Today I'm lying in bed and trying to stem the pain radiating from my right side. I'm using Tylenol, Advil, and a hot water bottle to help. Earlier I actually took one of my T-3's, around 7:00 a.m. and promptly passed out until about 10:30! It's been a very long time since I slept in that long!
So what is my deal? I thought that I had actually posted this, but turns out I didn't. It was still in my drafts. So go read it please, and then you will know.
It's back.
Well, I guess it never really went away. It's just flared up again.
I'm feeling rather guilty being miserable about something so trivial. Especially given that I know so many people worse off than this. My friend Cindy, my hero really, of Running Out Of Hands just gave birth naturally to her fourth child! Ok, she's not worse off, she's gloriously blessed and happy, I just mean she went through way more pain, I'm sure, than I'm in.
And my Dad's GF is in the hospital after falling down a flight of stairs and totally shattering her wrist and elbow, and had to have seven hours of surgery to fix it.
And of course there's my dear, sweet niece M, who has now completed her radiation and has to play the waiting game to see if it helped at all.
So really, I shouldn't complain. Things could be worse. I'm actually worried that they will get worse. Last time this happened I was in pain for three days. I only have two days right now to be in pain. The third day is Monday, and I can't afford to be in pain that day. And I'm a little worried that I screwed myself over by canceling my doctor appt last week. Obviously the problem is still here and needs attention. Damn.
While I'm very glad we didn't have plans to do anything today that I would have had to cancel, it still feels like such a waste of a day. I haven't dressed, and I've been lying in bed or on the couch the whole time. The house needs to be cleaned, there's shopping to be done as well as laundry, and tomorrow we're supposed to go over to my mom's for a BBQ. It's my nan's last weekend here in Canada before she returns home to UK. I really don't want to back out of that, I've only seen her twice since she arrived at the end of June. Truthfully I don't know how many more times I'll see her at all, she's 85 now. But I don't know how I can stand an almost hour and a half car ride feeling like this.
Guess I'll just have to wait and see what happens tonight.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Ouchy!
On Wednesday morning when I got into the shower to start my day, I could feel a pain in my back on my right side and what felt like a menstrual cramp in my groin area on the same side. I couldn't understand why I was feeling this, because really, it was completely the wrong time of the month for that. Plus, I never get cramps on one side only.
So I carried on with my day, although the pain continued to get worse. By mid-morning I had to lie down and just let the kids play around me. By noon, I was dying for naptime, and had to call DH to come home as soon as he could. Movement aggravated the pain, and I wanted to walk around holding myself hunched over like an old lady.
Finally, 5:00 came and all the kids left and DH sent me to the clinic. Two hours later I was home with no diagnosis. Stupid, useless Dr. They did test my urine and said no infection was present there, and that I wasn't pregnant. Well duh! I could have told them that! I actually did tell them I only just finished my period the week before, do wouldn't that be a little too soon for pregnancy? Whatever. So the Dr apparently didn't know what was wrong with me. Even when I asked him if the pain could be coming from my ovaries, he said no, the pain was in the wrong place!
Turns out, that Dr needs to brush up on his female anatomy.
Over the next night and in the morning I was in excruciating pain. I was in tears at one point. I don't even remember labour being as bad as that, although I'm sure it was, just not as constant. At least labour pain came and went in waves, giving me relief in the intermittent off periods. Anyhow, DH took the kids to a friend's place to be taken to school from there, and he took me to the hospital.
At first, when I hobbled into the triage area if the ER, it looked quite empty and I thanked the heavens. However, not two minutes later, the ambulances started rolling in. And we all know that of course they take priority. An hour or more later I was dying. I was whimpering and writhing in that stupid plastic chair, trying to find the most comfortable position. I really was about thirty seconds from saying "to hell with it," and laying down on the disgusting floor.
Finally, the angels of mercy looked upon me and they granted me entrance to the place with beds. The wonderful, heavenly beds. No other bed has ever been more comfortable, more wonderful.
And yes, I know it was a gurney.
From that point on I was given something called Toridol (sp?) via IV, and then taken for a CT scan. Then I was given a most wonderful blend of morphine and gravol. Ah, sweet heaven.
After a nap that I was rudely awakened from by the Dr, (how dare he!) I was told my kidneys were fine and that I did indeed have cysts on my ovaries, the right sided one being larger and therefore causing pain.
Ok, they really shouldn't talk to you when you've only just woke up in a gravol/morphine induced stupor. It's really hard to focus! Thank god DH was there to take all the info in.
