From January 27, 2009
Mother puss bucket.
I broke my pinky toe. How lame is that? I dropped the corner of a 28 pound plastic bucket of cat litter on my pinky toe. That's even more lame.
And you know what? It fucking hurts. I thought I was fine and had just hurt it but not anything as severe as broke it. Well I hobble corrected. The bonus of this kind of injury is there is nothing I can do about it. I taped it to it's neighbor and put ice on it. I have vicodin lying around that I can't take at work because it might make me slip into a dreamy heaven. That's it. That's all you can do. I've got my sweet gangster lean going on as I gimp around. This is bullshit. Pure bullshit.
I hope Jameson is happy he has clean litter to poo in.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
When you care enough to give the very best
From December 11, 2008
and it just isn't enough.
For six months I have been studying the one female part in this play I finally got to audition for. I had that shit down. Down. I've read the play over and over and had all the little nuances down. I wanted that part so bad. So bad. I knew that was a bad sign. You can't want the part that much, you only set yourself up for failure. You have to go in to an audition wanting to have the best audition possible. I rocked the audition. Then I got a callback. Awesome. I went in there and tore the stage up. I waited all day long for a call confirming and not an email denying. No calls and no emails. I checked my email around 12:45 last night and there it was. It was a very sweet email about how difficult the decision was and how much he enjoys watching me perform but it still said I didn't get the part.
I probably could have put in 2 weeks of work and gotten the same result. Jaren was right. It has nothing to do with hard work, it's luck and who you know. Unfortunately I know & have worked with this director before so there goes that theory.
I know it's nothing personal. I know he just found someone who better portrayed his vision of what this character should be and/or had better chemistry with the other lead. There was only one female part and after six hours of auditions he only called back five women. I'm glad I got called back but damn it, I wanted this fucking part.
I haven't been on stage in so long and I fantasized about getting this lead role with one of the best theatre companies in town, having all my friends come out, even getting my parents to come out for it, finally being back on stage in a great play, getting my name and face out there and it leading to other wonderful opportunities. God, I wanted that.
Most of the audition notices since I moved back here are for musicals. First, I'm not a singer. Second, I'm not in high school anymore. Then there are the plays or films that only need men or 45 & older women. Contrary to popular belief, I am none of those things.
I did the best I could do. I don't know what more I could have given. It's really hard when your best just isn't good enough. I'm just really pissed and really hurt I didn't get this part. The play was even written by my high school english teacher's big shot playwrite brother. Acting is about rejection and what I've learned is that it never gets easier. Sometimes it makes you wonder if you should shitcan the whole idea. God, I don't want to be average.
I've got the blues. The mean, lowdown, dirty, should-have-moved-to-LA, how-can-I-ride-Laurent-from-Twlight's-coattails blues.
and it just isn't enough.
For six months I have been studying the one female part in this play I finally got to audition for. I had that shit down. Down. I've read the play over and over and had all the little nuances down. I wanted that part so bad. So bad. I knew that was a bad sign. You can't want the part that much, you only set yourself up for failure. You have to go in to an audition wanting to have the best audition possible. I rocked the audition. Then I got a callback. Awesome. I went in there and tore the stage up. I waited all day long for a call confirming and not an email denying. No calls and no emails. I checked my email around 12:45 last night and there it was. It was a very sweet email about how difficult the decision was and how much he enjoys watching me perform but it still said I didn't get the part.
I probably could have put in 2 weeks of work and gotten the same result. Jaren was right. It has nothing to do with hard work, it's luck and who you know. Unfortunately I know & have worked with this director before so there goes that theory.
I know it's nothing personal. I know he just found someone who better portrayed his vision of what this character should be and/or had better chemistry with the other lead. There was only one female part and after six hours of auditions he only called back five women. I'm glad I got called back but damn it, I wanted this fucking part.
I haven't been on stage in so long and I fantasized about getting this lead role with one of the best theatre companies in town, having all my friends come out, even getting my parents to come out for it, finally being back on stage in a great play, getting my name and face out there and it leading to other wonderful opportunities. God, I wanted that.
