This Thursday will make two weeks since I received a phone call that scared the shit out of me. My doctor called me at about almost ten o'clock at night and told me that I needed to get in an ambulance and go to the hospital right away. My blood count was three, and by all technical doctoring, I wasn't supposed to be alive.
I suppose I should back it up a little here. I have been feeling sick for a while now. In July, at SDCC to be exact, I got bit by a black widow twice on one of my legs during a panel. I waited until I came back home to go to an urgent care (so...like two days after it happened). because my leg had gotten so swollen that I couldn't put my foot in my shoe, and the leg itself was getting hard, not to mention purple. And some other things as well, so I went, because everyone told me that if I didn't I would best case scenario lose my leg/foot, and worse case die from the venom. So I went and I got a few different meds and I took them and I got really sick. Now if these bites and these meds are actually related to what's happening right now, I don't know. But I do know that I didn't feel this way until after taking them, so its a possibility. At first, after finishing them, I just got really sick to my stomach, That's pretty normal with antibiotic use though, so I ignored it. But it never completely went away. And I started getting really tired all time for no reason. My migraines got worse and more frequent, and walking got hard. Yeah. It got to the point where even taking a few steps would leave me winded. Then the dizziness set in. In those last few weeks, I couldn't really even shower, because as soon as it got remotely warm, I would get to passing out point. I started missing my kids' soccer games. I slept all day long. Literally. I would get up to take my kids to school, sleep until it was time to pick them up, get up to get them, then go back to sleep. And that was it. That's what made me go to the doctor. I couldn't do anything, I felt like such a loser, My house became a complete wreck (I'm still trying to fix it)......everything just got bad. My doctor just thought I was anemic, that's why he'd ordered all the blood tests. I guess its a good thing he did. I probably shouldn't have waited a week to get them done though. Things might not have been so bad if I had done them sooner.
I stayed in the hospital from late Thursday night until about 6pm that Saturday. I was given four bags of blood to try and get me to a halfway decent blood count. I had so many bruises from all of their really painful blood draws and failed IV attempts. I wasn't allowed to eat the whole time I was there. They were anticipating procedures that never happened. They wanted a colonoscopy, but one of the medicines for that made me violently ill and curled into a ball of pain and I couldn't complete it. The doctor that was supposed to perform that wouldn't offer any alternatives (and there are other ways to clear out down there) and said that if I wouldn't take all the meds he wanted me to, then he wouldn't do the colonoscopy. So he didn't, because I couldn't finish them. The hospital fought with me about it, saying that I had refused the procedure, which was crap, but after that, I told them I would see my own GI doctor and that I wanted to go home. The hospital was horrible, I never saw any doctor, just nurses and CNAs. Everything was relayed through them, because the doctors couldn't be bothered to grace my room with their presence for not even a moment. I'd never been to that hospital before, and I hope I never have to go back again. We have better ones in town, and I wish I had gone to one of those instead. I was eventually allowed to go home after I had tested a 9.5 hemoglobin count and so very glad. That count still isn't very high, but at least I wasn't going to die. I had so many people tell me they didn't understand how I was still around, and that was scary.
That's what's been the hardest for me, I think. The fact that I should've died and I didn't. Although, I guess I was getting ready to. That's what all the sleeping was, me getting ready to go. I probably would have if I didn't have to get up so frequently to pick up my kids and stuff. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm still here for a reason. Like I'm destined for greatness, or I'm supposed to do something important. I don't really know. Am I supposed to get some mundane 9-5 job and be a productive member of society now? Am I supposed to create the job I've always wanted, or try and find somewhere where I can feed my spirit? If I don't do anything awesome, am I going to end up in the hospital again? Or will I not get that chance this time? I have a lot of questions, and nobody to help me find the answers to them. I have found myself randomly bursting into tears a lot lately. I feel really unsure about a lot of things, and scared. I still have a lot of doctor appointments and tests in my near future, and what if what they find is bad?
So this is where I'm at right now. Not in the best of health, but at least I am alive. In the hospital, I tortured myself by watching the
Food Network pretty much the whole time. (If I can't eat it, I will watch people make it!) It really inspired me to want to cook more, even though I hate the actual process of cooking (and with my picky kids, making food at home is a nightmare, they never eat it). I tried to make a sorta Thanksgiving right after I was released, because I thought I might not get one. It didn't turn out well at all. Its very discouraging, so I bought some of
the Pioneer Woman's cookbooks in hopes of making some edible food. And I have this feeling like I need to be doing more, doing
something, I just don't know what. Hopefully I will figure it out soon.
Thanks for letting me ramble.
