Be Careful What Illnesses You Mock
In my last post, I referred offhandedly to projectile vomiting. Silly of me, really, because I should know how the universe pays attention to asides like that, and how the universe can have a really twisted sense of humor at times.
Not that what struck me down was projectile, exactly, but it was stomach cramps, vomiting every 30 minutes, alternating sweats and chilled tremors that felt more like I was holding a jackhammer, and, eventually, shoulder cramps from my bad posture while throwing up. (Remember, children: posture is the foundation of good health.) There was a point when I actually wondered whether my peristalsis had started working in reverse, because I had no idea where the stuff was coming from; when it turned olive green, I got really alarmed. (Just bile, though.)
Eventually, after about 12 hours of this, I gave up and went to the emergency room, because there’s only so much WebMDing of your symptoms you can do while huddling on the bathroom floor, dirty laundry cushioning the cold tiles, trying to focus on the screen with blurry eyes, before you finally give up and go for professional help. (Put like that, my lifestyle sounds just so glamorous.)
Anyway, the ER took about a gazillion hours, as it always seems to, but the Emory staff were great and very considerate, and were willing to give explanations of what they were doing and why, which makes a big difference. They checked me out for everything likely, and arrived at a preliminary diagnosis of viral gastritis (i.e., flu, but one unlike I’ve ever had before — even food poisoning wasn’t this much, erm, fun), or, possibly, a peptic ulcer. I’ve got some meds and am supposed to make a follow-up appointment next week after Xmas (fun, fun).
Anyway, I’m feeling hella better than I did this morning, but I’m supposed to take the pills for the next two weeks, and stay home tomorrow. Probably a good thing, because I’m still a bit wonky from all the excitement, and my stomach muscles are sore from their unaccustomed workout. Still, as much fun as it’s been, at least I can now stand upright without moaning, and I don’t have a gall bladder stone or a perforated stomach wall or something equally serious; just a bug or, less likely, a little ulcer-ette. Could’ve been much worse.
(Of course, when I see the bill eventually, I may wind up wishing I’d wound up in a coma so I didn’t have to deal with the cost. Eeep.)