Most of the audition notices since I moved back here are for musicals. First, I'm not a singer. Second, I'm not in high school anymore. Then there are the plays or films that only need men or 45 & older women. Contrary to popular belief, I am none of those things.
I did the best I could do. I don't know what more I could have given. It's really hard when your best just isn't good enough. I'm just really pissed and really hurt I didn't get this part. The play was even written by my high school english teacher's big shot playwrite brother. Acting is about rejection and what I've learned is that it never gets easier. Sometimes it makes you wonder if you should shitcan the whole idea. God, I don't want to be average.
I've got the blues. The mean, lowdown, dirty, should-have-moved-to-LA, how-can-I-ride-Laurent-from-Twlight's-coattails blues.
The Young and The Nutless
From November 18, 2008I got my little Face fixed on Thursday. I still feel bad.
I know it's best for him but it was horrible to take him in and see him be so scared and shaking. And to top it off his carrier is pink. I'm a horrible mom. The doc said he was very handsome and in excellent health. Jameson played nice and never made a sound. After sticking a thermometer in his pooper the doc took him by the scruff of his neck and put him in the kennel to wait his turn under the knife.
I didn't even recognize him when I picked him up. They brought him out in his carrier and his eyes were so wide and his ears were set in a weird way and he just look drugged and terrified. I got him home and set him down on the floor and opened the door to his carrier. He hung out in there a while, his head bobbing and weaving, bumping into the sides, and eventually made his way out. He kept falling down and rolling over. He would sniff my hand but wouldn't let me pet him. He was sniffing around and trying to check things out and was making his way across the kitchen floor. I was following him and he had this terrified look in his eyes as he kept falling down and rolling over and desperately trying to get across the floor and away from me. It was heartbreaking.
He made his way into his poo box but couldn't figure out how to turn around in it. He stumbled like a lush all over the house, eventually getting the strength back in his back legs. I don't think he had any idea where he was or what was going on. Luckily though, this only lasted for about an hour and a half. Then it was as if he had never had surgery that morning. He was running around, playing on his scratchy, even picked up a toy and played with it. Ate some, and just wouldn't sit still, constantly roving and checking things out.
That night he sat in the kitchen and catterwhauled. This concerned me as he is not a meower. I had given him his pain medication in some milk earlier in the evening and he had crawled up on my chest and conked out like a lead weight. I got out of bed and picked him up out of the kitchen and put him on my bed and he ran right back in the kitchen to howl. His tiny little barbaric yawp.
He's much more mellow now and much more affectionate which is slightly frightening because he was already very lovey. The moment I sit down he runs over and jumps in my lap and rubs his head on my face. He's turned into much more of a person. He tries to have conversations with me. He dragged his leopard print string on a stick over to me, as he's want to do, and jumped up on the footstool with it and lait cross the cushion and looked at me. He then reached out his paw, touched my foot, and gave a small meow. Yes my little Face, I will play with you.
He understands No and he understands Treat. What he doesn't understand is Get Off the Counter! He curls up my my face at night and talks to me. He likes hang out in the bathroom while I take a shower, and sit on the sink to watch me put my makeup on. He is always at my heels. His nuts aren't completely gone and I'm sure they'll fill back out. I now understand what it's like for my parents to watch me go into surgery.
Jameson is doing swell now. Eating, playing, being adorable. And snoozing the day away.
I know it's best for him but it was horrible to take him in and see him be so scared and shaking. And to top it off his carrier is pink. I'm a horrible mom. The doc said he was very handsome and in excellent health. Jameson played nice and never made a sound. After sticking a thermometer in his pooper the doc took him by the scruff of his neck and put him in the kennel to wait his turn under the knife.
I didn't even recognize him when I picked him up. They brought him out in his carrier and his eyes were so wide and his ears were set in a weird way and he just look drugged and terrified. I got him home and set him down on the floor and opened the door to his carrier. He hung out in there a while, his head bobbing and weaving, bumping into the sides, and eventually made his way out. He kept falling down and rolling over. He would sniff my hand but wouldn't let me pet him. He was sniffing around and trying to check things out and was making his way across the kitchen floor. I was following him and he had this terrified look in his eyes as he kept falling down and rolling over and desperately trying to get across the floor and away from me. It was heartbreaking.
