Disclaimer: The following is gross and TMI. If you're not into gross, don't read it.
Today was my last day in captivity. My last day of medical leave from the surgery I had to remove my lap band. All was going according to plan and I was healing well. This is what I thought, at least.
This morning, I get out of bed and meander downstairs. I go out, feed the ponies, come in, poke the fire and then go in the kitchen to make my protein shake. I'm standing there, minding my own business and I'm like, why is my shirt wet? Did I lean on the sink? I pull it up and my biggest incision is spurting out an orangey-red fluid. Not dripping, not oozing, SPURTING! It was like a bad horror flick where the killer hacks at the teen-age girl and then blood spurts everywhere. Just like that. I'm sure my eyes were the size of saucers. I'm like, "oh, shit, this is not normal!" And then I think I said, "Oh God...Oh God..." I lean up against the sink where the fluid can create the least amount of mess and then I started thinking, crap, I need to stop this before my guts combust, pieces of flesh splatter everywhere and this gets out of hand! I grabbed two large sheets of Bounty paper towels. Within seconds the paper towels are soaked. Apparently they are the "quicker picker upper," but they are not bio-hazard friendly. I looked around frantically and then decided on a clean kitchen towel. It is one of my horsey kitchen towels. I put it on there and stand there, dumbfounded. Now what? This isn't a 911 situation, I don't think. I mean, the spurting has now reduced to an ooze. I call the doctor's office. They aren't in yet, but their answering service says they will pass the message along. Great.
It was at this moment that Will was texting me about his bluetooth for his phone. I'm walking around the house, a towel clutched to my belly, looking through his laundry and other locations for the damn bluetooth. This is nuts, my guts are falling out, I don't have time for this! I called him, "I don't really know where it is right now...and I've got a problem, my guts are spurting out." I reassured him that I had it under control and had a call in to the doctor. He seemed skeptical, but didn't have any way of assisting since he was at work. I called Mom, "hey Mom, my guts are spurting out, do you have time to take me to the doctor if I need to go?" And here is the thing, she didn't even seemed phased. I mean, she was mildly concerned, as any Mom would be, but it was almost as if every other phone call I had made her to this date had prepared her for this moment. Like, there was nothing I could say that would surprise her. What have I done to this woman? I don't have time to think about it, I was applying pressure and the horsey towel was working overtime. My sister gets on the phone and says, "so what happened? And you didn't do anything to cause this? You and Will weren't like, you know...?" Oh geez, I hadn't considered that, what if Will and I had been having sex and my guts burst open? We would have been scarred for life! I assured her that nothing of the sort had happened.
About 40 minutes went by and still no word from the doctor, so I called them again. They agreed my guts should not be spurting, so they made me an appointment for as soon as I could get there. Mom came and picked me up and as we were driving in, the doctor's office called to see what was up. I guess they just got the memo from the answering service. I'm seriously glad this wasn't urgent. I think two hours is kind of ridiculous for a call back. I mean, I was oozing! Seemed important to me.
I arrived at the doctor and told him of my horrific experience. He said, "I know what the problem is, we can fix this." Apparently, when we took the lap band out of my guts, it left some empty space. I guess my body isn't about having empty space, so it filled it up with fluid. Then, it just kept making fluid, like it makes cellulite apparently, stupid body, and then pressure built up. In rare cases, this happens, the doctor tells me. Well, aren't I special? I'm rare. He put's some anti-bacterial on there and bandages me up. He informs me that the worst of it should be over....however, this could lead to infection. If that happens, that is bad. But, since my second surgery is planned in two weeks, we can't really give me anti-biotics because then I could be at risk for other serious infections like CDIF. CDIF is highly contagious, apparently. My Dad had it when he was sick and everyone that came in his hospital room had to wear hazmat-like suits. You know, it just causes watery diarrhea, fever, sepsis...death. No big deal. But, if they don't get me on anti-biotics, I could get an infection and then all bets are off. I'm sitting there, oozing, trying to remain calm. Bloody Finger doctor goes to talk to my other doctor that is now back from vacation, or where ever doctors go for weeks at a time. They both come back in the room. I knew my guts spurting was big deal, but having both doctors in there made it seem pretty intense. They have decided to put me on a 3-day anti biotic regimen. And, if my guts don't stop oozing, or if they get irritated or red, I need to come right back in. Great. In addition, no bathing until the oozing stops. Sponge baths only. Wait. What? I don't want to take sponge baths. I want to be clean and smell pretty. But, what's a girl to do? I don't want deathly diarrhea.
