And so it goes, and other medical woes…
It started with a kidney infection, which, let me tell you, is very unpleasant; especially when one has to board a plane to Colorado and drive around for days pretending to be nice to brokers and talking about insurance when really all one wants to do is lay down and quietly whimper oneself to death. But, after a round of antibiotics, a beautifully large bottle of Vicodin, and a mass quantity of organ-numbing pills (that, consequently, make your urine neon orange), I felt…better. But still not right.
I started getting heartburn more frequently, and not the fiery burping kind that go away with a swig of Pepto, either; more the kind that wraps itself around your heart and squeezes until you feel like one more breath, just one more, and your entire body might implode. Then my chest started aching, I had constant trouble sleeping, and I was always tired. None of these things are new to me, but they were happening with alarming frequency. Back to the doctor. “Eat better, sleep more, exercise, blah blah blah” and of course “stop smoking”. Okay, yeah. Sure. So I started taking Chantix; this miracle little pill that everyone and their dog is on to stop smoking.
Day three into the medication I wake up at 3am with a migraine. I’d never had a migraine before so I didn’t really know what was happening. I was so vomitous, it wouldn’t have mattered if I did know, I couldn’t move, or lie down, or think, or do anything aside from whimper and drool. Then it happened again. Back to the doctor for a shot of demerol (sweet, sweet demerol) and a blood test and subsequently a CT scan of my pretty little head, which I thought at the time was a bit much for a migraine, but I wasn’t in any place to complain so I complied. The doctor’s office called me on my cell, at 7pm at night. This cannot be good, right? CT scan is fine, they say, but your white blood cell count is twice what it should be and come in tomorrow for another round of high flying fun. They prescribed me antibiotics, although were not able to tell me why my count was high or what part of me was infected, rotting, and/or about to fall right off from my body.
Migraine number three. And, per the scale, I’ve put on 16 pounds in 2.5 weeks. I mention that this is a little weird. They blow me off. Then the pain…the neck, shoulder, and back pain that I’ve always dealt with increases, it spreads to my lower back and knees, upper chest, and arms. I put on 4 more pounds in just a couple of days. The evening nausea becomes a normality. My abdomen is distended; which is not a good look for me. The headache decides not to leave my head. Ever. I’m running to the bathroom every five minutes and with great urgency. Cramps and a variety of pains; shooting, aching, sparking, dull, fiery, and fucking persistent. I can’t focus at work, I can’t sleep at night, I want to stick something sharp and hot in my eye.
Four more blood and urine tests. Abdomen CT scan. Kidney and gallbladder ultrasounds. I can’t sit or stand for long periods of time. I walk like my grandmother. I’m grinding my teeth at night, more and more, my jaw is in constant pain and I suddenly like soup a whole lot more. Someone shoves a cheese grater over my vocal chords while I nap.
Everything is going to hell and I didn’t even buy a ticket. Or a basket.
I’m tired of talking, so I write everything down for the nice doctor who will see me next. She orders one more blood and urine test; if they can squeeze any more out of me, an ultrasound on my womanly parts, a woman’s exam (oh the joy!), and a sleep study.
She tells me that, any rare and shocking surprises aside, it’s Fibromylagia.
Okay.
So now I wait, hoping they find another something or other to blame all this on, preferably one that is fixable, but I don’t think on it too much as the pain behind my eyes forbids any deep or particularly useful ruminations. I sit around watching CSI and feeling sorry for myself, then angry at myself because really it could be so much worse and what right do I have to complain? But then again, why can’t I? Haven’t I been through enough already? 30 is the new 20 and I’ve been sad and lonely for so long, it was supposed to be better now, here, home; it was supposed to be good.
Such is life.