He made his way into his poo box but couldn't figure out how to turn around in it. He stumbled like a lush all over the house, eventually getting the strength back in his back legs. I don't think he had any idea where he was or what was going on. Luckily though, this only lasted for about an hour and a half. Then it was as if he had never had surgery that morning. He was running around, playing on his scratchy, even picked up a toy and played with it. Ate some, and just wouldn't sit still, constantly roving and checking things out.
That night he sat in the kitchen and catterwhauled. This concerned me as he is not a meower. I had given him his pain medication in some milk earlier in the evening and he had crawled up on my chest and conked out like a lead weight. I got out of bed and picked him up out of the kitchen and put him on my bed and he ran right back in the kitchen to howl. His tiny little barbaric yawp.
He's much more mellow now and much more affectionate which is slightly frightening because he was already very lovey. The moment I sit down he runs over and jumps in my lap and rubs his head on my face. He's turned into much more of a person. He tries to have conversations with me. He dragged his leopard print string on a stick over to me, as he's want to do, and jumped up on the footstool with it and lait cross the cushion and looked at me. He then reached out his paw, touched my foot, and gave a small meow. Yes my little Face, I will play with you.
He understands No and he understands Treat. What he doesn't understand is Get Off the Counter! He curls up my my face at night and talks to me. He likes hang out in the bathroom while I take a shower, and sit on the sink to watch me put my makeup on. He is always at my heels. His nuts aren't completely gone and I'm sure they'll fill back out. I now understand what it's like for my parents to watch me go into surgery.
Jameson is doing swell now. Eating, playing, being adorable. And snoozing the day away.
Brace Face
From October 15, 2008
I got braces put on my teeth on Monday afternoon. I'm basically a glutton for punishment. Can I blame the drugs? My ridiculous sense of being a Wonder Woman? My hard and fast independent streak? Or pure ignorance?
After all I've been through in the past 2 weeks I seriously sat down in that chair and had them cement brackets to my teeth. I started to panic when they put all that shit in my mouth that keeps your tongue and lips out of the way. It was almost like I felt claustrophobic, like I was in the MRI machine again. I almost said yeah, I can't do this. Laying back on the chair I forgot how to breathe. My tongue slid back against my throat and I forgot I had control over it. My tonsils were so fucking huge that there is a lot of extra room back there now. When I drink something it still feels like it wants to come out of my nose. I didn't think it would be this much adjustment, or any kind of adjustment, really. Live and learn.
So I fought through my paranoia and survived. It only took about an hour. I opted for the "clear" bracket braces. I saw a girl at a play recently and standing 5 feet from her I could hardly tell she had them, so I figure from stage it would be practically impossible. I was surprised when I went in for my consultation to learn that the Invisilign, which I originally wanted, was $1300 more than regular braces, would take longer and would less effective. So I opted for your old school braces and for the past two days I have been regretting it.
I broke down yesterday afternoon. I have just had way too much drama in my mouth-hole for the past two weeks and I hadn't cried since the first vommiting experience. It was all just too much. I probably should have waited a few weeks until I was more back to normal than to rush and get them on now, but I was thinking long term and the sooner I get them on the sooner I can get them off. I had been warned of the pain involved but I guess I didn't believe it. Last night my teeth were simply throbbing and, oddly enough, itching. I could feel the roots simply itching in my face. I've worn sores on my cheeks and I can't bite down all the way. When I did, my front teeth were hitting the brackets on my bottom teeth so they put this cement on the bottom of two of my molars, one on each side, to prevent that from happening. How I'm ever supposed to chew again is beyond me. I broke down and bought Anbesol last night and thank the fucking lord I did. Sweet, sweet numbness.
I'm on the liquid diet. Naked Juice protien drinks, Carnation Instant Breakfast, soups, baby food, humus, and the shit-ton if ice cream I have left over. I have only had water, Gatorade, and ice tea for the past 2 weeks. No soda and no alcohol. I'm hoping the lack of binge drinking will show up on the scale. The vicodin still running through my system has put a damper on my hunger, as well as the pain in my teeth. It seems to have subsided today, thank God. I was freaking out on Monday night thinking this was a horrible mistake and I never should have done it. I'm just tired of feeling jacked-up and in pain and uncomfortable and angry. I need a vacation from my illnesses.
