not dead
but daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam, it was close.
November 13. semi-TMI territory; it's the last day of my period.
suddenly, cramps return.
then get worse.
AND WORSE.
somewhere around 2130, Peter decides to call an ambulance. this pisses me off [i found out a few days ago he did it because i was NOT COHERENT. i didn't even realize]
by the time the ambulance gets here, i'm actually okay with the plan. except getting dressed was utterly OUT of the question. i ended up going in just my robe.
[then they make me WALK the 9 stairs out of the apartment, and down the almost-20 back to the street. i think *this* damaged me as much as anything...]
i get to Grant.
the ER doc? is a dick. he first jumps to the conclusion that i *MUST* have an STI, and never even asks if it's possible [and never says word ONE about possible pregnancy? REALLY??? if *I* didn't know better, i'd think i was having a miscarriage! gods, i'm still annoyed by that whole portion. and amused, because he never flat out SAID he thought i had an STI; that was all me calling him out. anyway]
THEN there was the pain medication issue.
he ordered me 1mg of duladid.
THAT WILL NOT WORK ON ME.
[i have, SOMEHOW, gotten my pain management doctor to increase my fentanyl dose back to 100...]
and this fucker looked me straight in the eye and said "Patients in pain management are more resistant to narcotics. you'll just have to accept that we may not be able to control your pain."
BECAUSE HE THOUGHT I WAS JUST ANOTHER JUNKIE WITH AN STI.
i am *NOT* a junkie. i would give almost anything to live without having to take pain meds.
three hours later, i get this weird-ass visit from him, where he hems and haws and hovers, seeming almost embarrassed...
because, you see, i had a Real Problem. and if he hadn't ACCIDENTALLY written orders for a CT that were BROADER than he intended, he'd never have caught it and i'd have been DEADDEADDEAD before they actually released me from the ER.
diverticulitis.
short explanation here: pain meds FUCK WITH YOUR BODY. in this case, my intestinal track. it had *ruptured*. i'm truly lucky i didn't *bleed to death*. and then there's Peritonitis
so the next thing i know, i've got surgeons. lots of 'em. and another 2mg of duladid, which ALMOST worked. i asked for one more mg, but they said no, because we were going into surgery the SECOND a suite was ready.
i totally blew off everything else i was told. they kept trying to explain things to me. i'd been talking in one word increments since BEFORE the ambulance came. all i really remember is asking them to hurry up and put me under. okay, and turning over my jewelery and contacts to be put in the safe, and saying *YES* they should call Peter and my dad.
i went into surgery on the 14th.
i woke up on the 23rd.
all i know about the reason the kept me in a coma is that "I wouldn't breathe on my own."
i assume i *did* have Peritonitis, since that essentially happens whenever there's any sort of structural breach of the intestinal track. but other than that, i got nothin'. well, a LOT of crazy dreams [that literally could *NOT* have happened, as they involve TALKING to people when i had a fucking tube down my throat...]
i slowly started to get better. i continued hallucinating for several days, but there were... less total? i could still interact with people, just...
oh, and there's the one nurse i was CONVINCED was trying to kill me. i'd feel bad about that, but she took it so NORMALLY. ["Why are you opening her pills right in front of her like that?" "Oh, she thinks i'm trying to kill her, no big deal." actual quotes!]
i was transferred to a rehab hospital on the 1st of December.
i might write about that place in some other post -- shortest version? it most held long term PSYCH patients [without proper protocols *FOR* psych patients] and was... bad. *SO* bad. *ANDANDAND!* I COULDN'T GET ANY INTERNET!!!
i finally got to come home December 23rd...
and it took me a week to really be able to stay awake more than hour or two.
and i've got essentially two months of email..........
and at *SOME* point while i was in the coma?
*SOMEONE CUT MY HAIR* it had been a couple inches past my knees -- when i woke up, some of it was almost to my waist, the bulk was not quite to my where my bra strap would be, and some of it was barely chin length!
WHY DID SOMEONE CUT MY HAIR?!?! there was no order, no reason, and NO FUCKING RECORD!
*NO ONE KNOWS WHY OR WHO OR WHEN*
also all my jewelery disappeared.
and the fucking security people CONTINUE to try and tell me BOTH things happened in the ambulance, despite me taking off my necklace for an xray, handing all my jewelery over to a nurse, and the five-minute discussion revolving around the hair clip keeping my hair up right before the surgery. THE AMBULANCE DRIVERS HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH EITHER MY JEWELERY OR MY HAIR!!!
i;m actually thinking of suing..........
