I haven’t been doing many updates regarding the actual specifics of what’s going on with my health and though I use my blog as a sort of reference journal for myself, I’d rather have the opportunity to forget the details. Every day is a struggle and, for a short time, I was beginning to feel a little better.
The past week has been exceptionally difficult and when separating out the normal stress of life from how I’m feeling physically (nearly impossible to do, mind you), I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been way more tired than I had been in the weeks prior and despite upping the amount of nutritional slop I’m taking in each day, my weight gain stalled, then turned into weight loss.
As of last night, I had to increase my oxygen by 2L/min and I have to sleep sitting up, otherwise I desaturate. At 3am, gut pain sent me flying out of the recliner. It does happen sometimes, but at this intensity, it normally passes quickly. Last night, however, by 4am I was retching and bringing up bilious crap and formula. I tried to toss back a zofran, but that nonsense didn’t abate until the episode subsided just after 7am.
The icing on the shitcake? About twenty inches of my tube came out. It was securely taped but my guts forced it out.
MC had plans to go out with people from his department for the day. I explained the situation and told him I’d try to reach one of the on-call doctors to decide if I should go to the ER to get my tube repositioned, but also that whatever had happened seemed to be over. I’d probably be fine without him. If not, 911 is there for a reason. Away he went.
I spoke with an internist who told me that it’s probably acceptable to wait until Monday so long as I can get enough fluids PO. If not, then I absolutely should get myself to a hospital. Of course, I completely forgot to mention that my O2 use has doubled in the past two days, like that’s not relevant information.
I was okay for a few hours after he left. And then I wasn’t. I spent most of the day either on the toilet, eyes gushing because it hurt so bad to go, or in the recliner with my knees drawn up to my chest. Pain is a bitch. By evening, I was feeling a little better. I thought I might actually be able to sleep, but no. Here I am, awake because the gremlins are skewering my insides.
Monday won’t come soon enough. If I’m not doing cartwheels by sunrise, I’m calling it. It’ll be time to demand a ride to the chop shop.