I always wanted braces but they were something we couldn't afford. I was also afraid that boys wouldn't like me. So good idea Niki, wait until you're 30. I didn't have a boyfriend in high school, I should have just gotten it over with then. I've also never had that big of a problem with my teeth. It's not like I'm a snagglepuss... "Exit stage left even!" But I thought having straight teeth would be nice and I found a great deal and I should only have these for a little less than a year and a half. I just wonder if, when I'm done, I'll start looking skeptically at my nose. Eh, I doubt it.
And speaking of being single, feel free to set me up with awesome guys you may know. I'm a catch, damn it! I just don't get asked out. I don't know if I intimidate the shit out of guys or what the deal is but I'm rad and I would like an equally rad gentleman friend. Help a sista out, wouldya?!
We thank you for your support.
I got braces put on my teeth on Monday afternoon. I'm basically a glutton for punishment. Can I blame the drugs? My ridiculous sense of being a Wonder Woman? My hard and fast independent streak? Or pure ignorance?
After all I've been through in the past 2 weeks I seriously sat down in that chair and had them cement brackets to my teeth. I started to panic when they put all that shit in my mouth that keeps your tongue and lips out of the way. It was almost like I felt claustrophobic, like I was in the MRI machine again. I almost said yeah, I can't do this. Laying back on the chair I forgot how to breathe. My tongue slid back against my throat and I forgot I had control over it. My tonsils were so fucking huge that there is a lot of extra room back there now. When I drink something it still feels like it wants to come out of my nose. I didn't think it would be this much adjustment, or any kind of adjustment, really. Live and learn.
So I fought through my paranoia and survived. It only took about an hour. I opted for the "clear" bracket braces. I saw a girl at a play recently and standing 5 feet from her I could hardly tell she had them, so I figure from stage it would be practically impossible. I was surprised when I went in for my consultation to learn that the Invisilign, which I originally wanted, was $1300 more than regular braces, would take longer and would less effective. So I opted for your old school braces and for the past two days I have been regretting it.
I broke down yesterday afternoon. I have just had way too much drama in my mouth-hole for the past two weeks and I hadn't cried since the first vommiting experience. It was all just too much. I probably should have waited a few weeks until I was more back to normal than to rush and get them on now, but I was thinking long term and the sooner I get them on the sooner I can get them off. I had been warned of the pain involved but I guess I didn't believe it. Last night my teeth were simply throbbing and, oddly enough, itching. I could feel the roots simply itching in my face. I've worn sores on my cheeks and I can't bite down all the way. When I did, my front teeth were hitting the brackets on my bottom teeth so they put this cement on the bottom of two of my molars, one on each side, to prevent that from happening. How I'm ever supposed to chew again is beyond me. I broke down and bought Anbesol last night and thank the fucking lord I did. Sweet, sweet numbness.
I'm on the liquid diet. Naked Juice protien drinks, Carnation Instant Breakfast, soups, baby food, humus, and the shit-ton if ice cream I have left over. I have only had water, Gatorade, and ice tea for the past 2 weeks. No soda and no alcohol. I'm hoping the lack of binge drinking will show up on the scale. The vicodin still running through my system has put a damper on my hunger, as well as the pain in my teeth. It seems to have subsided today, thank God. I was freaking out on Monday night thinking this was a horrible mistake and I never should have done it. I'm just tired of feeling jacked-up and in pain and uncomfortable and angry. I need a vacation from my illnesses.
I always wanted braces but they were something we couldn't afford. I was also afraid that boys wouldn't like me. So good idea Niki, wait until you're 30. I didn't have a boyfriend in high school, I should have just gotten it over with then. I've also never had that big of a problem with my teeth. It's not like I'm a snagglepuss... "Exit stage left even!" But I thought having straight teeth would be nice and I found a great deal and I should only have these for a little less than a year and a half. I just wonder if, when I'm done, I'll start looking skeptically at my nose. Eh, I doubt it.
