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First IV drip.
First morphine injection.
First barium drink.
First CT scan.
I went to bed last night with a fever, sore throat and aching stomach. When I woke up, the fever and sore throat were still there, and my stomach was much worse. Much, MUCH worse.
I tried to go to work and found myself huddled around my stomach in the office as sharp, stabbing pains echoed through it. "Screw this," I said, "I'm going to the ER."
And so I went to the ER at Virginia Mason Hospital on Capitol Hill. The waiting room was empty at 10:45 AM on a Thursday, so I was seen pretty much immediately (though I did have long enough to attend a short meeting for work on IRC via my phone). I was triaged, taken back to a ward, put in the horribly undignified pajamas, and given a saline drip with a shunt. Blood samples were taken, urine samples were taken, and 5ccs morphine administered for the pain.
It felt weird, and horrible, coming on. All of my muscles tensed and spasmed, but after a minute it faded a way into a drifty floatyness that was still somehow unpleasant. I vegged out until the doctor came in, who was relaxed and funny. He got serious points for bedside manner.
I described my symptoms, and he had me get a CT scan to see what the heck was going on in my guts. The minutes drifted by in a morphine haze as I took a cup of grape juice and barium, waited half an hour, took another cup, waited half an hour, and was wheeled to the CT scanning room one floor up. On the way I got a brief tour of the seedy underbelly of the hospital as I observed the patient transporter purchasing pills from a woman in scrubs in a little brown packet, then discussing his oxycontin habit with another patient transporter (who also apparently has one) while we were waiting for an elevator.
I received the CT scan. They injected an iodine solution into my IV just before the scan, which made me feel flushed and feverish. The scan took only a few minutes, and I was returned to my room to await my diagnosis.
The doctor reappeared after only about five minutes and told me that, as he suspected, I have diverticulitis. Fortunately, I caught it in the early stages, so it can be treated with seriously strong antibiotics (as opposed to having to get part of my colon cut out).
At that point, I was given a prescription and released. Still in a morphine fog, I walked back to work. When I arrived at the office, I informed my worried coworkers that I was going to be all right. The CEO said that if he'd known, he would have given to the ER, which I thought was very nice of him. My boss told me to go home, and laughed at me when I got my hand stuck in the elevator (the morphine was still in full swing).
I now have hydrocodone and two different types of antibiotics. I'm still in quite a bit of pain.
So the upshot is, I'm going to be fine, but it has been a fucked up day.
Unfortunately, my mobility is limited and I'm tired and in pain. This is going to make it difficult to do all the packing and moving I was planning to do this weekend --
so I would like to renew my plea for help moving. I'm seriously ill (but not contagious!) and Allyson can't move everything on her own. If you can possibly, possibly help, any time in the evening on Friday, or on Saturday or Sunday, please consider doing so.
Thank you.
First morphine injection.
First barium drink.
First CT scan.
I went to bed last night with a fever, sore throat and aching stomach. When I woke up, the fever and sore throat were still there, and my stomach was much worse. Much, MUCH worse.
I tried to go to work and found myself huddled around my stomach in the office as sharp, stabbing pains echoed through it. "Screw this," I said, "I'm going to the ER."
And so I went to the ER at Virginia Mason Hospital on Capitol Hill. The waiting room was empty at 10:45 AM on a Thursday, so I was seen pretty much immediately (though I did have long enough to attend a short meeting for work on IRC via my phone). I was triaged, taken back to a ward, put in the horribly undignified pajamas, and given a saline drip with a shunt. Blood samples were taken, urine samples were taken, and 5ccs morphine administered for the pain.
It felt weird, and horrible, coming on. All of my muscles tensed and spasmed, but after a minute it faded a way into a drifty floatyness that was still somehow unpleasant. I vegged out until the doctor came in, who was relaxed and funny. He got serious points for bedside manner.
I described my symptoms, and he had me get a CT scan to see what the heck was going on in my guts. The minutes drifted by in a morphine haze as I took a cup of grape juice and barium, waited half an hour, took another cup, waited half an hour, and was wheeled to the CT scanning room one floor up. On the way I got a brief tour of the seedy underbelly of the hospital as I observed the patient transporter purchasing pills from a woman in scrubs in a little brown packet, then discussing his oxycontin habit with another patient transporter (who also apparently has one) while we were waiting for an elevator.
I received the CT scan. They injected an iodine solution into my IV just before the scan, which made me feel flushed and feverish. The scan took only a few minutes, and I was returned to my room to await my diagnosis.
The doctor reappeared after only about five minutes and told me that, as he suspected, I have diverticulitis. Fortunately, I caught it in the early stages, so it can be treated with seriously strong antibiotics (as opposed to having to get part of my colon cut out).
At that point, I was given a prescription and released. Still in a morphine fog, I walked back to work. When I arrived at the office, I informed my worried coworkers that I was going to be all right. The CEO said that if he'd known, he would have given to the ER, which I thought was very nice of him. My boss told me to go home, and laughed at me when I got my hand stuck in the elevator (the morphine was still in full swing).
I now have hydrocodone and two different types of antibiotics. I'm still in quite a bit of pain.
So the upshot is, I'm going to be fine, but it has been a fucked up day.
Unfortunately, my mobility is limited and I'm tired and in pain. This is going to make it difficult to do all the packing and moving I was planning to do this weekend --
so I would like to renew my plea for help moving. I'm seriously ill (but not contagious!) and Allyson can't move everything on her own. If you can possibly, possibly help, any time in the evening on Friday, or on Saturday or Sunday, please consider doing so.
Thank you.
