Illness

Hello, everybody! I know I said last time there would be no more unannounced hiatuses. Well, I'm really sorry... I said that before I ran afoul of the local creeping crud or something like it. I got a very definite diagnosis of "It MIGHT be a virus." Long story short, I had a somewhat extended illness. Might as well blog that, right? Yep... Get this recorded for posterity. I shall now advise those who are squeamish to skip this entry and wait for the next one. And away we go - breakdown by day...

Thursday, April 4th: Wake up feeling like something is very, very "off" - can't put my finger on it. I've experienced gastric distress of varying degree before, so I just go "Well, dammit..." and don't think much of it. Now, at my current university, I have never had to leave a rehearsal to throw up before. So, imagine my chagrin and flat-out annoyance when, in the middle of dress rehearsal at the darn church, I have to stumble down from the risers and flee for the ladies' room. Yep, ramen in reverse is never, ever a pretty thing. Disgusted, I go back to rehearsal and just mouth the words, fully intending to pass out and sleep it off when I get home. Sound good? That's usually how it works.

Side note: I don't really remember how this happened, but sometime Thursday night, in between bouts of puking my guts out, I fainted in the bathroom. The shower was apparently the closest place to fall, so fall I did. My legs are just now not black and blue. Came to with Stitch's great big cold nose on me. Dang smart dog!

Friday, April 5th: Wake up with the phrase "Look what the cat dragged in, killed, and then shredded" applying very specifically to me. By this point, I'm aware that something is very much not right, but in no way am I ready to admit this to the general public. I grump, stumble, and zone out through the rest of my day. Fast forward to after my geography class, round 1:10... My friend Josh (more about him in a bit...) and I meet up for Starbucks. [Funny side story: his drink basically attacked me. One, gotta thank my best friend James for that old pair of jeans! Guy jeans are thick as hell, so no harm done from the rogue cappuccino. And I got a decent laugh out of it, which I sorely needed.] Josh says something about me looking unwell, but I insist that I'm perfectly fine. I turn down his offer to accompany me to the health center and swear up and down that I'll be fine.

I have never had a minute's issue with Starbucks hot chocolate. Given that, I was extremely unhappy when said hot chocolate escaped in reverse when I had been home no more than ten minutes. By this point, I have not eaten in over 24 hours and I don't intend on changing that. This has happened before and I've learned the best thing to do is wait it out. I figure on trying to keep water down and doing just that. I take it easy the rest of the day and go to bed rather early.

Saturday, April 6th: I wake up at some ungodly hour with my digestive system trying to turn itself inside out. I am no longer capable of holding down fluids. Exhibiting what I think is common sense, I go back to bed for a while. Even Stitch is looking at me like "Mama, you look like rot." Seriously, when your dog looks at you like that... I dunno what time it is, but the sun is definitely UP when I call Josh and tell him that I'm admitting to being exceptionally stupid and need to get seen about. I seriously cannot possibly thank him enough for turning up to take me to the immediate care center.

We get there and I am seriously not sure how the hell I did all the paperwork. I barely remember doing any of it, except that my hands were shaking really badly for all of it. I get called back and Josh goes with me. By this point, I'm familiar enough with this type of illness to know what's coming. Since I was sixteen, I intermittently get this weird gastric malfunction where I throw up for three or four days (because I'm too stubborn to get seen about) and wind up on IVs. This is where I mention needles are among the only things I actually fear. No, it's not rational, but I really don't care. It scares me and that is that. Knowing it's coming just makes it worse. After the preliminary little Q&A session with the nurse, we get sat in an exam room and it's basically just "wait for it."

Yep, you guessed it: IV fluids. They give me a liter of fluids and a shot of Zofran, to make the nausea go away. Just so you know (this comes back up), that didn't work. I basically freak out through the whole IV process, but kinda sorta stayed conscious. Leave with a prescription for more Zofran, this in pill form.

Josh brings me (and Stitch so he's not at the apartment by himself) over to his place and I pass out for... a while. I slept through the pharmacy being open, so I didn't have any anti-nausea anything. By the time I'm awake... I think around 5:30 or something like that, I'm dry-heaving. There's nothing left to come up and dry-heaving is incredibly uncomfortable. Josh comes in with his girlfriend Kendall and Kendall's getting ready to go to prom with somebody. I get out of bed long enough to get her fixed up with some shoes and stockings and a jacket. I'm shaky and having issues walking around, but I'm still having a problem admitting that I'm not fine. Kendall gets picked up by her prom date and Josh and I go back inside - still at his place, because I really don't think he trusts me to take care of myself...