And speaking of being single, feel free to set me up with awesome guys you may know. I'm a catch, damn it! I just don't get asked out. I don't know if I intimidate the shit out of guys or what the deal is but I'm rad and I would like an equally rad gentleman friend. Help a sista out, wouldya?!
We thank you for your support.
So, scratch ALL of that
From October 9, 2008
Yesterday morning at 5 am I start vomiting blood again. And it won't stop. Again. I called the office & they paged the doctor on call. She called me and told me that no, this was NOT normal and to meet her at the ER. Fantastic.
I jump in the car and get down there. She checks around in my throat and determines that part of the wound in my right tonsil hasn't been fully cauterized and as the patches are coming off it's bleeding and leaking into my stomach. So she fills a needle with lidocaine, shoots up my tonsil, and cauterizes. I am sent home. On my way home, two blocks from my house, I spit blood again. I turn around and drive back to the ER. The surgeon I saw that morning was in surgery but wanted me to gargle with ice water to knock off the clot on my tonsil and stop any bleeding, and she would be over when she was done. I do this and am sitting in the waiting room spitting clear into a cup for about an hour. Then it's blood again. Alot of blood. So I'm vomiting blood again and I'm trying to gargle ice water at the same time to stop the bleeding and they put me in a room and decide to give me an IV.
The nurse says she's going to take some blood and she gives me an IV at the same time. In the bend of my arm. That is the worst place. I hate it there, do not want it there. Then she refuses to put a piece of tape over it so I can't see wheere it's going into my skin because it really makes me uncomfortable. She said they need to be able to see the injection site incase something goes wrong with it. I say awesome, thanks. I stand up at the sink to try and gargle more ice water and I have a panic attack. I can feel the IV fluid in my ear and my face, I'm suddenly light headed, my heart is racing, I can't breathe, I'm yelling and gasping for breath and looking around the room for a call button. The door is wide open but no one is hearing me and I am just losing it. I crumple over on the gurney panting Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, and things seems to be calming down, as a nurse comes by and asks if she heard me calling out. Um, yeah. Ya might have.
The surgeon shows up, I lay down normal on the gurney, I'm hooked up to all kinds of machines, she pokes around in there some more looking for the bleed spot. But I'm not bleeding anymore. I get up and jump up & down some, dance around, sit down with my head between my legs, massage my throat, suck really hard on a straw trying to make it bleed again so she can see exactly where it's coming from. No luck. So she fills another needle up with lidocaine, numbs up a larger swath of my tonsil, and cauterizes deeper and wider than before. This time there's the smell. The stench of burning flesh and it makes me want to vomit. If you've never encountered this smell count yourself lucky. I got the bonus of it being in my mouth which comes with it's own unique taste. Fucking nauseatingly disgusting. We determine that our work here is done. They unhook me and send me home telling me if this happens again to of course call the surgeon and come back.
So I drive home. And I sit down. And my hands are still covered in blood and that stench is in my nose, and my throat is sore and I'm scared to cough or talk and I keep spitting into the sink to make sure there's no blood. But that's no gaurentee of anything. I was spitting clear at the ER and then started vomiting again. I just pray to God that this is it, this is over. There was no stench the first time she cauterized that morning so I'm hoping the job is really done now. I have a popcicle that kind of comes back up, and come vicodin. I'm assuming it's alright to take since no one told me otherwise. On & off the phone with my parents. Lay down on the couch and fall asleep.
So far, no more blood. No more nausea, still a lot of pain. I'm more confident that things are alright now, but I'm still scared. Vomiting blood is horrible and I've never had a panic attack before and I am just done with all of this. Don't ever have your tonsils removed. No more surgeries, no more needles, no more blood. Please God, let this all be over now.
Yesterday morning at 5 am I start vomiting blood again. And it won't stop. Again. I called the office & they paged the doctor on call. She called me and told me that no, this was NOT normal and to meet her at the ER. Fantastic.
