I loved you from the very first night.
After two long weeks of being pinned to a hospital bed, i'm home. So much has transpired since i've last written, I don't know where to begin. As it turns out, i've been diagnosed with Henoch-Schönlein Purpura. HSP is an immune system disorder more commonly found in children, in fact, the percentage of adults infected is roughly around 2 out of 100,000 (which makes me extra special). Unfortunately, HSP has the risk of causing organ damage in adults if not aggressively treated. It is not a genetic disorder, nor is it something I have ever been infected with before. As far as the doctors can tell, it was triggered by a virus (common cold) which set off my immune system, causing it to lash out and attack my own body. My symptoms began the start of October, when I began having joint aches in my elbows (that which I thought was due to my exercise routine). Afterwards, I began showing signs of hemorrhaging beneath the skin, which only increased over time. It wasn't until one night I had attended a party alongside my comrade and company that I felt genuine concern. By the end of the night, I could barely stand or sit up straight without feeling worn out and exhausted. Not even the herbal tea and vitamins my fellow partygoers offered were enough to replenish my strength. Once the joint aches began to spread to my ankles and knees, I paid my first visit to the emergency room.
Genuinely bewildered by my symptoms, the doctors suspiciously inquired if I had traveled outside of the country (thinking I may have had a foreign disease), plastering quarantine signs against my room door as they examined me further. Fortunately, HSP is not contagious by any means, it's completely within the body. Nonetheless intrigued, the doctors explained how my condition is something rarely found, something they only knew from text books. After taking a picture of the hemorrhaging, they perscribed me medication and sent me on my way. Still not quite understanding how serious it was, the joint aches began to worsen even while I took the medication. Now, to be quite honest, there had been a few times when I spent a few nights accompanying fellow partygoers whilst they drank and rejoiced in hotel rooms (which did no good for my health). Every night I went out, I came home feeling twice as exhausted and pained. Soon enough, I could barely stand on my own two feet without feeling as if someone had given a beating to my knees, that which put me on total bed rest. Still, the medicine wasn't enough to prevent the HSP from spreading, which led to my second visit to the emergency room.
One morning, the glowing orange of the sun beamed down through the windows as I awoken to the sensations of sharp pains in my abdomen. Constant and unforgiving, it soon demanded the surrender of my stomach, and all within. I couldn't even hold down water, feeling the churning within my gut as I hunched over my bed in a tight ball, clutching my stomach in hopes of making the pain subside, but to no avail. My eyes glazed and teary, virtually dehydrated from having vomited so much (pleasant image), and thus, my second visit to the emergency room. This time, accompanied by my comrade's gracious mother, I could barely speak as I shuffled into the emergency room lounge, immediately being led to a room and changed into a hospital gown, hastily being jabbed and connected to an IV, they injected what I would come to know very well as Dilaudid (very effective pain killer). 2 mg's of Dilaudid injected intravenously was all that was needed for the pain to suddenly vanish as I found myself staring to the side with glazed eyes. My comrade's mother quickly noted that I was out. After a series of blood tests, once more they sent me on my way, which would turn out to be a mistake.
As one might guess, the abdominal pains only increased, which led to more severe pains, this time even worse than before. For the third time, I was rushed to the emergency room, and once more I was given 2 mg's of Dilaudid to calm the pain. This time, the medical staff took no chances, and thus began my two-week stay in the hospital. My recollection of the two weeks is hazy, for every three hours I was injected with Dilaudid, blurring my thoughts and my sense of reality. Rather than normal sleep, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness, I didn't feel real. Beside my bed, elderly men were helped into their own beds by nurses, and there I lay, my countenance completely placid from drugs as I listened to the older men complain of pain and paranoia. One particular Italian man from Chicago just couldn't seem to shut up, quickly getting on my nerves as he complained and asked the nurses the same questions over and over. Every single morning, nurses would come into the room to take vials of blood from my arm, which meant every day a new bandage was applied to my arm, small red dots from the needles lingering all over my arms. My complexion ashen, my veins bruised from IV needles, and my eyes glazed over, I never felt as lonely or as weak as I did in the hospital. Every day, my mother came to keep me company for a few hours, even when I was barely conscious.
Just as it had happened before, I awoke in the hospital one morning to find my stomach burning from the inside. It was one of the worst experiences of pain I had ever known, a constant burning in my stomach jabbing from the inside, I writhed in bed, desperately trying to find a comfortable spot to ease the pain just a little bit, but nothing would stop it. Continuously, I called for the nurse, however they weren't able to yet come to the room, and so I groaned in pain as I continued to writhe, feeling as if I were being shredded apart from the inside. Finally, it all became too much to bear, and my stomach harshly turned inside out. Nearly trembling, the pain not subsiding even after having thrown up. Finally, the nurse came into the room as perspiration nearly dripped from my face and hair, barely able to mutter a word as I attempted to describe the pain. Hastily, the nurse injected 2 mg's of Dilaudid, however even the initial injection wasn't enough to completely wipe out the pain, which lingered like a bad habit until finally the pain killer set in, and once more I found myself nigh unconscious, staring into the nothing of space. Afterwards, the doctors set up a series of cat-scans, studying my stomach to try and follow the HSP. In some cases, HSP can cause serious damage to the intestine, enough to call for surgery, which is what the medical staff was worried for. However, after careful watch, the HSP relented from my intestine and the pain ceased.
