As I clung to the shaggy green fibers of my bathmat and tried to concentrate on my fingers and the feeling of the floor instead of the pain in my abdomen, I wondered if I'd ever be able to eat again. I thought about Julie and her four years of tube feedings. I understood the ability to give up all food if this kind of pain was the alternative, but wondered what kind of life one could possibly have without food. Eating is such an important experience for me. I understood having all of your guts transplanted with the hope of being able to eat again. And then I thought about what the transplant did to Julie. How she's been in the ICU, sedated and waving at death ever since. What it's done to her family, with her parents now living month-to-month in Florida in an apartment chosen entirely for its proximity to the hospital and her sister now in charge of everything else back in Michigan. What is life worth? What is pain worth? Will they ever figure out what's wrong with Julie? Would they ever figure out what's wrong with me?
Mine started weeks earlier. I needed to pee even after I'd peed. I wondered if I had an extremely mild
urinary tract infection. I've never had one and I'm not a very good candidate for contracting one (since I'm not having The Sex and I'm fairly compulsively clean to the point I use those
flushable wipes in addition to regular toilet paper and never go more than 48 hours without showering), but they're so common and easy to deal with, I just drank lots of water and figured it would clear up on its own and if it got bad I'd go to my doctor. No big deal.
I've also been back to More Migraine Than Freedom pretty much since Thanksgiving. Maybe even before. I got stuck at my parents' house for days when my car window decided to randomly fall off its track and after the mechanic out by them fixed it, I was too dead to drive home. Then I went to NBF's house and spent two days there passed out and eating his food and occasionally taking the dogs out but he mostly did that, too.
At the end of January, my health insurance starts paying for my migraine care again. I'm supposed to call my neurologist and make an appointment for then so we can start fixing things again. I don't know why I haven't yet. I think I'm scared it still won't help and I'm sick of getting my hopes up and being a walking pharmacy and new tests and pokings and proddings that result in maybe feeling a little better some of the time but still feeling vaguely awful most of the time.
I go through phases where I do mini-workouts at home, usually including the lame-ass push-ups where you are on your knees, lunges, crunches, and whatever else strikes my fancy. Sunday night I did a lot of crunches including the kind where you lay on your stomach and crunch up backwards. Monday the pressure in my bladder was almost painful, I had to pee all the time (no trouble when I peed and regular good ol' non-smelly almost clear yellow pee came out), and I just kind of hurt in my general low-down inner gut area. I wondered if it was the crunches. Tuesday, it was clearly not the crunches. It still hurt, I still felt like I had an old lady or preggers bladder, and let's just say pooping wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.
I called my doctor. She couldn't see me, but her associate could. Fine. Associate at 3:30 PM.
I made NBF drive me. I was feeling pretty gross, though the actuall pain was less bad. More like "significant discomfort." I told the doctor what was wrong. She squished my belly and abdomen. I peed in a cup. I used to have serious issues with that, having to talk myself down from my OCD tendencies almost as much as getting blood drawn. Apparently, I'm much better at dealing with it now. No big deal.
Tentative diagnosis pending urinalisis: bladder infection. The place that was the most uncomfortable when she squished was apparently my bladder, and this was
after I'd peed. The instant dipstick test of my urine was positive for traces of blood, too, which would indicate bladder infection. So the doctor gave me antibiotics that were "known to be good on stool" and said she hoped the drugs would clear up the problem before we even got the confirmation from the lab that it truly was a bladder infection.
My doctor's office is on the 11th floor of the Galter Pavilion at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. We dropped off my perscription at the Walgreens on the first floor, got dunch at the
Au Bon Pan on the second floor, and went back to the first floor to pick up my perscription and validate the parking ticket.
I dutifully took my pills that night and Wednesday morning and night. I still hurt and didn't feel like eating much, but I mixed ramen noodles with Indian mashed vegetable curry for lunch and finished off the last of my raisin bran for dinner.