November 13. semi-TMI territory; it's the last day of my period.
suddenly, cramps return.
then get worse.
AND WORSE.
somewhere around 2130, Peter decides to call an ambulance. this pisses me off [i found out a few days ago he did it because i was NOT COHERENT. i didn't even realize]
by the time the ambulance gets here, i'm actually okay with the plan. except getting dressed was utterly OUT of the question. i ended up going in just my robe.
[then they make me WALK the 9 stairs out of the apartment, and down the almost-20 back to the street. i think *this* damaged me as much as anything...]
i get to Grant.
the ER doc? is a dick. he first jumps to the conclusion that i *MUST* have an STI, and never even asks if it's possible [and never says word ONE about possible pregnancy? REALLY??? if *I* didn't know better, i'd think i was having a miscarriage! gods, i'm still annoyed by that whole portion. and amused, because he never flat out SAID he thought i had an STI; that was all me calling him out. anyway]
THEN there was the pain medication issue.
he ordered me 1mg of duladid.
THAT WILL NOT WORK ON ME.
[i have, SOMEHOW, gotten my pain management doctor to increase my fentanyl dose back to 100...]
and this fucker looked me straight in the eye and said "Patients in pain management are more resistant to narcotics. you'll just have to accept that we may not be able to control your pain."
BECAUSE HE THOUGHT I WAS JUST ANOTHER JUNKIE WITH AN STI.
i am *NOT* a junkie. i would give almost anything to live without having to take pain meds.
three hours later, i get this weird-ass visit from him, where he hems and haws and hovers, seeming almost embarrassed...
because, you see, i had a Real Problem. and if he hadn't ACCIDENTALLY written orders for a CT that were BROADER than he intended, he'd never have caught it and i'd have been DEADDEADDEAD before they actually released me from the ER.
diverticulitis.
short explanation here: pain meds FUCK WITH YOUR BODY. in this case, my intestinal track. it had *ruptured*. i'm truly lucky i didn't *bleed to death*. and then there's Peritonitis
so the next thing i know, i've got surgeons. lots of 'em. and another 2mg of duladid, which ALMOST worked. i asked for one more mg, but they said no, because we were going into surgery the SECOND a suite was ready.
i totally blew off everything else i was told. they kept trying to explain things to me. i'd been talking in one word increments since BEFORE the ambulance came. all i really remember is asking them to hurry up and put me under. okay, and turning over my jewelery and contacts to be put in the safe, and saying *YES* they should call Peter and my dad.
i went into surgery on the 14th.
i woke up on the 23rd.
all i know about the reason the kept me in a coma is that "I wouldn't breathe on my own."
i assume i *did* have Peritonitis, since that essentially happens whenever there's any sort of structural breach of the intestinal track. but other than that, i got nothin'. well, a LOT of crazy dreams [that literally could *NOT* have happened, as they involve TALKING to people when i had a fucking tube down my throat...]
i slowly started to get better. i continued hallucinating for several days, but there were... less total? i could still interact with people, just...
oh, and there's the one nurse i was CONVINCED was trying to kill me. i'd feel bad about that, but she took it so NORMALLY. ["Why are you opening her pills right in front of her like that?" "Oh, she thinks i'm trying to kill her, no big deal." actual quotes!]
i was transferred to a rehab hospital on the 1st of December.
i might write about that place in some other post -- shortest version? it most held long term PSYCH patients [without proper protocols *FOR* psych patients] and was... bad. *SO* bad. *ANDANDAND!* I COULDN'T GET ANY INTERNET!!!
i finally got to come home December 23rd...
and it took me a week to really be able to stay awake more than hour or two.
and i've got essentially two months of email..........
and at *SOME* point while i was in the coma?
*SOMEONE CUT MY HAIR* it had been a couple inches past my knees -- when i woke up, some of it was almost to my waist, the bulk was not quite to my where my bra strap would be, and some of it was barely chin length!
WHY DID SOMEONE CUT MY HAIR?!?! there was no order, no reason, and NO FUCKING RECORD!
*NO ONE KNOWS WHY OR WHO OR WHEN*
also all my jewelery disappeared.
and the fucking security people CONTINUE to try and tell me BOTH things happened in the ambulance, despite me taking off my necklace for an xray, handing all my jewelery over to a nurse, and the five-minute discussion revolving around the hair clip keeping my hair up right before the surgery. THE AMBULANCE DRIVERS HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH EITHER MY JEWELERY OR MY HAIR!!!
i;m actually thinking of suing..........