Thus, the doctors patched me up and sent me on my way, my face grizzled with scruff, my eyes sunken with dark circles, my arms pricked and bruised, and my legs weakened from lying in a bed for two weeks. Regardless of such, I left the hospital with a smile--a smile I intend to keep, no matter what. I've much more to write of, but I felt it was most important to get this all out of the way.
Cherish the things taken for granted.
Alas, now I bask in the subconsciousness of my slumber.
Genuinely bewildered by my symptoms, the doctors suspiciously inquired if I had traveled outside of the country (thinking I may have had a foreign disease), plastering quarantine signs against my room door as they examined me further. Fortunately, HSP is not contagious by any means, it's completely within the body. Nonetheless intrigued, the doctors explained how my condition is something rarely found, something they only knew from text books. After taking a picture of the hemorrhaging, they perscribed me medication and sent me on my way. Still not quite understanding how serious it was, the joint aches began to worsen even while I took the medication. Now, to be quite honest, there had been a few times when I spent a few nights accompanying fellow partygoers whilst they drank and rejoiced in hotel rooms (which did no good for my health). Every night I went out, I came home feeling twice as exhausted and pained. Soon enough, I could barely stand on my own two feet without feeling as if someone had given a beating to my knees, that which put me on total bed rest. Still, the medicine wasn't enough to prevent the HSP from spreading, which led to my second visit to the emergency room.
One morning, the glowing orange of the sun beamed down through the windows as I awoken to the sensations of sharp pains in my abdomen. Constant and unforgiving, it soon demanded the surrender of my stomach, and all within. I couldn't even hold down water, feeling the churning within my gut as I hunched over my bed in a tight ball, clutching my stomach in hopes of making the pain subside, but to no avail. My eyes glazed and teary, virtually dehydrated from having vomited so much (pleasant image), and thus, my second visit to the emergency room. This time, accompanied by my comrade's gracious mother, I could barely speak as I shuffled into the emergency room lounge, immediately being led to a room and changed into a hospital gown, hastily being jabbed and connected to an IV, they injected what I would come to know very well as Dilaudid (very effective pain killer). 2 mg's of Dilaudid injected intravenously was all that was needed for the pain to suddenly vanish as I found myself staring to the side with glazed eyes. My comrade's mother quickly noted that I was out. After a series of blood tests, once more they sent me on my way, which would turn out to be a mistake.
As one might guess, the abdominal pains only increased, which led to more severe pains, this time even worse than before. For the third time, I was rushed to the emergency room, and once more I was given 2 mg's of Dilaudid to calm the pain. This time, the medical staff took no chances, and thus began my two-week stay in the hospital. My recollection of the two weeks is hazy, for every three hours I was injected with Dilaudid, blurring my thoughts and my sense of reality. Rather than normal sleep, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness, I didn't feel real. Beside my bed, elderly men were helped into their own beds by nurses, and there I lay, my countenance completely placid from drugs as I listened to the older men complain of pain and paranoia. One particular Italian man from Chicago just couldn't seem to shut up, quickly getting on my nerves as he complained and asked the nurses the same questions over and over. Every single morning, nurses would come into the room to take vials of blood from my arm, which meant every day a new bandage was applied to my arm, small red dots from the needles lingering all over my arms. My complexion ashen, my veins bruised from IV needles, and my eyes glazed over, I never felt as lonely or as weak as I did in the hospital. Every day, my mother came to keep me company for a few hours, even when I was barely conscious.
Just as it had happened before, I awoke in the hospital one morning to find my stomach burning from the inside. It was one of the worst experiences of pain I had ever known, a constant burning in my stomach jabbing from the inside, I writhed in bed, desperately trying to find a comfortable spot to ease the pain just a little bit, but nothing would stop it. Continuously, I called for the nurse, however they weren't able to yet come to the room, and so I groaned in pain as I continued to writhe, feeling as if I were being shredded apart from the inside. Finally, it all became too much to bear, and my stomach harshly turned inside out. Nearly trembling, the pain not subsiding even after having thrown up. Finally, the nurse came into the room as perspiration nearly dripped from my face and hair, barely able to mutter a word as I attempted to describe the pain. Hastily, the nurse injected 2 mg's of Dilaudid, however even the initial injection wasn't enough to completely wipe out the pain, which lingered like a bad habit until finally the pain killer set in, and once more I found myself nigh unconscious, staring into the nothing of space. Afterwards, the doctors set up a series of cat-scans, studying my stomach to try and follow the HSP. In some cases, HSP can cause serious damage to the intestine, enough to call for surgery, which is what the medical staff was worried for. However, after careful watch, the HSP relented from my intestine and the pain ceased.
Thus, the doctors patched me up and sent me on my way, my face grizzled with scruff, my eyes sunken with dark circles, my arms pricked and bruised, and my legs weakened from lying in a bed for two weeks. Regardless of such, I left the hospital with a smile--a smile I intend to keep, no matter what. I've much more to write of, but I felt it was most important to get this all out of the way.
Cherish the things taken for granted.
Alas, now I bask in the subconsciousness of my slumber.