One week ago yesterday, I went to the doctor thinking that I would be handed some antibiotics and cough syrup and sent on my way. Man, when I am wrong, I am really, really wrong.
What started off as a brief 15 minute Doctor appointment ended in Cat Scans, frantic phone calls, an ER visit and a hospital stay....all in the span of three hours. Let me take you back....
I very rarely get sick. And when I do get sick, I typically don't go to the Doctor. I have nothing against Doctors, mind you, and I am a firm believer in modern medicine. I just have better things to do with my time. Like nap...or do laundry.
However, when an illness interferes with my sleep. it's off to the doctor I go. Three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with Bronchitis. It didn't get better, so Jason took me to the ER, and they diagnosed me with Pneumonia. Awesome! Still wasn't getting better, so last Friday, I broke down and went back to the Doctor....who said it wasn't Pneumonia, but blood clots in my lungs.
Anyone who knows me knows I can be a bit high strung under times of stress. When I heard the words, "blood clots," a vision of my funeral popped into my head (thank you all for the lovely flowers, by the way). The Doctor assured me if the clots were going to kill me, I'd already be dead (seriously, he said that). He wasn't even 100% certain the problem was blood clots, he said, but he was sending me for a Cat Scan just to make sure. I asked when he wanted me to go, and when he said that he was sending me immediately, well, I was really sure it was fatal.
I go to my car, and try to compose myself, and I call Jason. I tell him what's going on, and where to meet me. I drive, alone, to Annapolis to the Imaging Center for my Cat Scan. As I was speeding down Route 50, I was thinking of what I would tell the cop if I were pulled over. I figured if I mentioned, blood clots, cat scan, dying, I'd get out of the ticket. Sadly, by the time I had my story perfected, I was at the Imaging Center.
I walk in, give them my name, and they say, "Oh, we know all about you. We've been waiting for you." This did not make me feel any better.
They take me back to this dark room, and inject me with dye. This is gross. It makes your mouth and nose taste funny, and it makes you feel like you peed your pants. Luckily the Tech told me of the peeing feeling or else I probably would have died from embarrassment from peeing. After the scan, I get sent back to the waiting room. I get called back to see the Doctor, and he has pictures of my lungs on two ginormous computer monitors. For a split second, I had a pang of monitor envy, then I focused on the words he was saying. Spots. on my lungs.
SPOTS?!?! The only time I have ever heard the word spots in conjunction with lungs was lung cancer. I try very hard not to pass out or throw up on the guy. Then he clarified saying the spots were clots. OK. Clots seem better than spots, but clots are still bad. So, Dr. Feelgood (no bedside manner whatsoever) tells me to go to the ER, go directly to the ER, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Or maybe what he actually said was, "you are going to the ER immediately. You don't have time to go home. You do not have time to do anything but go directly to the ER."
Well, crap. Now I'm sure I am dying again. And this really isn't a good time for me to die. I am much, much too busy to be dead. Seriously.
Jason drives me to the ER and drops me off while he parks. I walk in, coughing, and I am stopped by a guy behind a desk who hands me a mask like I am Typhoid Mary. I explain to him that I am not contagious, but I have multiple blood clots in my lungs. That changes his sour demeanor immediately. He takes me arm and walks me into the triage area (10 steps, maybe).
The ER is PACKED. There are people everywhere, and I am pretty sure that if the blood clots don't kill me, whatever germs I pick up from the unwashed masses certainly will. Luckily, if you come into the ER with blood clots in your lungs, you get seen in record time. I see a doctor, who looks at me, and tells me I get to stay in the hospital for 3-5 days. Again, I really do NOT have time for this.
I get hooked up to all sorts of machines and monitors, and they start doing tests...drawing blood, doing sonograms, taking my blood pressure, you name it, they did it to me. I felt like a lab rat...but without any cheese as a reward.
There is no room at the Inn, so I don't get into a real hospital room. I get moved first to a private ER Room, then to an Observation Room. I get poked and prodded and woken up a zillion times. I get so much blood taken from me, I expect to see Count Dracula, Edward Cullen, Count Chocula, and the Count from Sesame Street as my doctors.
Sunday Morning, I get the good news that they are kicking me to the curb, and I can go home. Hooray! Then they tell me that I get to give myself shots in the stomach twice a day while at home. Ummmm....really? I have to follow up with my primary care doctor and my GYN they tell me, and boy does the follow up visit to my primary care doctor open up a big ol' can of worms.
You'll have to wait until tomorrow for that part of the story....
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