yes, i was one of the walking dead
I was absent because of a drug problem, but this latest round of absences is a little more frightening. I had been feeling shitty--really shitty for at least three weeks. I was tired, lethargic, jaundice, eerily pale, my head was throbbing after I'd take two steps in any direction, my eyesight was actually disappearing so that when I woke up every morning it took thirty to sixty minutes until things unfuzzed and lights stopped hurting me. I went camping. I went to the river. I swam across the river and then had someone else swim me back. I had to stop and rest after climbing to the top of the hill. I never have to stop and rest on any hikes under two miles--c'mon now. I tried a 1/4 mile hike with Kaya's leash tied around my waste so that she could pull me up hill. I had to stop and rest THREE fucking times on the way up, and by the time I made it to the top, I was so fucking dizzy and lightheaded that I almost couldn't enjoy the views of Crater Lake. That's an almost because the lake is so pristine.
Anyway. I talked my job into paying for blood tests. I asked a naturopathic doctor who I was able to see for free at my work to run them for me. She said let's wait and give it a week. I told her that I had been shitting blood. She said, "Eh, it could have been food poisoning or the flu, I'm not surprised that you're still feeling crappy. Let's give it another week." One. More. Week. "Can we do the blood tests now?" Okay.
The lab called her at four in the morning, as soon as they got my results. She called me non-stop Saturday morning, and when she finally got a hold of me, she let me know that I had to go to the emergency room--I was bleeding internally. I was severly anemic and losing blood at a hyper rate.
Ensue the emergency room. She tells me to read two numbers to the intake personel, and I do. They pull the paperwork from my hands and rush me into a bed, put an IV in me, and then come to talk to me. They say I need a blood transfusion, and I tell them I don't want to do that. (Keep in mind, I have no health insurance.) They tell me if I don't get a blood transfusion immediately, I'm going to die. Fuck. Okay.
Two days later, a camera down my throat later, and we find out that I had been bleeding internally for so long that I had lost 2/3rds of my blood. The doctors were a little shocked. They told me that there was no logical reason why I was still alive. With my numbers as low as they were, and with only 1/3rd of the blood I was suppose to have in my body, I should have been dead. They said that I shouldn't even be walking or talking. Sweet.
I have three new packets of blood in me. One from Idaho. Two from Northern California. I'm eating red meat once a week. I am quitting smoking. I just eat pot now, and instead of 15-20 cigarettes a day, I take 2-4 puffs off of someone else's. I'm quitting, I'm quitting. I have two ulcers that the doctors cauterized, so I hope that stops the bleeding. One in my stomach, one in my esophagus. Fuck me.
It's strange to be told that you should be dead. It's unsettling, and it makes one very bipolar. Happy that you made it, scared that you almost didn't. Confident that your body is amazing since it kept you going, worried that something could be so terribly wrong without anyone knowing.
So that's why I've been out of commission. I'm not just being a lazy stoner and not calling anyone back. I'm trying to sleep as much as I can so my energy comes back. I'm being particularly careful because I don't want to lose any of my precious blood, and I think that if I stick my head far enough under a pillow and my body deep enough into a blanket, maybe the hospital will forget about me, and I won't get a bill for $40,000 with pay in full as one of the options--a joke, clearly.
Living is expensive. I wish I could afford it. The good bipolar news: I did just get a raise...which is fucking awesome. This is my third raise since I've been at my new job (less than a year), and this one is sweet. This one is going to take me from the depths of scraping by to living comfortably. I make over 50K now THEORETICALLY. What I bring home is a bit less, of course, but this is the most money I've ever made. I'm my own fucking sugar mama now. All thanks to weed!
I love that bush. Love it, love it. Now I need a shower because I stink.
Anyway. I talked my job into paying for blood tests. I asked a naturopathic doctor who I was able to see for free at my work to run them for me. She said let's wait and give it a week. I told her that I had been shitting blood. She said, "Eh, it could have been food poisoning or the flu, I'm not surprised that you're still feeling crappy. Let's give it another week." One. More. Week. "Can we do the blood tests now?" Okay.
The lab called her at four in the morning, as soon as they got my results. She called me non-stop Saturday morning, and when she finally got a hold of me, she let me know that I had to go to the emergency room--I was bleeding internally. I was severly anemic and losing blood at a hyper rate.
Ensue the emergency room. She tells me to read two numbers to the intake personel, and I do. They pull the paperwork from my hands and rush me into a bed, put an IV in me, and then come to talk to me. They say I need a blood transfusion, and I tell them I don't want to do that. (Keep in mind, I have no health insurance.) They tell me if I don't get a blood transfusion immediately, I'm going to die. Fuck. Okay.
Two days later, a camera down my throat later, and we find out that I had been bleeding internally for so long that I had lost 2/3rds of my blood. The doctors were a little shocked. They told me that there was no logical reason why I was still alive. With my numbers as low as they were, and with only 1/3rd of the blood I was suppose to have in my body, I should have been dead. They said that I shouldn't even be walking or talking. Sweet.
I have three new packets of blood in me. One from Idaho. Two from Northern California. I'm eating red meat once a week. I am quitting smoking. I just eat pot now, and instead of 15-20 cigarettes a day, I take 2-4 puffs off of someone else's. I'm quitting, I'm quitting. I have two ulcers that the doctors cauterized, so I hope that stops the bleeding. One in my stomach, one in my esophagus. Fuck me.
It's strange to be told that you should be dead. It's unsettling, and it makes one very bipolar. Happy that you made it, scared that you almost didn't. Confident that your body is amazing since it kept you going, worried that something could be so terribly wrong without anyone knowing.
So that's why I've been out of commission. I'm not just being a lazy stoner and not calling anyone back. I'm trying to sleep as much as I can so my energy comes back. I'm being particularly careful because I don't want to lose any of my precious blood, and I think that if I stick my head far enough under a pillow and my body deep enough into a blanket, maybe the hospital will forget about me, and I won't get a bill for $40,000 with pay in full as one of the options--a joke, clearly.
Living is expensive. I wish I could afford it. The good bipolar news: I did just get a raise...which is fucking awesome. This is my third raise since I've been at my new job (less than a year), and this one is sweet. This one is going to take me from the depths of scraping by to living comfortably. I make over 50K now THEORETICALLY. What I bring home is a bit less, of course, but this is the most money I've ever made. I'm my own fucking sugar mama now. All thanks to weed!
I love that bush. Love it, love it. Now I need a shower because I stink.