I jump in the car and get down there. She checks around in my throat and determines that part of the wound in my right tonsil hasn't been fully cauterized and as the patches are coming off it's bleeding and leaking into my stomach. So she fills a needle with lidocaine, shoots up my tonsil, and cauterizes. I am sent home. On my way home, two blocks from my house, I spit blood again. I turn around and drive back to the ER. The surgeon I saw that morning was in surgery but wanted me to gargle with ice water to knock off the clot on my tonsil and stop any bleeding, and she would be over when she was done. I do this and am sitting in the waiting room spitting clear into a cup for about an hour. Then it's blood again. Alot of blood. So I'm vomiting blood again and I'm trying to gargle ice water at the same time to stop the bleeding and they put me in a room and decide to give me an IV.
The nurse says she's going to take some blood and she gives me an IV at the same time. In the bend of my arm. That is the worst place. I hate it there, do not want it there. Then she refuses to put a piece of tape over it so I can't see wheere it's going into my skin because it really makes me uncomfortable. She said they need to be able to see the injection site incase something goes wrong with it. I say awesome, thanks. I stand up at the sink to try and gargle more ice water and I have a panic attack. I can feel the IV fluid in my ear and my face, I'm suddenly light headed, my heart is racing, I can't breathe, I'm yelling and gasping for breath and looking around the room for a call button. The door is wide open but no one is hearing me and I am just losing it. I crumple over on the gurney panting Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, and things seems to be calming down, as a nurse comes by and asks if she heard me calling out. Um, yeah. Ya might have.
The surgeon shows up, I lay down normal on the gurney, I'm hooked up to all kinds of machines, she pokes around in there some more looking for the bleed spot. But I'm not bleeding anymore. I get up and jump up & down some, dance around, sit down with my head between my legs, massage my throat, suck really hard on a straw trying to make it bleed again so she can see exactly where it's coming from. No luck. So she fills another needle up with lidocaine, numbs up a larger swath of my tonsil, and cauterizes deeper and wider than before. This time there's the smell. The stench of burning flesh and it makes me want to vomit. If you've never encountered this smell count yourself lucky. I got the bonus of it being in my mouth which comes with it's own unique taste. Fucking nauseatingly disgusting. We determine that our work here is done. They unhook me and send me home telling me if this happens again to of course call the surgeon and come back.
So I drive home. And I sit down. And my hands are still covered in blood and that stench is in my nose, and my throat is sore and I'm scared to cough or talk and I keep spitting into the sink to make sure there's no blood. But that's no gaurentee of anything. I was spitting clear at the ER and then started vomiting again. I just pray to God that this is it, this is over. There was no stench the first time she cauterized that morning so I'm hoping the job is really done now. I have a popcicle that kind of comes back up, and come vicodin. I'm assuming it's alright to take since no one told me otherwise. On & off the phone with my parents. Lay down on the couch and fall asleep.
So far, no more blood. No more nausea, still a lot of pain. I'm more confident that things are alright now, but I'm still scared. Vomiting blood is horrible and I've never had a panic attack before and I am just done with all of this. Don't ever have your tonsils removed. No more surgeries, no more needles, no more blood. Please God, let this all be over now.
Blood Simple
From October 08, 2008
I spent yesterday afternoon violently spitting up blood. You ever done that? It's motherfucking terrifying.
So I had my tonsillectomy a week ago. Everything went swell, mom and dad were there to take care of me, lots of liquid Vicodin, lots of popcicles and pudding, Gatorade and movies. The first day was rough but then things smoothed out. It was relaxing, calming, entertaining and full of wonderful drugs. This weekend I went to Urgent Care because I couldn't breathe and they diagnosed with my pneumonia. Beautiful.
Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting on my bed, watching the Sex and the City movie, eating some pudding, when I started coughing. No big deal: cough a little, you figure you're coughing up some phlegm and you swallow it. I did this like three times and then my brain flashed with the remembrance of reading info about possibly coughing up blood after this surgery. When I coughed again I spit into my hand and sure enough, bright red blood.
I jump up and race into the bathroom and spit up some more and then it becomes more and more and more. It's coming out of my nose, it's pouring out of my mouth and now it's coming in waves. I run back to my room and grab my phone. I call Melody. She's my roommate and a doctor. I get her voicemail. I call the hospital as they were a recent call in my phone. I tell them I had a tonsillectomy a week ago and I am spitting up blood. They asked me if I called me ENT. I'm like I AM SPITTING UP BLOOD! It's gurgling out of my mouth while I'm trying to talk. She said to be sure to call my ENT, and either call 911 or go to the ER. I say cool, will do.
