It is true, though. I'm one of those people that has no problem telling people my problems (within reason, of course). I don't understand why some people are so secretive about things. I suppose if I had an STD I wouldn't go shouting it from the rooftops (and for the record, that will NEVER happen here, but if Tim and I ever divorce, well...you'll know why.....), but normal everyday issues...who cares?
The other day I was trolling through Hobby Lobby and ran into someone I know. She asked how I was doing then sheepishly (please don't be offended by that word, but I couldn't think of anything else) asked if Xanax really worked for me. Then she said, "Your blog has actually helped me, because I was suffering in silence and then I read your blog, and you're talking about it like it's normal." Ok, so maybe she didn't use those words exactly, but I can quote, "YOUR BLOG HAS ACTUALLY HELPED ME....". That's right, my loyal and trusty readers....I'm helping people!!!
Honestly, though...had I not blogged about it, she would still be suffering in silence. She might still be suffering, but now she's suffering on my blog...hehehe.
Anyhoo...since I'm such an open Facebook, I will now explain what's been going on with me the last week...which, turns out, was pretty much normal stuff magnified by...guess what? ANXIETY!!!!
**CAUTION: THIS BLOG IS ABOUT TO GET VERY GRAPHIC!! IT MADE TIM BABY BARF...**
After my surgery I had very little bleeding. Very, very little. Honestly, hardly anything. Like only a little pink when I went pee. That is, until last Monday, when I went potty and there was more than just a little pink...It was bright red and twice as much as I had done for nearly 2 weeks. That was the day I drove back into Crazy Town for my week long vacation! Whoop!
I got on the phone and called, who else? My sister! Because she knows EVERYTHING. Have I mentioned that? She's a teacher, so she must know everything, right? (Oh, and her husband is a super cool cop who leaps out of helicopters, but that's another blog...) Well...she said, "Did you call the doctor?" UM, NO!! Because you were suppose to say, "Oh yeah, that's normal." But she didn't, so I called the doctor. The nurse says, "I'm sure that's normal but I'll let you talk to him." I wait...tick-tock. Then she comes back, "Um...he wants to see you." My response? "Are you serious? SHIT." Yeah, I said that...to the nurse. I called Tim and he came home to take me, because by time he got here I was awfully drugged. Not really...I was a nervous wreck, even drugged.
When we get there, he has to "check me". You know what that means. I think I started crying at that point. And I'm pretty sure during that exam, I nearly ripped Tim's hand off and shoved it up/down Dr. Kim's...I mean, um...well, use your imagination here. (Sorry....but I warned you it was going to get graphic). After the exam, he tells me everything is normal and then shows me this little plastic thing he found while on his "journey". It was the plastic ring he used to tie my tubes 4 years ago. He was laughing and said, "Look, Kimberly. I found this in there. I don't know why it was there. I think that's funny." HA. HA. YEAH. Hilarious.
For the next several days, it was on and off. I was a wreck. What was doing wrong? I had no restrictions. I specifically asked him if I needed to slow down and he said, "NO. Keep doing whatever you're doing." Everyone that has had this surgery, except my superwoman sister, has told me I need to slow down and rest. But doctor says, no. Keep going. So...honestly...as much as I love other's advice, I'm sticking to the man with the medical license. But I was still a mess. I, for sure, thought I had ripped open a wound inside and was bleeding internally.
Saturday morning, Ella wakes me up about 4am for a drink. As I was headed back to bed, I thought, man...I've either really been sweating or I peed my pants. What I wouldn't have given to have peed my pants!!! Now, when things like this happen to me, it gets ugly. Really ugly. I was trying really hard to remain calm while getting clean clothes to put on, but I started losing that uphill battle. I called Tim as I sat down in the floor of the bathroom. Picture this....Me, in an old, ratty t-shirt (I was wearing a sports bra, so don't go there...), cute lacy panties and knee high wool socks....trying desperately NOT to pass out. Tim came in there and was trying to coach me through. A few other things happened, that I'll spare you from, but the main thing is...I didn't pass out!! It seemed like an eternity of breathing, wanting to barf and feeling the blood drain from my face, but made I through. Holler.
