I know, I know, it's been awhile. Can I appease you, first, with a baby photo? Because let me tell you, this is one cute baby. And five months old to boot. (Eight days from six months, to be exact, but let's not split hairs because waaaah.) Can you believe that time passes even when you don't update your blog? The more you know...
Liam was surprised, too.
I don't have any exciting reason to explain the first month of my absence, but as the title of this post suggests, the second month has been quite the ride, leaving me sans one gallbladder and four new incisions (thankfully they are small and will practically disappear at some point), along with one stent. Zero partridges in a pear tree.
Let's review!
The night of Thanksgiving, I had excruciating pain in the upper right side of my stomach. Pain that woke me up in the middle of the night and left me crunched over the side of my bed in agony for two hours before it went away and I was able to fall back asleep. Same thing on Black Friday - same time of night, even. Luke and I were puzzled. What the hell was this? Random-pattern food poisoning? Really bad gas? I took a couple of Gas.X on Saturday and, when I didn't see any more pain the rest of the weekend, assumed I'd hit the nail on the head.
Then came Monday.
On Monday morning, I drove to work as usual. By eight o'clock, I was hurting again and called my OB's office to book an appointment, since their practice is a stone's throw from my office and I wasn't sure where else to turn. Sure thing, they said. See you at 3:10. Until then, just sit hunched over your computer typing random medical terms into Google and try not to alarm your coworkers with gutteral cries of pain.
I managed in that state until one o'clock, at which point I burst into my boss's office sobbing that I couldn't take it any longer and needed to see a doctor.
In near hysterics, I drove straight to my OB, where they took one look at my blotchy red face and ushered me into a private room to wait until somebody could see me. I spent 15 minutes trying every position I could think of to relieve the pain - knees on floor; frame draped over back of chair; limbs curled in fetal position. Nothing. Kill me now.
My doctor wasn't on-call that day, but another physician within the practice as well as a nurse-practitioner examined me and quickly determined that the location of my pain (upper right side) pointed to an issue with my appendix or gallbladder. Since it was so late in the afternoon, they said my best bet was to get to the ER. So I drove myself to the emergency room near my work and prayed I'd be seen quickly, and given lots of drugs. The pain was like the worst contraction imaginable, in transition, only instead of lasting thirty seconds, it was going on six hours.
I spent two hours in the waiting room. That was a fun time.
Once I could finally be seen, I was quickly given narcotic-grade pain relief through an IV, after which I decided once again that life was worth living. An ultrasound revealed a cluster of gallstones in my gallbladder, which apparently is quite common after pregnancy and also apparently leads to one course of action: remove cray-cray organ. Works for me.
There was a lot of discussion about fitting me into surgery the next day, but since "gallbladder disease" isn't a life-threatening condition, they couldn't guarantee my wait wouldn't be for naught. My best hope was that they could squeeze me in between emergent cases and those already on the schedule. I declined but booked a consult with one of the staff surgeons the next day, hoping we could wrap this up before week's end.
Oh, no, she said. The quickest we can do this is next week. I am full.
Thursday, December 8, to be exact, said the scheduler.
For those not keeping track, my consult was on November 29. December 8 was nine days away. Meanwhile, I'd suffered another (albeit much shorter) attack right before my appointment that brought me to my knees. Not my finest moments, to be sure.
I don't think I can wait until then, I said, each time this window was presented to me. These attacks have been coming at me almost every day since Thanksgiving, for hours at a time.
Just take your pain meds, they crooned, and patted me on the head like a good little doggie. It will be okay.
I was given Vic.od.in in the ER, I replied, and it's not helping at all. I really don't think I can wait nine days and go to work and take care of my kids and function like a normal human being until then.
Good dog, atta girl, they said.
That night I had another attack that started right around the kids' bedtime. Four hours later, at twelve-thirty on Wednesday morning, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for the first time in my life, Luke watching me leave from the doorway because we had three small children snoozing away on the second floor and there was no way in Hell we were waking them up at half past midnight just to watch them go cray-cray (trademark Whitney, to which I credit my new favorite catch phrase) from sleep deprivation.