So I was sent home with a paper explaining the results (in medical jargon, and I actually ended up googling much of it to try and decode and decipher it) and told to make an appointment with my family doctor within the next few days so he/she could send me for an ultrasound within the next two weeks. Hah!! Obviously the man didn't have any idea of how hard it is to get appts in this town!
So we shall see what happens next… For now I have a lovely bottle of Tylenol + codeine.
So I carried on with my day, although the pain continued to get worse. By mid-morning I had to lie down and just let the kids play around me. By noon, I was dying for naptime, and had to call DH to come home as soon as he could. Movement aggravated the pain, and I wanted to walk around holding myself hunched over like an old lady.
Finally, 5:00 came and all the kids left and DH sent me to the clinic. Two hours later I was home with no diagnosis. Stupid, useless Dr. They did test my urine and said no infection was present there, and that I wasn't pregnant. Well duh! I could have told them that! I actually did tell them I only just finished my period the week before, do wouldn't that be a little too soon for pregnancy? Whatever. So the Dr apparently didn't know what was wrong with me. Even when I asked him if the pain could be coming from my ovaries, he said no, the pain was in the wrong place!
Turns out, that Dr needs to brush up on his female anatomy.
Over the next night and in the morning I was in excruciating pain. I was in tears at one point. I don't even remember labour being as bad as that, although I'm sure it was, just not as constant. At least labour pain came and went in waves, giving me relief in the intermittent off periods. Anyhow, DH took the kids to a friend's place to be taken to school from there, and he took me to the hospital.
At first, when I hobbled into the triage area if the ER, it looked quite empty and I thanked the heavens. However, not two minutes later, the ambulances started rolling in. And we all know that of course they take priority. An hour or more later I was dying. I was whimpering and writhing in that stupid plastic chair, trying to find the most comfortable position. I really was about thirty seconds from saying "to hell with it," and laying down on the disgusting floor.
Finally, the angels of mercy looked upon me and they granted me entrance to the place with beds. The wonderful, heavenly beds. No other bed has ever been more comfortable, more wonderful.
And yes, I know it was a gurney.
From that point on I was given something called Toridol (sp?) via IV, and then taken for a CT scan. Then I was given a most wonderful blend of morphine and gravol. Ah, sweet heaven.
After a nap that I was rudely awakened from by the Dr, (how dare he!) I was told my kidneys were fine and that I did indeed have cysts on my ovaries, the right sided one being larger and therefore causing pain.
Ok, they really shouldn't talk to you when you've only just woke up in a gravol/morphine induced stupor. It's really hard to focus! Thank god DH was there to take all the info in.
So I was sent home with a paper explaining the results (in medical jargon, and I actually ended up googling much of it to try and decode and decipher it) and told to make an appointment with my family doctor within the next few days so he/she could send me for an ultrasound within the next two weeks. Hah!! Obviously the man didn't have any idea of how hard it is to get appts in this town!
So we shall see what happens next… For now I have a lovely bottle of Tylenol + codeine.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Under The Category Of "I'm Gettin' Too Old For This Sh*t"
I thought up the title for this blog while having a small cardiac infarction riding the chairlift Sat morning.
Ok, not really (the C.I.) but I felt like I was going to have one. And many thoughts were running through my mind at the time like, "Just what the HELL was I thinking??" and, "Will they let me ride this back to the bottom?"
You see, I decided that after a mere 10 or so years, that I should try skiing again. On top of that, I decided to take R with me. Now, I'm not so deluded as to think that I should be the one to teach him (my kids don't do well when I'm trying to teach them something, it seems; we ALL end up very frustrated! However, I did teach them both to ride a bike, so it's not all bad!), he had a "discover skiing" package lesson for 75 mins which seemed to do the trick just fine.
So while R was out discovering the joys of strapping fiberglass planks to your feet and trying to manoevour safely down a snow-and-ice-covered hill, I decided to brush up on my stellar skiing skills on my own.
Hence, me, riding up the chairlift and trying not to alarm the other passengers with my heavy sweating and rapid breathing.
At first, I thought maybe my fear was stemming from the fact that I wasn't sure how I was going to get back down the damn hill if my body failed to remember how to keep me from tumbling head over heels like the idiot that I am. But on reflection, I was pretty confident that I could at least master the easy hill and that I would surely remember how to snowplow if all else failed. So then why oh why was I so nervous? Glancing down I suddenly realized, that's right! I'm scared of heights! How could I have forgotten my phobia that seems to have developed and worsened over the past decade?
Shit!
Shit!
Ok, deep, calm breaths and hold on tight.
Oh, yeah, and don't look down!
