a funny little thing
The real update comes forth!
On Thursday evening, my stomach started hurting around 5:30. I thought perhaps I had indigestion or something of the sort and drank some soda and laid down in my car for a bit. Nope, still a weird aching pain in the lower left portion. I called off my lessons for the evening and went home. As I was driving, the pain became worse and worse to the point where I was dizzy and about ready to throw up. Counting the street signs on Sunset to calm myself, I made it home and called Cory. After flopping on my bed, I waited for her to arrive as the pain intensified. I kept having to pee which was rather annoying during my lesson and even worse when I was feeling so poorly.
Cory showed up, took one look at my pale, twitchy form and started poking at my abdomen.
"Well, it's probably an ovarian cyst."
After a few moments of "what should we do about this?" I decided on emergency room.
The drive was amusing, as Cory reclined the seat all the way down. I tried to joke around with Cory but the pain was getting worse.
We arrive at the mysteriously packed E.R. at Cedars Sinai and I check in. There are at least 30 people in the room and I wonder just how many of them are waiting to get in.
After about half an hour, they call my name for registration. At this point, I was shivering and woozy. They took my blood pressure which was at a lovely 142/98. I was stunned, as I am usually around 100/60. I tell the nurses this and they look moderately concerned and send me back out.
The following hour was a blur of waiting and cramping and aching and peeing and wanting to die. I was somewhat delirious with pain and it kept getting worse, like someone was stabbing me in the ovary. After I lost my sense of humor (which is easily the worst sign) Cory still sat with me, stroking my head. I just remember my muttering a lot about being in pain and how I knew my coping skills were shot. Cory got me orange juice at some point to keep my blood sugar up.
We watched as people filtered in. One girl had been attacked by her boyfriend and was bleeding from the head. She was cute, wearing Rock and Republic jeans and just looked embarassed and scared. I wanted to give her a hug then castrate the guy who bashed her head into a pole. There was a group of giggling teens somewhere in there, likely an overdose on nitrous. Another guy had something toxic in his system, or so he said and of course we had the requisite crack head.
Around hour 2 1/2, I went back to talk to another person. He looked me up in the system and found my birth records. At least I know they have a good system? I was sitting hunched in the chair with Cory at my side answering his questions about my health and occupation.
"Oh! You're an SAT tutor!" he exclaimed before telling me that he met another tutor who said that all of his students were smart because they were Asian.
I responded with a look of "Uh...wha?" wondering why he was telling me this.
I then stupidly made a comment about my purse and how it was made of seatbelts which started him on this whole rambling monologue about how he was in the army and had spools of leftover seatblet material. He was telling us about how they can be used for parachuting and such while I was sitting there just waiting for an alien baby to burst from my abdomen. This yet again proves that people tell me their stories at will with no provocation from my end.
Cue a bit after hour 3, where I am feeling a bit better and they FINALLY call me in. A very sweet younger doctor comes in to talk to me, then has me give a urine sample. Next, a nurse tries to take a blood sample. I know I am a huge wimp when it comes to these due to all of my bad experiences with them. My veins rather like to keep my blood in my body, so once you go through the trouble of finding one, it will likely scoot away or implode. 3 tries later, there is a nice flow coming out of the top of my left hand (good job going for the biggest vein possible) and then I am hooked up to a saline i.v. because I was rather degydrated (peeing 12 times in 5 hours will do that to you...). Out comes the shot of pain killers to the tush and then I get taken to my own room.
Cory kindly wrapped me in blankets as I was cold to begin with and the saline was making my arm feel like it had ice running through it. Next up on our fun list of activities?
Pelvic exam.
This time, Dr. Crankypants came in. Why did we call him this? Oh yeah, because he was a fucking asshole. He was showing the ropes to the sweet younger doctor though I'd have to say, his bedside demeanor leaves much to be desired.
"So, you are going to want to use the smaller speculum on me"
"Why would I do that?"
"Well, I'm really small and have been in a lot of pain and the chances of those muscles relaxing is rather small as well."
"Oh then we should use the big one! You can always kick the other doctor in the head if it hurts. You shouldn't be uptight about this."
"Or I could kick you in the head. I'm really quite flexible."
"You shouldbe relaxed...your friend is here, that should make you feel better."
The suggestion that Cory's presence would make me feel better about speculum insertion was riotously funny to me for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which that she's a lesbian with a husband and training as an EMT, amongst other things...
Dr. Crankypants just didn't find it as amusing as I, slathered me with really cold KY and tried to insert a normal speculum.
My vagina went, oh, no thank you, and promptly spit it back out.
After much poking around, he used the smaller one and got to check out my cervix then poke my ovaries. Everything looked fine. This meant, on to the next step.
A catheterized urine sample.
The nurse who did it was a friendly lady from Alabama who reeked of cigarettes and chatted about real estate. After everything else that happened to me already, having a small tube in my urethra was a piece of cake.
For about an hour after, not much happened to me. A nerdcore nurse came in and checked my blood pressure which had returned to my usual range, 112 over 69. He joked with me and Cory that we were the kind of women that men fear due to our intelligence and wit. We talked to him about the difference between purgatory and limbo.
During the downtime, Cory and I had fun chatting about girly stuff and not so girly stuff and were tired and loopy but giggly as well. I was relieved to be feeling better, she was amused by the medical equipment in the room and all was well at a bit past 4am when they finally released me. All but one thing.
They still can't figure out what happened to me.
It may have been a kidney stone, an ovarian cyst, or some variation on those two. A trip to the gyno revealed that everything was peachy keen with my reproductive organs (I got to see all of them on an ultrasound...it was actually really neat) and I have an appointment tomorrow with a urologist.
In the end, I'm glad I'm not dead and quite pleased that I have a friend like Cory. My ovary still owes her a pizza.