These angels? Never.
Can this story BE any longer? Geez. Go ahead and warm up that Joe.
So.... Once again I was half-intoxicated thanks to intravenous narcotics and left to nod off while the medical staff figured out what to do with me. At least I was being admitted to the hospital and would most likely not leave until I was minus one gallbladder. I was taken for an MRI that afternoon and eventually slated for surgery the following morning (Thursday, December 1). After the MRI, I called surgeon number one and gleefully cancelled my outpatient appointment for December 8. I came back to the ER again, I informed them joyously, triumphant that my original assessment was of course correct. In an ambulance! Possibly without a bra! You suck and I win!
During this time, Luke's parents drove down from northern Indiana to help manage the children and allow him to visit me unencumbered as often as needed - having just left us on Black Friday after celebrating Thanksgiving with us. I hated being away from my kids but tried to make the best of it by approaching my hospital stay as a brief vacation from everyday life. Heck, my only to-dos were to sleep, fast, and bother my nurses for drugs. Plus, the hospital had cable, so I could watch all the TBS reuns I wanted.
Surgery took place on Thursday morning as scheduled. I was sedated for the first time ever, which was kind of cool. One minute you're talking to the OR nurse, and the next, BAM! You're in recovery.
When I woke up, I was hella disoriented and still in a lot of pain. I scared the crap out of Luke and my nurse when they took me back to my room and I started crying like a school girl from the post-opp slash gas pain combo I had going on. Why always with the gas pain? (Damn c-sections!)
I've heard many people have their gallbladders removed as an outpatient procedure and report feeling relatively back to normal upon leaving the hospital. I, on the other hand, stayed two nights and didn't go home until Saturday, having not seen my children since the previous Tuesday night, because my pain level was still close to a 10. Everyone heals differently, my surgeon said, but he was sympathetic to my plight and willing to prescribe me various drugs as a result.
I carried on that way until Tuesday, when I called his office after shuffling around the house for three days like an eighty-year-old on my death bed, fighting pain that was so intense I could barely leave the couch. A rare attempt at showering left me dizzy and nauseous.
The doctor would like to see you as soon as possible, they said. Hell yeah, he do.
My surgeon was visibly concerned and immediately ordered blood work and a CAT scan of my abdomen and pelvis to check for anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, the scan wouldn't take place for another two days, so I was prescribed Perc.o.cet to better handle my pain until then. I can tell you honestly that Perc.o.cet did nothing for my pain, but it did give me my first high. Joshua Jackson may or may not have appeared to me in the form of a pony.
Liam thinks: Woman, you are redonk!
Luke's parents came back to Indy for the third time in three weeks to help us out, God bless them, and I somehow made it to Thursday's CAT scan. Not ten minutes after it was done, a radiologist was talking to Luke and me about excess fluid in my belly that indicated a biliary leak. An ERCP was scheduled for that afternoon to get a more detailed look at my abdomen and insert a stent to allow the duct to heal, if indeed a leak was the problem.
Four visits to three different hospitals in less than two weeks. Go me! Also, PLEASE GOD MAKE IT STOP I AM DYING OVER HERE.
The ride to hospital three was horrible. The wait before the ERCP, even worse. At one point I was writhing on the floor weeping, cringing at the slightest touch, and retching uncontrollably. I must have looked like an addict battling the early days of withdrawal. My nurses felt terrible but couldn't give me anything for the pain without approval from my specialist, and he was with another patient. I seriously expected to pass out. Tell the kids I love them, I pleaded to Luke with my eyes.
And then, miracle of miracles, the specialist was available and I was revived from the brink of death. If a fourth child were biologically possible for Luke and me, I would name it Dem.er.ol. Boy or girl.
