I'm a little abrasive and am sometimes known as '80 Grit.' So I love sparkles and fluffy things that make me cry (seriously), and all that girly stuff, especially vintage, but I also like loud music, not showering regularly, and tattoos. After all, I am pretty bad ass. I live with CTA, an old cat, and the infamous Naughty Naughty Bacon in the photographer's old house on Commonwealth. I love to make pretty things and reading beat-nik books. I like wedding planning even though that probably jinxes my shot at one. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd get a lot more accomplished, but right now, I'm ok with that.
Just a few days ago I was thinking to myself, "Hey! Maybe I'll actually have time to blog when I head to North Carolina for vacation." I guess I got my wish early.
I'm in the hospital. I have been admitted and am currently begrudgingly attached to an IV of Heparin.
Keep in mind, this is the super abridged version!
Almost exactly 49 months ago, I was admitted to this same hospital for the same problem. After four failed diagnoses by a shit doctor, I was finally starting to feel better after being unable to eat, walk, or be comfortable. A week after my initial pain, doctors discovered blood clots around my stomach. I was immediately put on a Heparin dip and then was taught to administer Lovenox shots to my stomach (which my aunt was later required to do because I'm a baby) and then started a Coumadin regimen for the next year. After a year, my hematologist and I discussed going off the the meds and monitoring my health, which I did.
Flash forward 3 years.
I have mild stomach cramps and thought I made the mistake of telling my mom. Knowing my history, she 'strongly encouraged' me to go to the doctor, i.e. 'Go or I'll be mad at you.' So I called up my hematologist and he made an appointment for a 'STAT Cat Scan.' This made me feel very important. I left work with the intentions of returning the same day and made my way down the five blocks to the hospital. I notified my super awesome boyfriend, Cta, and told him it was no big deal because I was just doing it to make my mom happy.
She was right about him, I should have known better.
He showed up and we waited.
We read Us Weekly.
We read Better Homes and Gardens.
He read Time.
I got blood drawn.
We made the nurse uncomfortable with our politically incorrect ranting.
I got a Cat Scan with color contrast.
I thought I peed myself (look it up-its nuts).
Finally the nurse came in and I asked if I could head out.
She got all serious and told me they couldn't reach my doctor.
She told me I had a blood clot.
I swore at the nurse.
Cta had never seen me cry.
He took it well.
He's a trooper.
Then I got pissed.
I have things to do. I have a wedding in 10 days. I have miles to run, and jewelry to make, a dress to pick up, hair to be done, work to go to, and oh ya, NOT A HOSPITAL TO BE IN. Cta pulled the Jasper mind control thing and I calmed down. Things got back into perspective. I'm not going to die. I'm going to be here. Work isn't going to burn down. I will be up and running soon enough for the wedding and my week long vacation to Topsail Island. I have insurance and an absolutely amazing support network around me. At best, this is a major inconvenience and something that I'll learn to deal with.