I woke up Thursday some time before 6 AM in pain. I had to pee, I had to poop. I did. It hurt my guts to do so, especially the lower right part (higher than the earlier pain, but below my belly button). I still hurt. A
lot. It was like the worst gas pain and/or the worst period cramps ever, but in the wrong places. The experience was like having really terrible diarhea, but with regular poop. Running to the bathroom, clutching my guts, hoping it's over, crawling back to bed without the pain subsiding, big sharp stabs, wishing to fall back asleep, back to the bathroom, not wanting to have to sit up any longer, clutching the bathmat, thinking of Julie.
I called my doctor back to say what was going on. To say I was in hell, the worst pain of my life and I get migraines. Migraines aren't so sudden. They are extreme, but at least you can adjust to them. This was sharp and intense and unfamiliar. Help. I don't think this is a bladder infection anymore, since I've been taking my antibiotics. They left a message for the doctor to call me back when she could. I don't know why I knew I wasn't in immediate danger, but I did.
I called my sister. My mom was seeing clients that day and I didn't want to bug her. This was painful, but even if it was something serious, there was no reason to have her around stressing and missing things in the waiting room of the ER or something when I knew my sister wasn't doing anything. I woke my sister up and she said she'd come in a few hours. I figured that would be fine. If I needed more immediate attention, I could call NBF or 911. Until then, I didn't want to leave the comfort of my own bed and bathroom and the run back and forth. Mostly, I wanted someone to come and walk my dog for me and deal with anything else that might arise, since I was completely incapable.
I may be buying a condo very very soon. In Rogers Park, preferably right on the lake. I have the money my grandparents left me that apparently my parents have also been supplimenting over the years, and it's sitting in a nice tust fund that's purpose from the start was to finance education and/or a first home. With the economy in the shitter, the entire housing market looks like
Filene's Basement. Part of me is very hesitant to buy something here, since I'm not positive I want to
stay in Chicago long-term. I miss many of my friends who live in other states, NBF is moving to San Diego to be all lawyery in a year, and yesterday the temperature hit 8 F
not counting windchill.
But I have family here. And I
do have friends here.
I wasn't aware that I'd fallen asleep until the phone rang. My sister was downstairs and needed to be let in. The pain was quiet now. She walked my dog, who was desperate enough to go out and familiar enough with her that he didn't do his usual apeshit barky routine. My guts were still uncomfortable, but nothing like earlier. I was afraid to eat but I kept drinking. My sister and I talked about calling various friends we knew in the health professions. My dad is a doctor (former internist turned Insurance Company Health Administration Bad Guy, except he's a good guy...) but he was still in Bermuda for some conference thing. Then my sister mentioned kidney stones. We looked them up on WebMD and I decided that sounded right, since it was right around where the pain was and it came in two big waves and maybe there was a stone hanging out in my bladder. I kept drinking water but was afraid to eat. My sister had oatmeal. We called my doctor back and left the message that maybe it was kidney stones? Just a thought.
I took a long shower and shaved more carefully and completely than I do for bikini season. I figured if people were going to be poking around at me, possibly at my "lady parts," I wanted to be as well-groomed as humanly possible. The shower also felt fabulous, and I had a fear that I would check into the hospital and they would keep me, like Julie, and this might be the last good shower I got for a long time.
The doctor's assistant had called while I was in the shower. They wanted me to come in for a CT scan ASAP, but the soonest they could get me an appointment was the next morning at 6:20 AM. I could go to the ER and hope to be squeezed in some time before that, but there was a solid chance I still wouldn't get in until the next morning and would be stuck in the ER. I called back. 6:20 AM, CT scan it would be. My urinalysis from Tuesday came back with no signs of infection, so it clearly was
not a bladder infection after all and I should stop taking the antibiotics. It could very well be kidney stones. Sounded like it. Then I asked about food. Apple sauce, soup, jello. I said I was feeling like eggs. "No eggs."
I had none of these foods in my apartment, so my sister and I had to go grocery shopping. But first we started watching
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which I enjoyed very much and she fell asleep. I talked to NBF and informed him that I was crashing at his house so he could drive me to the 6:20 AM appointment. He was unthrilled but I knew right away he would do it.
My sister fell asleep and I got restless watching the movie. I hadn't eaten or taken any of my medications all day. We headed out to the grocery store.