Night of throwing up and dry-heaving commences - digestive system on the warpath and water is once again not staying down.

Sunday, April 7th: I have no idea what time it is when I register as "awake." Night has been spent rather horribly, pretty much no sleep had. For some reason, I'm in better spirits though. Still at Josh's place. Spend the day with him and Kendall. I nap on and off for most of it. I think I start to get up and move about 4. We go on a gas-station run and I get myself a Sprite. That's what my mom always used to give me when I was sick as a kid. At first, this seems like a great idea. I get about a quarter of the bottle down. Unfortunately, in not too long, two bad things happen. One, I throw up about half of that. Two, my lower GI decides it wants in on the fun. Don't worry, sparing you details. I'm worried, but determined to make sure it's nothing. I get to about half the Sprite... about half of THAT comes up. About 7:30, Josh and Kendall are taking me to the ER.

We're in the waiting room about... I'm gonna guess thirty minutes - I suck at judging the passage of time and I was not really "with it" at this point. My lower GI is on the warpath by this time. Paperwork gets done and they call me back. Okay, if you haven't figured out by now, I'm an incredibly stubborn individual. After I hopped on the scale and off again, I nearly pitched right on over and the nurse pulls up a wheelchair. I'm going "No, no, I'm just dizzy, I swear!" Well, I get wheeled back, mortified and grumbling. MORE mortification - I have to shuck out of my leather jacket and shirt and wear one of those awful hospital gowns. This discomfort is off-set by the load of pre-warmed blankets that the nurse and Kendall get me all tucked into. I've got my bear with me, so that makes everything semi more okay.

The nurse comes back with a load of plastic tubing that's just gut-turning to look at. I point out to the nurse that I've already been punctured in my left arm, indicating the still-fresh poke site. She says we'll just do the right one, then. Okay, still terrifying, but that sounds easy enough. Kendall and Josh are holding onto me, I'm hiding my face in my bear's head, and the nurse starts trying to stick me. This is when possibly the only amusing thing that has ever happened to me in an ER ever, happened. Kendall suggests singing Les Mis. I'm not even really sure how the hell that came up in conversation, but it did. I start launching into - if I may say so of myself - a rather wrenching rendition of "On My Own" from Les Mis. Frankly, I think I make a damn good Eponine when I'm legitimately terrified and in pain. Your real friends are the ones who will do THIS KIND OF SHIT for you.

By the way, that first needle-stick didn't take. She stuck me twice in my right arm and just couldn't get a vein. So she stuck my left forearm. Forearm sticks are particularly nasty because of all the muscle there. You twitch one finger and the needle moves in your arm! Yeah, just really hideous business there. I get a shot of Zofran, this time administered intravenously. They stick my finger as well to take my blood sugar. My blood sugar is 50. Just so you know, you're not supposed to be CONSCIOUS with a blood sugar of 50. I'm just saying. So, the nurse tells Josh (who is in nursing school himself) to come get her when the first liter is through draining.

Waiting game. Honestly, I'm not going to bore you with the details of being in an ER room, waiting for one liter, then another to drain into my arm. Partially, y'all don't want to hear it, and you know what? I don't remember some of it! Mostly, I remember being really cold. Kendall went and got me another of those awesome pre-warmed blankets and has my forever gratitude for this. Well, the second liter went in just like it was supposed to. They gave me another Zofran shot through the port in my arm and stuck my finger again. This time, blood sugar of 90. That's a bit low still, but it's better. At about 4:30, I think, they take the port/IV thing out of my arm and I can put my shirt and jacket back on.

Final note? HOLY SHIT, I HAVE TERRIFIC FRIENDS. This is going to be one of those stories that goes down in the Marigold Archives. That's what I'm going to call it from now on, that collection of wacky and wonderful stories about me and all my friends! If you happen to be around me, you can hear all these stories yourself! Maybe a few of them will make it up here!

Marigold, still on anti-nausea pills, wishing everyone a happy Thursday!