After abouta year five minutes we came to the top, I took a deep breath of relief and lo and behold I eased myself off the chair with grace! It seems I did remember some things after all! On to the next stage...
I managed to get down the first small hill leading to the top of thecliff face the "easy" hill they referred to as "Family". Taking another deep breath I psyched myself up.
Ok, I can do this. Just go slow. Lots of snowplowing.
And don't die.
Tears pricked my eyes; either from the cold wind, or the fact that I suddenly realized that I was going to be leaving my poor child all alone when I crashed and lost consciousness. Why oh why didn't I rent the stupid helmet?
Three year olds whooshed past me, giggling in delight and probably muttering under their breath about the old person with apparent dementia standing at the top of the hill looking lost.
Who, me?
Ok, I can do this. Just go slow. Blah, blah, blah. If they can do it, so can I.
About a third of the way down the hill, I was doing fine. I probably looked completely uncoordinated and ungainly, but I was still alive! However, my knees!
Oh, my knees how they ached! They were burning!
I don't remember this! This is a new kind of pain enjoyed while skiing. Maybe I am getting too old for this!
I was never so relieved to reach the bottom before. But like the glutton for punishment that I am, I got right back into the chairlift lineup. It was starting to all come back to me now. The thrill of conquering the hill while remaining conscious, the adrenaline rush, if you will.
By the third run I was right back to where I was (skill-wise) when I last skiied, a lifetime ago. And R loved his lesson, loved the whole experience. He has caught the skiing bug, as I did so many years ago, and wants to go again.
I think I've started an expensive obsession!
And guess what? I'm not even hurting that much, so I guess, after all, I'm NOT too old for this shit!!
Ok, not really (the C.I.) but I felt like I was going to have one. And many thoughts were running through my mind at the time like, "Just what the HELL was I thinking??" and, "Will they let me ride this back to the bottom?"
You see, I decided that after a mere 10 or so years, that I should try skiing again. On top of that, I decided to take R with me. Now, I'm not so deluded as to think that I should be the one to teach him (my kids don't do well when I'm trying to teach them something, it seems; we ALL end up very frustrated! However, I did teach them both to ride a bike, so it's not all bad!), he had a "discover skiing" package lesson for 75 mins which seemed to do the trick just fine.
So while R was out discovering the joys of strapping fiberglass planks to your feet and trying to manoevour safely down a snow-and-ice-covered hill, I decided to brush up on my stellar skiing skills on my own.
Hence, me, riding up the chairlift and trying not to alarm the other passengers with my heavy sweating and rapid breathing.
At first, I thought maybe my fear was stemming from the fact that I wasn't sure how I was going to get back down the damn hill if my body failed to remember how to keep me from tumbling head over heels like the idiot that I am. But on reflection, I was pretty confident that I could at least master the easy hill and that I would surely remember how to snowplow if all else failed. So then why oh why was I so nervous? Glancing down I suddenly realized, that's right! I'm scared of heights! How could I have forgotten my phobia that seems to have developed and worsened over the past decade?
Shit!
Shit!
Ok, deep, calm breaths and hold on tight.
Oh, yeah, and don't look down!
After about
I managed to get down the first small hill leading to the top of the
Ok, I can do this. Just go slow. Lots of snowplowing.
And don't die.
Tears pricked my eyes; either from the cold wind, or the fact that I suddenly realized that I was going to be leaving my poor child all alone when I crashed and lost consciousness. Why oh why didn't I rent the stupid helmet?
Three year olds whooshed past me, giggling in delight and probably muttering under their breath about the old person with apparent dementia standing at the top of the hill looking lost.
Who, me?
Ok, I can do this. Just go slow. Blah, blah, blah. If they can do it, so can I.
About a third of the way down the hill, I was doing fine. I probably looked completely uncoordinated and ungainly, but I was still alive! However, my knees!
Oh, my knees how they ached! They were burning!
I don't remember this! This is a new kind of pain enjoyed while skiing. Maybe I am getting too old for this!
I was never so relieved to reach the bottom before. But like the glutton for punishment that I am, I got right back into the chairlift lineup. It was starting to all come back to me now. The thrill of conquering the hill while remaining conscious, the adrenaline rush, if you will.
By the third run I was right back to where I was (skill-wise) when I last skiied, a lifetime ago. And R loved his lesson, loved the whole experience. He has caught the skiing bug, as I did so many years ago, and wants to go again.
I think I've started an expensive obsession!
And guess what? I'm not even hurting that much, so I guess, after all, I'm NOT too old for this shit!!
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