Less than six months have passed since the accident, and I am probably back in the one place I NEVER would have anticipated, the hospital. In the past few weeks I’d finally arrived at a place where I felt like much of the accident fall-out had passed; I’m running again, I’d finally worked back up to a full 80 hour pay period, I’m finished with physical therapy, I’m driving again (still not very comfortable backing out), I’m completely off medication, and most days I’m pain free. It has been a long and sometimes dark road, but I was moving forward, until five days ago.
Tuesday evening I started having painful abdominal cramps. I thought maybe the lemon pepper chicken wings I’d fixed for dinner were contemplating Montezuma’s revenge. The cramping was relentless all night, no reprieve except the few minutes I managed to sleep. In the morning my husband suggested Tylenol which I gratefully accepted. Denial is a place I visit often. I hadn’t gotten up to take anything sooner because I kept thinking the cramps would pass. Tylenol relieved the pain enough that I was able to make my neurology appointment that morning. When the Tylenol wore off I finally realized the cramping wasn’t going away and I needed professional help. That afternoon my family physician examined me and recommended going straight to the ER. At that point I was concerned (still in pain) but not too worried. She said imaging tests were needed to make an accurate diagnosis and it was too late in the day to go elsewhere. Four hours, an IV drip, a second exam, bloodwork, a CT scan, and an ultrasound later the ER doctor declared I was staying. He actually asked me if that was okay. My answer? “No, I’ve had enough of doctors and hospitals in the past few months that I’ve no desire to go through it again.” He got real quiet after that. I’m sure it didn’t help that I was crying too.
The official diagnosis is diverticulitis, probably instigated by my body’s inability to function properly for the first few weeks following the accident. The hosptial stay is necessary to treat the resulting infection with intravenous antibiotics, and to rule out the necessity for surgery. Honestly, I can’t do much besides cry and ask why. I see absolutely no greater purpose or how anything good can come out of this. I’ve already lost three days of work and will lose at least one more. I have no vacation or sick days left, the accident claimed all those. We have no settlement from the accident, and now are facing more medical bills. The accident basically robbed four months from me; I’m just now settling into 2012, and now I’ve lost a week of productive time in the hospital. I have a baby gift to deliver, a broken bracelet needing repaired, a necklace to return, handsoap and shower gel to purchase, senior photos to order, groceries to buy, placemats to be dry cleaned, AND did I mention, thanks to this setback I missed my baby boy’s 16th birthday? If my daughter had not been off work that night and taken him out to eat, he would’ve spent his birthday alone. I missed another race too. I’d registered for the Cinco de Mayo 5K Saturday. My daughter stepped in once again and ran in my place, but still, I was looking forward to running it myself.
Eventually I’m sure all this will pass, life will return to whatever normal is and I’ll get over myself, but for now, I’m kind of upset with Jesus.
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