Faulty Internal Affairs

I have been haunted by all the foods I've loved before. That is the main reason I have been unusually silent.  Visions of chicken tikka masala, sour cream and onion chips, and hot chilli oil from greasy Chinese restaurants have returned with more ferocity than the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future; only in my case, they are the Ghosts of Foods Oily, Spicy and Preserved.

I spent most of Sunday night in the emergency room. The  weekend was packed full of get togethers and I valiantly avoided landmines such as fried foods, sweets and meals after 7pm. Having successfully navigated the weekend, I ate dinner a friend's house in the spirit of Canadian Thanksgiving. 

Oh my goodness! By the time I got home, I couldn't stand or sit or lie down. I felt like fired up iron claws were tightening my ribcage and after a particularly charming bout of vomiting, I announced to my bleary eyed, worried spouse, P, that the day had finally come when the gall bladder sent me to the hospital.

By that point, I couldn't even fathom how long it would take to get to the hospital or how soon I could be tended to when I got there. Time stood still as the pain took over. P was left to haul our slumbering six year old, Lanes and jet propel me to the hospital.  That was not an easy task since she weighs as much as ten gunny sacks of rice easily.

I stumbled into the ER, like a tipsy walrus, clutching onto a chuck bucket firmly in hand. I must have looked deathly ill because I was seen quite quickly.

Some genius of a nurse couldn't find my veins for the IV, but luckily the pain in my abdomen and back was so great that I didn't notice the mini-butchering going on to my left arm. 

Mercifully, she gave up quickly, and a chipper nurse came in and found the appropriate vein on my right arm. I was given some stuff for nausea and lots of morphine.

It was already 3am and I was really tired.  The pain refused to subside though, and I was dizzy and sleepy to boot thanks to the morphine.  By that time, P was summoned and sitting uncomfortably on a very upright chair by my bed, with Lanes draped on top of him. 

She woke up briefly, and I was horrified that she would be terrified after seeing me lying down in a hospital bed with tubes on my arm.  Worse yet, I feared she would leap onto me like a baby squirrel. 

In her sleepy state, she smiled at me, said 'Happy Thanksgiving Mommy', and returned to drooling on the crook of her father's stiff neck. To this day, I don't know how P held onto her on that tiny hard chair.

I wanted desperately to get some rest, but the folks in the room next to me, now feeling better because the drugs they were given were working, started chatting  loudly like it was happy hour at a bingo game. They were yakking away for at least three hours. What were they? Vampires? Go to sleep already.

The chipper nurse then decided I needed a Voltaren suppository, but I was in too much pain to be suitably horrified. At that point, I would have happily cut out my gall bladder without any anesthetics. By about 6am, they decided my blood work was ok and I was sent home, faulty body parts and all.

I think P was the worst off having stayed up all night, carrying Lanes to boot.  In addition, it is now Tuesday and I'm still worse for wear. I could barely stand up this morning and I really needed much rest.

Lanes decided to cough up a storm, but the minute her father called the school to say she was not well, she miraculously stopped sniffling and proceeded to bounce off the ceilings. Considering I'm was still a little dizzy and loopy, this traumatized me greatly.

An avid eavesdropper, only when she heard me telling P that she is right as rain and I might send her to school with a friend of mine, did she simmer down.  She later came in and announced she stayed home to take care of me. I guess her intentions were good,  but she seems to be taking care of me more in a Godfather sense.

I narrowly escaped being kicked in the gall bladder and she has been sitting on my tired feet, playing while I'm trying to rest.  Fortunately, the Disney channel has come to the rescue at this moment.

I called the surgeon's office to see if my appointment could be expedited given the sad state of internal affairs of my organs, but they are still completely booked up. Apparently, after him, the surgery could take months to be scheduled. Oh great. 

Basically, not only do I have to knock, but possibly make a pizza delivery at death's door before I can have this silly gall bladder out. So between the general discomfort from this illness and having lots to do at work, I'm rather tired most of the time.

I will try to get better about blogging though. Next time, more drama involving about job fairs, playground antics, and computers invaded by 90s superstars. More musings from BC next week...