The specialist in charge of my ERCP was very kind. He explained the ins and outs of the procedure along with the risks to Luke and me while I was rolled onto my side, stickered with monitors, and prepped for sedation. One of the nurses placed a green mouthpiece between my teeth for inserting the scope, and then suddenly I was on my back in recovery. Now I know how Olivia and Walter felt during the start of this season's Fringe.
To wrap up this epic novel of a tale, there was a leak, a stent was placed, and I'm feeling much better now. I returned to work last Tuesday after two weeks out of the office, and I can once again do simple things like change bed sheets and pick up my baby. Aside from a follow-up ERCP in February to remove the stent, the only loose end is some random chest pain for which there isn't an obvious explanation. Luckily, a second CAT scan and additional blood work show that I'm on the right track to recovery. It may just be that I am a delicate flower who cannot tolerate wee straw-like substances residing in my body. I'm like the Princess and the Pea of gastrointestinal complications!
Nathan isn't pleased with my witty comparison to traditional folklore.
Coming at the close of the year after several months of difficult times, personally and professionally, and right on the heels of getting back to church, this cray-cray random medical ordeal has been quite sobering for me, encouraging me to keep perspective even when all seems lost. There is so much in store for my family in 2012, and at the same time, much work to do. We are facing more uncertainty than ever before. But I am strong, and I have faith, and a dedicated partner, and three little people who are counting on us to push ahead. Like the first surgeon said, we will be okay.
Stay tuned for everyone's favorite end-of-year meme that is so prevalent around Christmastime. I promise to post it before spring.
I hate that you had to go through all of this, but loved the way you told the story.
...Is that, like, love the sinner, hate the sin?
Also, am stealing your new word. Like it a lot.
Posted by: Molly | December 22, 2011 at 12:12 AM
I so glad you are through all of that doctor work. A lesser person would not have made it with the character you showed through out.
Posted by: daddyd | December 22, 2011 at 06:59 AM
At least it happened at a nice relaxing time of year when not much is going on. Oh wait. It happened at pretty much the worst possible time. And the pain you described...ugh. I hope my gallbladder never gets mad at me as my pain tolerance is somewhere between nil and nonexistent.
I'm so sorry this happened and will be wishing you and that gorgeous family only the very best for 2012.
Posted by: rkmama | December 22, 2011 at 09:21 AM
Oh my goodness! What a crazy month you've been having. I can't imagine that kind of pain and the frustration at all the waiting and running around to different docs/hospitals. Insane.
So so so very glad you're feeling better now though. 2012 can only get better, right?
Posted by: Liz | December 22, 2011 at 10:18 AM
Jeez Louise! You have been through the ringer. I'm so glad you are on the other side of it, but SO sorry you had to go through it! Here's to a peaceful, uneventful Christmas for you and the family! No more cray-cray!
(Also? Gas pain can blow me. It is THE WORST.)
Posted by: Jen L. | December 22, 2011 at 04:18 PM
Aw!I am so sorry to hear you have been having such a rough time. Take care and merry Christmas. Rose ( I have been reading your blog for 4+ years. Thanks for sharing.)
Posted by: Rose | December 22, 2011 at 05:15 PM
Awe Bree.....In the christmas spirit couldnt you have named this segement "it happened one night"?
Glad to hear you are feeling better. Liam is one cute looking gerber baby! XOXOXO
Merry Christmas!
AD
Posted by: Diane | December 23, 2011 at 11:11 AM
Wow! I am glad you got it all figured out and you are better now. I was wondering how your family was doing, but I also know how having 3 kids this close together is too (and hence why my blog sits idle lately). Hopefully 2012 will be a medical-issue free year!
Posted by: AJU5's Mom | December 30, 2011 at 12:05 PM
Oh honey! I've had a gallbladder attack and surgery, so you have my utmost sympathy! You know those face charts where you rate your pain? Yeah gallbladder attack is my personal 10 on the pain scale :(. I'm glad you're going to be ok! Here's to a fantastic 2012!
Posted by: Danielle | December 31, 2011 at 11:56 AM