I'm on my way home and my buddy-ol-pal Valerie is demanding a status. I call and tell her the news. I tell her I am pissed because now all my plans could be shot to hell and I'm pissed. She informs me that my bigger problem is that the high-power anti-biotics are going to give me a yeast infection. I hadn't considered this. Damn it! I can't be bending over ooozing and scratching other stuff at the same time! That's gross. I can't be at work with a blood stain on the belly of my shirt and riding my chair like I'm looking to make 30 seconds on a mechanical bull. This won't work...at all. Then, Valerie starts talking about how Will can sponge bathe me and it will be so romantic. No. When I had my foot surgery, I couldn't even get him to shave my legs, he's not going to sponge bathe me now. And, I may not know a lot about romance, but no where in any of the 50 Shades of Gray books did it talk about spurting guts and a sponge bath. This was not a good news kind of day.
So, basically, it is time for me to return to work, but I can't bathe, can't get sick, can't risk an infection and need to control the oozing. How am I supposed to go to the bathroom in that place? My God, there is disease and bacteria everywhere! It's a death trap! I need to acquire a hazmat suit, anti-bacterial spray, gel, wipes and lotion, and then, there will be no hugging. I don't care if you are clean, no hugging. And if you have children, stay away. I know they have germs and you are a carrier of said germs. On the up side, I guess I probably won't have to worry about the hugging if I'm not showering. And hey, how am I supposed to get back to the gym? I can't risk getting sweaty or popping a gut on the bike!
Between the stress from before the previous surgery, the stress of not knowing if the second one will happen and hating the holidays, I think I should have been prescribed some valium, too. It really would be the gift that kept on giving to everyone. Valerie says God doesn't give you more than you can handle and that he is checking on my tolerance level. This does not comfort me. What should comfort all of you, though, is that I promise, if I do get a yeast infection, I won't blog about it. But, if you see me seeming agitated in my chair, please, just keep walking, deal?
Today was my last day in captivity. My last day of medical leave from the surgery I had to remove my lap band. All was going according to plan and I was healing well. This is what I thought, at least.
This morning, I get out of bed and meander downstairs. I go out, feed the ponies, come in, poke the fire and then go in the kitchen to make my protein shake. I'm standing there, minding my own business and I'm like, why is my shirt wet? Did I lean on the sink? I pull it up and my biggest incision is spurting out an orangey-red fluid. Not dripping, not oozing, SPURTING! It was like a bad horror flick where the killer hacks at the teen-age girl and then blood spurts everywhere. Just like that. I'm sure my eyes were the size of saucers. I'm like, "oh, shit, this is not normal!" And then I think I said, "Oh God...Oh God..." I lean up against the sink where the fluid can create the least amount of mess and then I started thinking, crap, I need to stop this before my guts combust, pieces of flesh splatter everywhere and this gets out of hand! I grabbed two large sheets of Bounty paper towels. Within seconds the paper towels are soaked. Apparently they are the "quicker picker upper," but they are not bio-hazard friendly. I looked around frantically and then decided on a clean kitchen towel. It is one of my horsey kitchen towels. I put it on there and stand there, dumbfounded. Now what? This isn't a 911 situation, I don't think. I mean, the spurting has now reduced to an ooze. I call the doctor's office. They aren't in yet, but their answering service says they will pass the message along. Great.
It was at this moment that Will was texting me about his bluetooth for his phone. I'm walking around the house, a towel clutched to my belly, looking through his laundry and other locations for the damn bluetooth. This is nuts, my guts are falling out, I don't have time for this! I called him, "I don't really know where it is right now...and I've got a problem, my guts are spurting out." I reassured him that I had it under control and had a call in to the doctor. He seemed skeptical, but didn't have any way of assisting since he was at work. I called Mom, "hey Mom, my guts are spurting out, do you have time to take me to the doctor if I need to go?" And here is the thing, she didn't even seemed phased. I mean, she was mildly concerned, as any Mom would be, but it was almost as if every other phone call I had made her to this date had prepared her for this moment. Like, there was nothing I could say that would surprise her. What have I done to this woman? I don't have time to think about it, I was applying pressure and the horsey towel was working overtime. My sister gets on the phone and says, "so what happened? And you didn't do anything to cause this? You and Will weren't like, you know...?" Oh geez, I hadn't considered that, what if Will and I had been having sex and my guts burst open? We would have been scarred for life! I assured her that nothing of the sort had happened.
