Cysts, Emergency Rooms, and Container Stores: Or, What I Did This Week
If you follow me on social media, this is old news. If you mostly check this blog, get popcorn. Or wine. Or whatever. I got story.
For the past month or more I’ve felt punky. I kept modifying my diet trying to find the culprit, but nothing really worked. I even started a whole other blog where I’m basically whining about my health and chronicling what I eat, except I got in a snit last week and stopped and have yet to start up again. In any event, nothing has really worked. Mostly I felt tired and off and annoyed that I couldn’t get right and knew nobody in medicine would be able to help me because they never can.
Then Thursday happened.
The morning started out GREAT. I woke early, felt pretty good, and got a crap ton of work done. I was sailing through promo, lining up other work and basically getting ready to light the world on fire. At 11:30 I felt a little cramping, and I thought, huh, odd because I’m just finishing my period. Then it got worse and I had Anna bring me some Vicodin and ibuprofen because standing was a little hard. Then it got worse and I laid on the floor. Then it got worse and I started screaming. Anna called her dad, but as I feared I would pass out and freak her out even more, I had her call 911.
I’m kind of a strange creature, because though I deal with a lot of chronic pain, I also have a crazy-high pain tolerance. That means I don’t feel anything until it’s HORRIBLE, and my pain scale usually goes from 2-4 to 10 without any warning at all. I was in so much pain I couldn’t stand, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t coherently answer questions. Writers almost always have people in their head, and in that moment mine were all lined up, hovering over me like I was a campfire. “Am I dying?” I kept asking them. They shook their heads and said no, I’d be fine, which was nice but hard to believe in that exact moment.
After an ambulance ride to the hospital, an ER exam and then a trip to the lab where I had several ultrasounds done, we learned I’m harboring two cysts on my right ovary (near, maybe on but they can’t tell for sure). One is 3 cm. One is 7cm. So I have a baseball and a golf ball in me. They were trying to decide if they were inhibiting blood flow and in the end decided no because pain meds made them go away. Honestly, I think they were doing that but stopped, because I’ve had this happen before. In any event, I didn’t have emergency surgery. The doctors I saw were nice but a bit clueless. Mostly I’m waiting to get in to my regular OB/GYN next week where I will hatch a better plan. And if I don’t get one, I’ll be carting myself off to whoever will listen, though I really like my lady doc. I have good feelings about this.
So I got to go home Thursday night, though I felt like total hell. They gave me a pile of Oxycodone, which are handy to have around, but I’m using them about 1/8 of what they told me I would. Also, though they told me to rest for a week, I’m writing this post from Bloomington, Minnesota. So not exactly resting.
I can’t say I’m sorry. I feel good, or at least as good as I’d feel at home. This was a trip I’d been trying to take with Anna all week—our promised trip to see Marie and her daughter got cancelled because of hospice kitty, so I told her I’d take her to the Dover store in Medina. Except with me not feeling great earlier in the week, plus snow, we had to push it off. Plus Dan really wanted to come along and go to Electric Fetus, so we’d planned to go on the weekend. And then I decided I should go to the ER instead.
Except yesterday morning I was feeling pretty damn good for having gone to the ER. I said I wanted to go anyway, because I wanted to take Anna and Dan, because I hate being told no, and because I wanted to go to the Container Store to look for some RT things. So loaded with painkillers we went. And honestly it’s not been bad.
The Dover store was very fun, and useful because my super-slender daughter is hell to fit for chaps. We brought along her barn buddy, and they oohed and ached over a whole store of English riding gear, unlike the small section to be found in Western tack stores in central Iowa. But when we were done, we went to The Container Store.
I think I saw God.
I didn’t even get that much–mostly I was in love with the idea that there was a world which could be that organized. Dan was impressed too. He kept saying, “This makes me want to go home, throw everything away, and start over, but organized.” I found several things I needed and a million things I wanted, and mostly I was just happy as hell to be there.
We dropped Dan off at Electric Fetus so he could have used record store heaven, and I took the girls to Candyland where we paid almost as much to park as we did for candy. He made out with a huge, HUGE pile of records for under $40—the combination of “lots of cool records” and “not much money” made pretty much a perfect Dan day all around.
Now we’re back at the hotel, where the girls are enjoying the pool, Dan is supervising, and I’m working while we wait for pizza. Yes, I’m having pizza delivered: gluten free, vegan pizza. DELIVERED. I haven’t even had it yet, but I love you, Pizza Lucé. I tipped the driver 20% just because I was so fucking happy to have the option.
That’s pretty much my week. I’m going to try my modified Wahls/Fuhrman diet to help with the cysts, but I have the feeling I’m going to need a bit of a wrecking ball before this is all said and done, and I’d really like that to happen before RT. Because holy crap, do I not want to be calling the ambulance in NOLA.
Well, not for a cyst, anyway.
I’ll keep you posted on my progress. Though right now I’m going to see if I can get back on that work horse I fell off of Thursday.
The pizza has arrived. It was amazing.
The GF bruschetta also arrived. It was not vegan–I could taste the egg. IT WAS AMAZING. I’m now all over social media talking about how I want to fuck bread or fuck for bread or basically anything that involves Pizza Lucé’s bread.