Ah, reproductive organs. What can I say about them other than, THOSE NOXIOUS WADS OF HOSTILE FLESH SHOULD DIVE INTO A FLAMING PIT?
GI fuckeree aside, which really is at the core of my strife, it seems problems come in caravans. Misfortune is a happy, social traveler and loves to bring friends. Going on day six of weighing the pros and cons of going in for fluid resuscitation again, the pain in my RLQ had reached critical mass and I was on the verge of hypovolemic shock. Manchild actually had to fireman carry me down the stairs and out to the truck because my blood pressure had gotten so low I couldn’t sit up without graying out. I lost the ability to process speech. It was all just noise. I guess confusional states are common in severe dehydration. Me, confused? It was just this one time (don’t listen to her lies).
Stick a fork in my eye, I’m done! IV fluids always make me feel a smidgen, if not loads better. I have a difficult time maintaining euvolemia for multiple reasons (‘they’ have suspected diabetes insipidus in the past, but doing a water deprivation challenge doesn’t seem like a good idea given everything else), biggest one of all being the fact that oral hydration does very little when I’m in the throes of a Crohnsmageddon. I went into the palace of pain for more delightful IV fluids, and a shot of the good stuff so I’d be able to sleep through the night while dreaming about my *pain medication refill that was due to me the very next day. This anticipated 2-3 hour visit turned into 8+ hours and a transfer.
Eight hours of my ER doc yelling at lab techs and apologizing profusely for the confusion. His eyelashes were so long….they were like rays of anti-matter shooting out of a black hole. They sort of freaked me out, but we won’t talk about my new found fear of long lashes. Dilaudid does some wild things to the brain’s executive functioning. Alright, why was Dr. Longdonglashes so upset? The machine that analyzes creatinine for the comprehensive metabolic panel decided to die while it was processing my blood. I didn’t care. I was just there for the saline and drugs. Chill the F out, dude. When the machine was deemed broken/inaccurate, a courier was called to transport one of my blood samples to a different hospital lab. This creatinine shit must be really important.
We waited. And waited. And waited. I got pain relief not once, but TWICE. Oh my pretty purple pony, what I wouldn’t give to feel that lack of pain regularly. A single tear falls from my eye as I think about it. It’s a beautiful thing.
The first doctor, old dude with normal length lashes, decided I should have a CT because I had peritoneal signs. But when don’t I? My entire abdomen is a tank full of pirahnas who enjoy the occasional meal of bowel or kidney.
Old dude left, which is when Dr. LDL stepped in. He really wanted to do a contrast CT, and I said, “No, you really don’t want to do a contrast CT…check that chart. Kidney disease, yo.” Oral contrast w/o contrast it is. Manchild’s roommate from his stint in the ROK was the CT tech. How cool, how embarrassing. I grilled him about hooker and stripper usage, but he maintains they didn’t do anything other than sit around and drink massive quantities of Miller Lite. Blerrrrrrrg.
Besides enteritis and ileitis, that big painful mass in my RLQ turned out to be a large hemorrhagic ovarian cyst that had ruptured and was leaking blood into my abdomen. The internal trauma from crapping my brains out and the ruptured cyst had caused the ovary to turn on its axis. Something called torsion. I think of it as a twisted testicle. My pain detection system is all out of whack because I have such a strong knowledge of my anatomy after a kazillion CTs, MRIs and X-rays. Sometimes I forget that even though a vast majority of my problems are chronic in nature, I’m not immune to acute (ugly) stuff. Attempting to ignore the pain is sometimes a bad idea.
Thus began the transfer process and pending U/S to assess blood flow to that stupid sack of she-shit. It was presumed I’d need surgery to exorcise the odious ovary, but as I told Ms. Johnna, if it’s bleedin’, “the bitch hasn’t been choked out yet”. This turned out to be the case, so I was kept on fluids and had my hematocrit monitored throughout the night to make sure that there wasn’t severe hemorrhaging. Conservative treatment for it is basically birth control to halt ovulation and occasional ultrasounds to see if it eventually goes away. Should I find myself in an extra-extreme amount of pain, it’s likely caused by ovarian infarction, which as I understand it is a bad thing. The idea of an oophorectomy will be revisited if it continues to cause problems and excessive pain. I wanted it gone yesterday, but let’s not cut her open again unless there’s absolutely no other choice. Pain is fun! Yay, pelvic pain!
*I was finally able to connect with my primary doctor about the pain medication debacle that lead to five days of unnecessary agony, which in turn lead to a few not-so-whimsical posts about abandonment issues and starving to death (I know, five days is nothin’ compared to what some people go through – but it’s about perspective, people). The upside to this is if I had pain medication at home, the likelihood of me sputtering into the ER like an evinrude would have been minimal. Though it turned out ‘fine’, given the possible (rare) sequelae of hemorrhagic cyst rupture and torsion, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I’m having a great deal of penis envy at the moment. I should have been born a dude.