About 40 minutes went by and still no word from the doctor, so I called them again. They agreed my guts should not be spurting, so they made me an appointment for as soon as I could get there. Mom came and picked me up and as we were driving in, the doctor's office called to see what was up. I guess they just got the memo from the answering service. I'm seriously glad this wasn't urgent. I think two hours is kind of ridiculous for a call back. I mean, I was oozing! Seemed important to me.
I arrived at the doctor and told him of my horrific experience. He said, "I know what the problem is, we can fix this." Apparently, when we took the lap band out of my guts, it left some empty space. I guess my body isn't about having empty space, so it filled it up with fluid. Then, it just kept making fluid, like it makes cellulite apparently, stupid body, and then pressure built up. In rare cases, this happens, the doctor tells me. Well, aren't I special? I'm rare. He put's some anti-bacterial on there and bandages me up. He informs me that the worst of it should be over....however, this could lead to infection. If that happens, that is bad. But, since my second surgery is planned in two weeks, we can't really give me anti-biotics because then I could be at risk for other serious infections like CDIF. CDIF is highly contagious, apparently. My Dad had it when he was sick and everyone that came in his hospital room had to wear hazmat-like suits. You know, it just causes watery diarrhea, fever, sepsis...death. No big deal. But, if they don't get me on anti-biotics, I could get an infection and then all bets are off. I'm sitting there, oozing, trying to remain calm. Bloody Finger doctor goes to talk to my other doctor that is now back from vacation, or where ever doctors go for weeks at a time. They both come back in the room. I knew my guts spurting was big deal, but having both doctors in there made it seem pretty intense. They have decided to put me on a 3-day anti biotic regimen. And, if my guts don't stop oozing, or if they get irritated or red, I need to come right back in. Great. In addition, no bathing until the oozing stops. Sponge baths only. Wait. What? I don't want to take sponge baths. I want to be clean and smell pretty. But, what's a girl to do? I don't want deathly diarrhea.
I'm on my way home and my buddy-ol-pal Valerie is demanding a status. I call and tell her the news. I tell her I am pissed because now all my plans could be shot to hell and I'm pissed. She informs me that my bigger problem is that the high-power anti-biotics are going to give me a yeast infection. I hadn't considered this. Damn it! I can't be bending over ooozing and scratching other stuff at the same time! That's gross. I can't be at work with a blood stain on the belly of my shirt and riding my chair like I'm looking to make 30 seconds on a mechanical bull. This won't work...at all. Then, Valerie starts talking about how Will can sponge bathe me and it will be so romantic. No. When I had my foot surgery, I couldn't even get him to shave my legs, he's not going to sponge bathe me now. And, I may not know a lot about romance, but no where in any of the 50 Shades of Gray books did it talk about spurting guts and a sponge bath. This was not a good news kind of day.
So, basically, it is time for me to return to work, but I can't bathe, can't get sick, can't risk an infection and need to control the oozing. How am I supposed to go to the bathroom in that place? My God, there is disease and bacteria everywhere! It's a death trap! I need to acquire a hazmat suit, anti-bacterial spray, gel, wipes and lotion, and then, there will be no hugging. I don't care if you are clean, no hugging. And if you have children, stay away. I know they have germs and you are a carrier of said germs. On the up side, I guess I probably won't have to worry about the hugging if I'm not showering. And hey, how am I supposed to get back to the gym? I can't risk getting sweaty or popping a gut on the bike!
Between the stress from before the previous surgery, the stress of not knowing if the second one will happen and hating the holidays, I think I should have been prescribed some valium, too. It really would be the gift that kept on giving to everyone. Valerie says God doesn't give you more than you can handle and that he is checking on my tolerance level. This does not comfort me. What should comfort all of you, though, is that I promise, if I do get a yeast infection, I won't blog about it. But, if you see me seeming agitated in my chair, please, just keep walking, deal?
No comments:
Post a Comment