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 waited.
We made the nurse uncomfortable with our politically incorrect ranting.
We waited.
I got a Cat Scan with color contrast.
I thought I peed myself (look it up-its nuts).
We waited.
And waited.
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.
Again.
I swore at the nurse.
I cried.
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.
I am loved and I will be fine.
Especially when I have best friends like this:
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