bright. They x-rayed me, gave me a CT scan, and then the doctor came in to talk to me. The pain had quietened down a bit, so I wasn't in agony, but when the starting pressing down on my side, I felt like a water balloon on the brink of popping. It was a weird feeling, but it wasn't terrible. The doctor left us to wait until they could run tests and see what was going on, and that is how we were for several hours. I kept thinking how embarrassed I was that I was at the hospital and wasn't hurting anymore, but Steve kept reminding me that I'd been given pain meds, so I shouldn't be hurting.
I have this fear, or if not a fear, a concern, that I'm going to end up being the kind of person who goes to the emergency room for absolutely no reason and waste everyone's time. That is the main reason I always usually go to the walk-in clinic when something's wrong. I know a lot of nurses, so I don't want to be an unnecessary burden on them in case someone who needs them more comes in. I kept apologizing on the off chance that there was nothing wrong with me. I'm sure they were annoyed, but they all assured me that it was better that I came in, just in case. I just don't want to bother people. That's pretty much the crux of the matter.
I'll be honest, though, I was expecting to be operated on that day. Steve and I discussed all of the things that we might need to discuss in the event I needed surgery, my DNR preference, the go ahead to take out anything that needed to be taken out, and if I died, donate everything salvageable. You know, the normal stuff. I even gave him the info on how to implement my zombie apocalypse plan in case it happened while I was unconscious (I should have never watched the first episode of The Walking Dead. Also, pain meds are fun.) We waited and waited, but no one came in to tell us anything. We noticed that the ER doc who had seen me was Dr. Jones (unfortunately, his first name was not Indiana) and Steve started cracking Indiana Jones jokes that made me laugh, which didn't feel good, but it was good to laugh. I'm not sure how long we were there, but the nurse came back in to tell me all of my tests were OK and I could leave. They didn't explain the angry wolverine that had been trying to claw itself out of my abdomen earlier that day, which was disappointing. I would have liked to know why that was happening. They gave me prescriptions for pain and anti-nausea medicine, I apologized again for any inconvenience, and we left. So, I have no idea what happened to me Saturday morning, but I was pretty much OK by noon. I didn't hurt, but it felt like a balloon slowly inflating inside of me getting bigger and bigger.
We went to Target to get the medicine, just in case, and I was still kind of high from the pain medicine they'd given me at the hospital. That was fun. It wasn't too bad, because I think it had mostly worn off, but I know I texted a bit and maybe didn't make a lot of sense. I don't know, really. Maybe no one else noticed! I went home and slept a lot. I didn't take a pain pill because I wasn't hurting, but I took one of the other ones. Then I ate, which was a big mistake. I spent the rest of the evening really, very unpleasantly. I think it could have been a reaction to the medicine I'd taken, but I have no idea.
Sunday I woke up feeling like death on a stick, but I had to go to church and run the sound for the choir's Christmas cantata. I was the only one who knew how to adjust the music, so I did that. It wasn't terrible. I wasn't in the same kind of pain I'd been in the day before, but mainly the "balloon" was still in there. I decided that I wouldn't go to lunch with Steve and his dad, and instead went home where I slept for several more hours. I'd even decided I wouldn't go back to church that night, because of the way I was feeling. The balloon had been replaced by a feeling like I had been punched in the side and was having a pencil driven into me quite slowly, so I decided to take a pain pill. I don't know what the pills are, but I know they aren't the really powerful ones. I don't know what they are, but they WORK. By the time Steve came home, I was not feeling any pain at all. I also wasn't blinking, and with a bit of persuasion, I probably would have been convinced that I could have flown to church if I'd flapped my arms hard enough. Apparently, I'm sensitive to this kind of stuff. I told Steve that I was going to be fine, so he took me to church.
I don't think I have to tell you that I was only in the initial stages of feeling the effects of that pill when we got there. I was cheerful, and not hurting, but I still wasn't blinking and the lights were so pretty. I got steadily more "involved" with whatever I had taken as church went on. I was running the sound and video system, which went OK at first, but the computer decided to switch off in the middle of things, and I slumped to the ground and scrabbled around with wires until I could make it work again. I had no idea what I was doing. I also decided upgrading the computer to Windows 10 in the middle of service seemed like a great idea, even though I had no idea if our software was compatible. By the time preaching got started, I was full on stoned. I don't know how else to explain it. All I could do is stare at the lights, and I had no idea what the pastor was talking about. I couldn't follow the music and I STILL wasn't blinking. I got to the point where, had this been tequila instead of pain medicine, I would have had my top off and been sending rude Snapchats to everyone I knew. I'm not kidding, I actually started thinking about doing just that, but thank the Lord and whatever pharmaceutical company that made my pills, it didn't disable my Jiminy Cricket voice. That voice kept telling me "No, no, let's not do that, OK? This is neither the time nor the place." I listened to that voice.
Today the balloon is back and it feels like I swallowed some staples, but I can't take anything until I get home because I have to drive. I hope that I don't have to go back to the hospital. Maybe not! So that was my weekend! Hope yours was as much fun! :)