I was in a daze and spent twice as long as usual (those of you who've been shopping with me know this is already an annoyingly slow process) picking
By the time we headed to the grocery store, I could barely walk straight. I hadn't eaten all day, which meant I hadn't taken my regular pills, and I felt like total crap. My sister was also hungry, and she's not very good when she's hungry, either. I stocked the cart with both super-bland easy to digest non-food foods and things I needed assuming I would be able to eat like a normal person again. I was really out of it but managed to do a fairly good job with my choices in the end. I also needed quarters so I could do a load of laundry before heading to NBF's house and the hospital. I wanted lots of good clean underwear and my hoodie and other things claimed by my hamper. I handed my sister my credit card so she could get in line and buy the groceries and I headed over to the in-grocery-store bank. No quarters, but customer service had rolls. I went to customer service. I pulled $10 out of the part of my wallet that has my quick-access stuff, like my credit cards, my drivers license, and sometimes cash. The customer service guy informed me that a roll of quarters was $10.25 because they charged a 25 cent service fee, and pointed to a sign. Lame. I complained, decided it was worth it anyway, told the customer service guy I wasn't bitching at him personally, since I knew it wasn't his fault or anything, and went back to find my sister starting to put groceries up on the conveyor belt. We discussed Jello shots with the check-out guy as he scanned watermelon, peach, and strawberry (oh how I wished they were intended for booze) and headed to the car. My sister really wanted to go to the bagel place by my apartment and it was unquestionably cold enough in the car to leave the groceries, so that was our next stop.
By this point, I was beyond stupid. I might as well have been completely drunk, having not eaten in a good 18 hours and going through Effexor withdrawl to boot. I wanted soup, but apparently the bagel place no longer sells soup, so I ordered apple cider. My sister did a make-your-own sandwich (all the ingredients you want for $60) with egg, salami, cream cheese, and sprouts. Weird girl. I went to pay for it and found my credit card was still floating by itself in my purse without the drivers license etc. chunk of my wallet. Where'd my cash go? Where'd that wallet chunk go? I paid with the credit card and started ripping my purse apart. I took everything out. I emptied my pockets. I went back to check in the car, including the grocery bags in case it fell in. Nothing. It was gone. Did I drop it back at the grocery store? I knew I had it when I took out the credit card to give to my sister to buy the groceries. I had to have had it to get the $10 to buy the quarters. That was the last place I knew for sure, customer service. I might have had it at the checkout, but maybe not.
We went back to the grocery store. We searched the parking lot. We asked at customer service. Nothing. We looked around the floor. Nothing. We found the guy who checked us out. He remembered us and tried to help us look. It was a very short amount of time and space between when I knew I had it and when I knew I didn't. No wallet. It contained my drivers license, one credit card, my ATM/debit card, my AAA card, my health insurance card, and probably $40 in cash since I'd just gone to the ATM the day before. I left my name and phone number at customer service in case someone turned it in, since I was sure it went missing right around there.
Back at my apartment, I called the credit card company to cancel the card and make sure no one had charged anything on the card that day. I hadn't used that particular card (it links to my parents' account and is just for emergencies) so it shouldn't have any charges.
The first charge made on the card was at Walgreens, at most 20 minutes after I know for a fact it was in my hand. Five more charges were then made at Target and Best Buy within half an hour. My ATM/debit card was only used to buy gas along the way. We canceled the cards and disputed the charges no problem, but I wished there was a way to instead make the next time they tried to use the card set off all kinds of alarms and have the police show up on the scene. The way things are now, they get to keep whatever they stole from the six transactions, even if we don't have to pay for them.
My sister sat me down and made me eat applesauce and soup. I started to regain my basic brain functions. I did laundry. My sister looked at Facebook and potential three bedroom places for rent in Portland, Oregon. I packed a bag with clean comfy clothes for the next day and enough clean underwear to last a week (I'm not sure why) and she handed me over to NBF by 8:30.
UNFINISHED
I do not do my self-destructive crap because there is something wrong with me or I am bad or malformed or failing in some deep inherent way. At age 26.5, I am used to feeling bad. I'm used to feeling like emotional crap. It's familiar. It's my default. It's pretty easy to trace back through my childhood and see all the pain and angst that made for my most common theme. But that's what I know how to feel and know how to live with, so that's the pattern I create for myself. 
Posts
