A Shitty Week in the Life of…

Thanks, guys, for all of the well wishes and demerol-envy! I am feeling a bit better and thought I should share my week of woe with you before you simply DIED of curiosity… Okay. Here goes:

Monday, October 2

Dear Diary,

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning with a terrible pain in my abdomen. Not a cramp, mind you, a PAIN. Very similar to a contraction. I actually dusted off my lamaze techniques to attempt to alleviate it all. Needless to say, they didn’t work in this case either. I slipped on my comfortable jeans, flip flops, piled my hair atop my head in a relatively controlled manner, and headed off to the ER. I cried the whole way there.

Almost four hours later…

I am a grown-ass woman! That hick-i-fied doctor insists that I am simply constipated… Ummm, Dr. Dumbass, I think I know the difference between uncomfortable constipation and PAIN. Whatever. So, I am on my way home- still in PAIN, mind you- to drink a bottle of something or another meant to clean out my bowels… wish me well.

Approximately 6 hours later….

I am now prostrate on the livingroom floor, crying my poor little heart out. Plus, I am now puking my guts out as well (please note: I have not eaten since yesterday evening). Nothing is working, and I know that pushing a ten pound baby out of my body hurts less than this. Peter finally has enough, picks me up, puts me in the car, and drives to a different hospital. Dr. Denis, bless him, immediately realizes something is wrong and has the nice little man-nurse fix me up with a demerol i.v.. Ahhh… peace. Of course, I’m still throwing-up but that doesn’t seem to bother me as much anymore. They draw blood- which in itself is a difficult process because NO ONE can ever actually hit a vein even though you can SEE all of my veins through my rather white skin- and my white cells come back way too high. Not good, predicts Dr. Denis. Another shot of demerol and off we go to the CAT scan. I am made relatively comfortable (more demerol) and Peter watches ESPN from an uncomfortable chair in the corner while we wait for the results.

Tuesday, October 3

We’ve been at the hospital now for a few hours. The man-nurses (I have two lovely ones) have come to take me, uncomfortable husband, and the demerol to a room on the third floor. Seems I am being admitted. Dr. Denis comes by to tell me that my gallbladder is infected and that I need surgery. He has called a surgeon. He reiterates that the Dr. Dumbass from before was truly a dumbass, pats me on the shoulder, calls for more demerol, smiles and tells me to get some rest. I love Dr. Denis.

Dr. Gibbs, the surgeon, comes by later in the morning and tells me that he plans on removing the entire gallbladder sometime around six Wednesday morning. Simple procedure, he assures me, don’t worry about a thing. Alot of women have problems with their gallbladders (of course, I had no idea what it was or what it did until I got home and could google it). He calls for more demerol & some antibiotics, pats me on the shoulder, smiles and tells me to get some rest. My affections have grown to include Dr. Gibbs.

I rest. And begin to despise the nurses who insist on waking me up every 20 minutes.

Wednesday, October 4

Wee hours of the morning find me in pre-surgery. I have no idea where my panties have gone to, and this guy keeps saying “HeRbert”. I take off my oxygen mask to say, “It’s Hebert, damnit.”… I wake up 3 hours later a little woozy, ALOT sore, and bandaged to all hell. They had to intubate, I am told, and I thank NBC because I actually know what they’re talking about. More demerol, please.

I have yet to eat.

Thursday, October 5

They finally let me shower by myself. Yes, it’s a tattoo and no, it didn’t hurt. Yes, I have one there too… please don’t touch it.

I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. The nurse explains that they pumped my body full of air during surgery and that tends to cause tenderness. Ouch. They have taken out my iv, and I have moved on to pills. I now have busted veins in both hands, both forearms, and the elbow crease of my right arm. Add that to my puffy face and bruised stomach and I’m Tina Turner.

They bring me real food for breakfast, and I cry because no one in Arkansas can make a decent pot of coffee. I pass on the eggs and make my daddy drive through McDonald’s on the way home.

So, I am home (and yes, Lisa, alive). I am not to pick up anything over five pounds for two weeks and have grown rather fond of wearing pajamas day-round.

No one told me that turning 27 had so many consequences… by and by, “get well” flowers and/or chocolates are appreciated. Nothing makes a girl feel better than Lady Godiva.

October 9, 2006
Categories: I Heart Demerol

1.©2006 by Courtney Hebert as Judith Shakespeare.
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