One that I know I’ve told before.
More times than I wish were true.
But a story all the same, that I thought I had finished telling.
I spent last night in the hospital.
Not the whole night mind you. I was home in my own bed by 3. But up until that point, I was hooked to IV drugs. Being poked and prodded. Probed and assessed.
Last night, I was endo’s bitch.
Last night I lost.
Last night, the pain won out.
And today… I am feeling more than a little bit hung-over.
Both as a result of the defeat, and the drugs.
Whatever they gave me was good… until it wasn’t. I’m not sure my head has ever pounded quite as hard as it has today.
Jack is in town. He popped in for a visit early Sunday morning, which is when I promptly kicked the boy out of my house. Call me crazy, but I’m just not ready for him to see me like that. In truth, I don’t like for anyone to see my like that. In pain. Curled up in a ball on the bed. Crying. Sweating. Throwing up whatever it is I’m lucky enough to get down.
Because yes, it was one of those visits.
I had plans for the day. Plans I had been looking forward to all week. Plans that promptly got canceled as soon as Jack made his appearance. Because right away, it hurt. I hurt. Everything hurt.
Still, I was getting through. Sticking to my bed most of Sunday, and taking things as easy as possible at work on Monday. I didn’t end up taking a lunch, because when I feel like that – eating is the last thing on my mind. So around 4:30, I ducked out of the office after working a busy day from behind the sanctity of my computer.
I came immediately home. There were things I needed to do. Groceries that needed to be bought. But all I wanted – all I could think about – was my bed.
By 5:00, I was in it.
And by 5:30, I knew something was wrong.
The dull but consistent pain I had been in suddenly shot up. My right side felt like it was on fire. My hip and leg were throbbing right alongside the spot in my lower abdomen where I knew my right ovary was. I was sweating, shaking, and writhing in pain.
I knew immediately what had happened. I had burst a cyst. It’s happened before, and I’m sure it will happen again. The fever, the chills, the intense increase in hurt – it’s all very familiar to me.
Which is why I tried to wait it out. I’ve burst cysts before. I know that if I can get through the first however many hours, the pain peaks and then starts to settle down. I know how to survive a burst cyst.
But, I also know that a burst cyst can lead to a twisted ovary. To the cutoff of circulation to that organ which realistically isn’t doing me a ton of good anyway, but which I still don’t want to lose. And that’s always in the back of my head. As the pain increases, I’m always left thinking – what if the worst happens this time?
So, after a few hours and (and a few Percocet’s) showed no improvement, I finally gave up. I had been trying to do everything to distract myself, but it wasn’t working. The pain pills I had weren’t working. Nothing was working. And everything hurt.
So, I called Loo.
You see why I can’t possibly imagine her leaving?
She came and picked me up and we went off on a little adventure to the hospital. Where, I found myself facing down the one doctor I never wanted to see again.
The one who had made me feel like such an idiot over a year ago.
The one who’s bedside manner is right up there with that of a rabid dog.
The one who clearly thinks I'm some kind of hypochondriac. Despite the fact that I haven't been in his ER once in the last year. Not once.
Until last night.
And there I was. In pain. Crying. Needing relief.
All while listening to this doctor tell me that it didn't make any sense for me to be bursting a cyst in the middle of my period.
Even though every cyst I have ever burst in the past has happened on day 1 or 2 of my cycle.
It was humiliating. Having to convince a doctor to look at me. That I was hurting enough to be deserving of his time. His attention. His treatment.
Humiliating, and frustrating, and just beyond infuriating.
It took a few hours before he finally hooked me up to the IV drugs. At that point, I think it had more to do with the fact that he was convinced I needed fluids than that he was concerned about my pain level. I hadn’t been able to eat or drink much of anything in the previous few days. So he finally hooked me up, if for no other reason than to get me hydrated.
The good drugs were just an added bonus.
You’ll be proud to know that my ultrasound did in fact show I had burst a cyst. On my right side. Where there was free floating fluid and debris indicative of exactly what I had said was going on.
The good doctor of course made no acknowledgment of that though. Of the fact that I had been right. That my pain had been real. Instead, he said that in the future I could go ahead and stay home when this happened unless I was absolutely screaming in pain. He said I easily could have waited it out and seen my regular doctor the next day. That he knew right away that I hadn’t twisted an ovary, because I wasn’t hurting badly enough.
Which really left me thinking – how is it that this doctor knows how much pain I’m in?
It was frustrating. Frustrating because I am not a drug seeker. I am not a complainer. I am not a go to the ER at the drop of a hat kind of girl. If I am there, it is because I am in pain. Because I am hurting beyond what I can handle. And because I need help.
To be treated like that when I am humbling myself enough to be asking for help? It sucked.
But there wasn’t anything I could do about it. And I have to say, I did get the smallest amount of satisfaction when he realized that Loo actually works at the hospital. He had been trying to place where he knew her from, and when he finally did – he suddenly started treating me a little better. Not much, but a little.
By then though, it was almost time to go home.
So, I took the prescriptions he gave me (prescriptions I have still yet to fill – some drug seeker I am), and sucked down the last of the apple juice the nurse had given me while I could still stomach it.
I slept in until 8 this morning, and then went into work for a few hours for meetings that I just did not feel right canceling or rescheduling. I was back home in bed by 1:30 though. Sleeping until just before 6.
And now, here I am. Still battling this post drugged out headache, and waiting for my guts to not feel quite so tender. It’s getting progressively better though. As it always does. As it always has in the past. By tomorrow, I’m hopeful that I’ll be up for a full day of work. And maybe even dinner with Loo and her new boyfriend – who is only in town visiting for a few more days.
It’s a familiar story.
One which I’ve told before.
One which I unfortunately think, I may be telling again.
But it’s my story.
And I’m here.
I’m fine.
I’m strong.
Endo may have won last night. But it won’t always win. I’ll get my victories too.
And some day, I hope to be telling a different story entirely.
One that ends exactly the way I want it to.
Minus the good drugs.
