Drama

Before I begin, let me address my readers with gut wrenching maternal instincts to keep me in a bubble wrapped safe room, preferably in a straight jacket, that at this precise moment in time, I am safe and healthy in the confines of my crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment. 

What I am about to discuss, however, is not for the faint of heart or those easily incensed by idiocy, injustice or bureaucracy. (*If you produced me or are a sibling of someone who did, stop reading--seriously. If you keep reading, don't call and yell at my answering machine--it has feelings too).

So last I left off, I had a harrowing sleep over at the nearest emergency room. Not only did I come home under sedated, I had a lovely bruise on my left arm where a nurse kept trying to give me an IV that didn't work out.

I spent the following day a restless mess, and the next night I couldn't sleep due to aches and pains that were so severe, I couldn't make it to work.  I was stumbling around the house like I was auditioning for a bad arthiritis mediation commercial.

As the day progressed, I had chills and by evening I had fever.  I commandeered my six year old daughter, Lanes', bed and I was generating so much heat I thought I was going to sear a hole through her Dora bedsheets. The next minute I was freezing so much I felt like I was wearing a swimsuit in an igloo. Were my symptoms developing multiple personalities?

My weary spouse, P, and Lanes were snoring in symphony, both exhausted after my first night at the ER.  From my internet surfing (who needs med school anymore?), I knew that chills and fevers were a bad sign when it comes to the gall bladder and that they required immediate medical attention.

So off we went again.  Luckily, my good friend's son is Lanes' BFF, and they were kind enough to take our little bundle of joy in even though it was midnight.  Lanes initially complained about being rudely awoken, but then decided we were rather fabulous to surprise her with a spontaneous sleep over.

My friend was kind enough to wake her son up for the event so that Lanes would feel happy and comfortable. P and I then tried our luck at another ER, where we had to sit around for about five hours until we were given a room. 

Several people sluggishly meandered around the ER wearing face masks and emitting weird sounds that sounded like death rattles in between strained breaths. Invariably, they would settle next to us, and always one to be terrified of germs,  P and I unwittingly found ourselves playing a game of musical chairs.

After bending in pain, clutching a chuck bucket for good measure, P started to watch me like a hawk because I was scouting for scalpels to remove the darn organ myself. The pain was like a guided GPS--I knew exactly where in tarnation that pesky gall bladder was. 

Close to sunrise, we were finally seen by an ER doctor.  He scanned my abdomen and announced that I had a very unusual gall bladder, which sent me on a tail spin. He then suggested pain treatment options--finally. 

I had the charming choice between a suppository and an injection. Between my lack of sleep and alarm about my odd body parts, hearing without listening, I absent mindedly chose the latter because I was too busy asking P what was wrong with my gall bladder.

A suspiciously chipper nurse came in, and went on some story about how I should picture myself in Hawaii, sipping a Mai Tai. She was not amused when I pointed out that drinking would be a really good way to piss off my gall bladder some more. 

She then jabbed me with the injection and boy did I see stars! It almost overshadowed the pain in my abdomen. The nurse then explained that that was the reason she was trying to distract me.  While the pain in my arm lingered, the pain in my side vanished.

P told me he thought I was very brave to go with that option, considering the needle was as long as a flagpole.  Clearly, I was in no frame of mind to make such important decisions.

The one time I needed P's two cents, he lets me make a judgment call without interfering. By now he should know that there is a fine line between being brave and stupid, and clearly, I was on the stupid side of the fence. The Genius of the Year Award clearly does not go to me.

I was starving and it was time for Lanes to get ready for school. As I tried to leave the ER, the nurse announced that I have to take another scan that day itself, which meant no food. Considering the last meal I had was a measly amount of food at 6pm the night before, I was not pleased.

We got home close to 7am.  Poor P rushed to pick Lanes up from her sleepover and then dropped her off at school.  We got a few hours of rest in, and then back again to the hospital for my 1.30pm scan. I was so hungry, I thought I was going to faint Victorian style.

When I went in to register, they were confusing me by asking me to perform tasks like to spell out my mother's name.  Visions of foods that I longed to eat were floating before me instead, and P rushed to the rescue. 

I must have clearly looked famished because they quickly sent me for my scan and before I knew it, it was done and over with. I think I have more pictures of my body parts than most people have of themselves on Facebook. 

But no, my ordeal was not done. They wanted me to go back to the ER immediately for the doctor to go over the scan results with me. Trice in one week, twice in one day. Great.

P was standing outside the door with a bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich, which I gratefully devoured.  I bee lined it to the nearest cafeteria where I had the world's coldest most insipidly dry tuna sandwich.

Several more hours of waiting later, I was examined yet again. I was put under the microscope more times than an artifact at the Smithsonian. I was told the obvious, that my gall bladder needed to come out. 

The bonus good news? By now my gall bladder was inflamed and infected to boot. Lovely. This is what happens when one has to be on a waiting list for help.

Just as I tried to leave, they paged their surgeon and it turns out, he was the one P was coveting for my surgery from the beginning.
So back again to waiting to see if he would take on my case. By this time, P had to leave to pick Lanes up from school and deposit her once again with my friend. 

By the time I eventually got home, it was past 7pm.  I was exhausted from several nights of no sleep. I missed Lanes terribly, having not seen her for a day. 

I called my friend only to hear Lanes and her BFF jabbering in the background begging me to have another sleep over. She did have another set of PJs there just in case, but I asked that she return. 

By 8pm, I was well medicated and P made sure Lanes was ready for bed. I squeezed her and hugged her and she then asked me what would happen if I kicked the bucket. I assured her that I did not have any such plans, and in fact, I already decided I'm moving in with her in my old age. I added that I would prefer to be on a meal plan too. 

Ever practical, Lanes wanted a back up plan just in case I pop it. She then wanted back up plans to her back up plans, and when she was happy with the chain of custody that comes with my untimely demise, she accepted the fact that I have decided to be around to pester her for a long time to come. 

I was amused though that she discounted her father and her uncles, and solely wanted to know all the female relatives that will be in charge of her. Hmm.

The net result of all of this was that I had to cancel my birthday lunch, which left me in a really bad mood. I was also now terrified to eat anything at all and was severely put out by certain foods.

However, things looked up towards the end of the week. My nutty sister jet propelled herself across the border for a day, bringing us food because we were too tired to cook or go grocery shopping. 

She is also always in constant fear of me popping off, I have no idea why. For some reason she can't live without me. Must be my charm.
I was greatly cheered up by her arrival and I felt I returned to life soon after. Gosh, I hope she is not reading this blog.

That evening we got a lovely surprise by my buddies the Mishras, who have been keeping in touch through my ordeal.  A lovely bouquet of flowers that made Lanes gasp with joy! A nice reminder to literally and metaphorically smell the roses at all times. 

That being said, I must sign off as it's finally time for me to go to the chop shop, i.e. surgeon's office. Wish me luck! More musings from BC next week...