On Thursday evening, my stomach started hurting around 5:30. I thought perhaps I had indigestion or something of the sort and drank some soda and laid down in my car for a bit. Nope, still a weird aching pain in the lower left portion. I called off my lessons for the evening and went home. As I was driving, the pain became worse and worse to the point where I was dizzy and about ready to throw up. Counting the street signs on Sunset to calm myself, I made it home and called Cory. After flopping on my bed, I waited for her to arrive as the pain intensified. I kept having to pee which was rather annoying during my lesson and even worse when I was feeling so poorly.
Cory showed up, took one look at my pale, twitchy form and started poking at my abdomen.
"Well, it's probably an ovarian cyst."
After a few moments of "what should we do about this?" I decided on emergency room.
The drive was amusing, as Cory reclined the seat all the way down. I tried to joke around with Cory but the pain was getting worse.
We arrive at the mysteriously packed E.R. at Cedars Sinai and I check in. There are at least 30 people in the room and I wonder just how many of them are waiting to get in.
After about half an hour, they call my name for registration. At this point, I was shivering and woozy. They took my blood pressure which was at a lovely 142/98. I was stunned, as I am usually around 100/60. I tell the nurses this and they look moderately concerned and send me back out.
The following hour was a blur of waiting and cramping and aching and peeing and wanting to die. I was somewhat delirious with pain and it kept getting worse, like someone was stabbing me in the ovary. After I lost my sense of humor (which is easily the worst sign) Cory still sat with me, stroking my head. I just remember my muttering a lot about being in pain and how I knew my coping skills were shot. Cory got me orange juice at some point to keep my blood sugar up.
We watched as people filtered in. One girl had been attacked by her boyfriend and was bleeding from the head. She was cute, wearing Rock and Republic jeans and just looked embarassed and scared. I wanted to give her a hug then castrate the guy who bashed her head into a pole. There was a group of giggling teens somewhere in there, likely an overdose on nitrous. Another guy had something toxic in his system, or so he said and of course we had the requisite crack head.
Around hour 2 1/2, I went back to talk to another person. He looked me up in the system and found my birth records. At least I know they have a good system? I was sitting hunched in the chair with Cory at my side answering his questions about my health and occupation.
"Oh! You're an SAT tutor!" he exclaimed before telling me that he met another tutor who said that all of his students were smart because they were Asian.
I responded with a look of "Uh...wha?" wondering why he was telling me this.
I then stupidly made a comment about my purse and how it was made of seatbelts which started him on this whole rambling monologue about how he was in the army and had spools of leftover seatblet material. He was telling us about how they can be used for parachuting and such while I was sitting there just waiting for an alien baby to burst from my abdomen. This yet again proves that people tell me their stories at will with no provocation from my end.
Cue a bit after hour 3, where I am feeling a bit better and they FINALLY call me in. A very sweet younger doctor comes in to talk to me, then has me give a urine sample. Next, a nurse tries to take a blood sample. I know I am a huge wimp when it comes to these due to all of my bad experiences with them. My veins rather like to keep my blood in my body, so once you go through the trouble of finding one, it will likely scoot away or implode. 3 tries later, there is a nice flow coming out of the top of my left hand (good job going for the biggest vein possible) and then I am hooked up to a saline i.v. because I was rather degydrated (peeing 12 times in 5 hours will do that to you...). Out comes the shot of pain killers to the tush and then I get taken to my own room.
Cory kindly wrapped me in blankets as I was cold to begin with and the saline was making my arm feel like it had ice running through it. Next up on our fun list of activities?
Pelvic exam.
This time, Dr. Crankypants came in. Why did we call him this? Oh yeah, because he was a fucking asshole. He was showing the ropes to the sweet younger doctor though I'd have to say, his bedside demeanor leaves much to be desired.
"So, you are going to want to use the smaller speculum on me"
"Why would I do that?"
"Well, I'm really small and have been in a lot of pain and the chances of those muscles relaxing is rather small as well."
"Oh then we should use the big one! You can always kick the other doctor in the head if it hurts. You shouldn't be uptight about this."
"Or I could kick you in the head. I'm really quite flexible."
"You shouldbe relaxed...your friend is here, that should make you feel better."
The suggestion that Cory's presence would make me feel better about speculum insertion was riotously funny to me for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which that she's a lesbian with a husband and training as an EMT, amongst other things...
Dr. Crankypants just didn't find it as amusing as I, slathered me with really cold KY and tried to insert a normal speculum.
My vagina went, oh, no thank you, and promptly spit it back out.
After much poking around, he used the smaller one and got to check out my cervix then poke my ovaries. Everything looked fine. This meant, on to the next step.
A catheterized urine sample.
The nurse who did it was a friendly lady from Alabama who reeked of cigarettes and chatted about real estate. After everything else that happened to me already, having a small tube in my urethra was a piece of cake.
For about an hour after, not much happened to me. A nerdcore nurse came in and checked my blood pressure which had returned to my usual range, 112 over 69. He joked with me and Cory that we were the kind of women that men fear due to our intelligence and wit. We talked to him about the difference between purgatory and limbo.
During the downtime, Cory and I had fun chatting about girly stuff and not so girly stuff and were tired and loopy but giggly as well. I was relieved to be feeling better, she was amused by the medical equipment in the room and all was well at a bit past 4am when they finally released me. All but one thing.
They still can't figure out what happened to me.
It may have been a kidney stone, an ovarian cyst, or some variation on those two. A trip to the gyno revealed that everything was peachy keen with my reproductive organs (I got to see all of them on an ultrasound...it was actually really neat) and I have an appointment tomorrow with a urologist.
In the end, I'm glad I'm not dead and quite pleased that I have a friend like Cory. My ovary still owes her a pizza.