So, I took a pill and went back to bed waiting for my sister to get up. Yep...I did it again...I called my sister. I did call the doctor (after I called her) and he wasn't in and there was another doctor on call, but the bleeding had pretty much stopped by then. So, I toughed it out. We had a dinner to go to that night and I really, really wanted to wear my new dress and cute shoes. I was going to that dinner for goodness sakes!!
Remember earlier in the week, when I started bleeding? I posted that I had to make a trip to the doctor on Facebook. I learned my lesson after that, because that night at the dinner, EVERYONE and their MOTHER was asking me how I was doing. I felt like poo, but I was trying to be cool. "I'm great. Fantastic! Thumbs up! Thanks for asking!" And I looked flippin' amazing. No, really. I did. I should have taken a picture of myself. My makeup and hair looked amazing and I was lookin' H-O-T in my new dress and shoes. I appreciated all the concern, really, but considering I was going through an ordeal that very day and was trying just trying to make it through the night....It was getting on my nerves (no offense to you people who checked on me...this was one of those, "It's not you, it's me" situations).
The next morning I got up and all was well with the world. Tim was making breakfast and the girls were all still in the pj's and parked in front of the TV like good little children. I sat down and started blogging, when I felt a little gush. (Unfortunately I know that feeling, because I hemorrhaged after I had Ella. You should have seen the clots I was passing...) I got up and went to the bathroom, where I passed a clot about the size of a golf ball. Holy shitaki mushrooms!! That's it...I was going to die, right there on that toilet. Somehow I managed to get upstairs where I hollered to Tim to start fanning me while I called the doctor...who I once again couldn't get a hold of. I got, "if this is an emergency you have the option to call 9-1-1 or go an emergency room." Comforting, right? Good gracious.
We made the decision to go to the ER in Visalia. I desperately wanted to shower because I still had on my makeup from the night before, which wasn't quite as amazing as it started out. One of my eye's lashes were all matted together and I had pulled my bangs back into a couple bobby pins and slept like that. It's wasn't pretty. But Tim wouldn't let me. Oh. My. Gosh. I was mortified. When we got there, they took me right back, but it was a good 2 hours before we saw the doctor. At one point I had Tim get me a wet paper towel and some hand sanitizer so I could give myself a make-shift bath. Which, is actually pretty funny because I saw all the other people that were there, and I'm certain none of them showered before they came in.
Sidebar: I've come to the conclusion that only crazy people visit the ER. Crazy people and gang members. One guy was having his infected stab wound looked at. One woman was screaming, "help me! Help me!!" Another woman was throwing up and you could hear her throughout the entire hospital. While they were taking me back to my room...I saw a guy wheeling a body out. I'm forever traumatized. Oh, and I can't forget the guy from the county jail...in shackles. As if my own reason for being seen wasn't enough....Xanax? Why, yes, please!
Anyhoo...in the 2+ hours I waited for the doctor I had 2 IV's (one in each arm because the first one wasn't in right...) and had to pee on a potty chair...and cried off and on about 100 times.
Then the doctor came in...a woman, which was a breath of fresh air, however...I think she may have been a lesbian, which, while there's nothing wrong with that, was a little awkward. I'm kidding. Once again, I got "checked". Good gracious. An IV in both arms and now this? If it weren't for my children, I would have been begging the Lord to take me home. (Note: I realize what I went through is nothing compared to what so many people deal with on a daily basis. Just want to make that known.)
Anyway...short story, long (whoa, big surprise!)....I'm fine. I went to the doctor today and after he chewed me out for not calling him directly and I chewed him out for not giving me his cell phone number (yeah, that's how our relationship works), and he checked me, yet again, I'm perfectly fine and everything is normal....and I now have his cell phone number.
Oh, and for everyone that keeps telling me I need to take it easy, again, I asked him if I needed to slow down and he said, "NO!" I asked him if I could still go to Vegas (only about a dozen times) and every time he answered, "Yes. Go to Vegas and have lots of fun." So....I can paint, do laundry, vacuum, lift, drive, and party it up in Vegas, because Dr. Kim said so. But I don't want to...
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