Stuff starts coming up with the blood. All this bloody gunk, and it's sticking to my tongue and it still won't stop and it's still coming out my nose. What if I lose too much blood and I faint? I have pneumonia, am I coughing up lung? Did I fuck over my liver with too much Vicodin? Did something go horribly wrong in the back of my throat? Am I dying? Is this going to stop? What the FUCK is going on?! I had tried to maintain my composure and a level head about this for as long as I could but I was done. I'm in terrified panic mode. Who do I call? I have to call someone. I can't call my mom, she's 500 miles away. Do I call 911? Is this 911 worthy? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be in charge any more, I need help. Choking and gurgling on blood I called Jeremy. He was always so very good of taking care of me with all of my health scares, and there were many of them, and I knew he would be there for me in an emergency. When he answered I lost it. Through gagging and tears I told him I was coughing up blood, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Alarmed and level-headed he asked me my address, said he was calling 911 and then come over. I said ok and hung up.
All this bloody mucus has now clogged the sink and it's filling up. There's blood all over the sink and my toothbrush holder and my soap, and I'm desperately trying to pull the stopper out of the drain and mash all this crap down the sink and I'm doubled over crying and spitting up, trying to clean all this blood away. And I'm wishing Jeremy was just here already. I need him to materialize at the door because I can't be alone anymore and things are out of control now.
Then I thought ok, I need shoes, if I go to the hospital they're going to want to know what drugs I'm on and I don't know so grab all the bottles and put them in my purse, wallet with medical ID in purse, Mark still has the key to the back door so I need my garage door opener out of my car if I'm going to get back in the house, and why isn't anyone here yet?! There's a knock at the back door and the fire department is all standing out there and I have to tell them the door is locked and to go around to the garage. I open the garage and the 5 or so EMTs come in, Jeremy on their heels. They pull a cooler over and have me sit down and start taking my vitals and asking me questions, and Jeremy gave them all my information. They asked me if I was on any drugs and I said yeah, a shit-ton and I couldn't name them all, so Jeremy went into the house to get them and came back with an arm load. They looked in the back of my throat and said it looked pretty raw back there. I said yes, I'm sure this is all related to my tonsillectomy and is probably somewhat normal, I was just concerned that something had gone horribly wrong. They said my vitals were fine and I didn't have any pain anywhere and that if I felt well enough to be on my own I could sign off on the ambulance, that had just showed up, and everything would be cool. Agreed.
Jeremy stayed with me while I called my doctors and calmed down. I thanked him for being there when I needed someone. He's always been wonderful at that and I will forever love him for it. I was so scared. So incredibly terrified. Even thinking about it now still makes me cry, I was so scared. To feel that out of control and unsure and alone, and there was just so much blood. It looked like I vomited an abortion. It was horrifying.
My surgeon is out of town for the week, of course, but her assistant returned my call and assured me that this was all normal. My information sheet said to expect blood streaks in my saliva, but didn't mention violently spitting up blood. The patches over my wounds are supposed to come off and apparently you end up swallowing them and then they come back up, and all this happens about a week after surgery. Right on time. So at least I know this was supposed to happen, it's not unusual, nothing is wrong, and I can rest easy in that knowledge. But the events of yesterday are replaying in my mind and now it seems so distant and yet I'm still right there in the moment, doubled over the sink, terrified.
I'm no longer spitting up blood, and I'm healing well. But right now, I'm done. I need a break from this. Check, please!
I spent yesterday afternoon violently spitting up blood. You ever done that? It's motherfucking terrifying.
So I had my tonsillectomy a week ago. Everything went swell, mom and dad were there to take care of me, lots of liquid Vicodin, lots of popcicles and pudding, Gatorade and movies. The first day was rough but then things smoothed out. It was relaxing, calming, entertaining and full of wonderful drugs. This weekend I went to Urgent Care because I couldn't breathe and they diagnosed with my pneumonia. Beautiful.
Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting on my bed, watching the Sex and the City movie, eating some pudding, when I started coughing. No big deal: cough a little, you figure you're coughing up some phlegm and you swallow it. I did this like three times and then my brain flashed with the remembrance of reading info about possibly coughing up blood after this surgery. When I coughed again I spit into my hand and sure enough, bright red blood.
I jump up and race into the bathroom and spit up some more and then it becomes more and more and more. It's coming out of my nose, it's pouring out of my mouth and now it's coming in waves. I run back to my room and grab my phone. I call Melody. She's my roommate and a doctor. I get her voicemail. I call the hospital as they were a recent call in my phone. I tell them I had a tonsillectomy a week ago and I am spitting up blood. They asked me if I called me ENT. I'm like I AM SPITTING UP BLOOD! It's gurgling out of my mouth while I'm trying to talk. She said to be sure to call my ENT, and either call 911 or go to the ER. I say cool, will do.
Stuff starts coming up with the blood. All this bloody gunk, and it's sticking to my tongue and it still won't stop and it's still coming out my nose. What if I lose too much blood and I faint? I have pneumonia, am I coughing up lung? Did I fuck over my liver with too much Vicodin? Did something go horribly wrong in the back of my throat? Am I dying? Is this going to stop? What the FUCK is going on?! I had tried to maintain my composure and a level head about this for as long as I could but I was done. I'm in terrified panic mode. Who do I call? I have to call someone. I can't call my mom, she's 500 miles away. Do I call 911? Is this 911 worthy? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be in charge any more, I need help. Choking and gurgling on blood I called Jeremy. He was always so very good of taking care of me with all of my health scares, and there were many of them, and I knew he would be there for me in an emergency. When he answered I lost it. Through gagging and tears I told him I was coughing up blood, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Alarmed and level-headed he asked me my address, said he was calling 911 and then come over. I said ok and hung up.
All this bloody mucus has now clogged the sink and it's filling up. There's blood all over the sink and my toothbrush holder and my soap, and I'm desperately trying to pull the stopper out of the drain and mash all this crap down the sink and I'm doubled over crying and spitting up, trying to clean all this blood away. And I'm wishing Jeremy was just here already. I need him to materialize at the door because I can't be alone anymore and things are out of control now.
Then I thought ok, I need shoes, if I go to the hospital they're going to want to know what drugs I'm on and I don't know so grab all the bottles and put them in my purse, wallet with medical ID in purse, Mark still has the key to the back door so I need my garage door opener out of my car if I'm going to get back in the house, and why isn't anyone here yet?! There's a knock at the back door and the fire department is all standing out there and I have to tell them the door is locked and to go around to the garage. I open the garage and the 5 or so EMTs come in, Jeremy on their heels. They pull a cooler over and have me sit down and start taking my vitals and asking me questions, and Jeremy gave them all my information. They asked me if I was on any drugs and I said yeah, a shit-ton and I couldn't name them all, so Jeremy went into the house to get them and came back with an arm load. They looked in the back of my throat and said it looked pretty raw back there. I said yes, I'm sure this is all related to my tonsillectomy and is probably somewhat normal, I was just concerned that something had gone horribly wrong. They said my vitals were fine and I didn't have any pain anywhere and that if I felt well enough to be on my own I could sign off on the ambulance, that had just showed up, and everything would be cool. Agreed.
Jeremy stayed with me while I called my doctors and calmed down. I thanked him for being there when I needed someone. He's always been wonderful at that and I will forever love him for it. I was so scared. So incredibly terrified. Even thinking about it now still makes me cry, I was so scared. To feel that out of control and unsure and alone, and there was just so much blood. It looked like I vomited an abortion. It was horrifying.
My surgeon is out of town for the week, of course, but her assistant returned my call and assured me that this was all normal. My information sheet said to expect blood streaks in my saliva, but didn't mention violently spitting up blood. The patches over my wounds are supposed to come off and apparently you end up swallowing them and then they come back up, and all this happens about a week after surgery. Right on time. So at least I know this was supposed to happen, it's not unusual, nothing is wrong, and I can rest easy in that knowledge. But the events of yesterday are replaying in my mind and now it seems so distant and yet I'm still right there in the moment, doubled over the sink, terrified.
I'm no longer spitting up blood, and I'm healing well. But right now, I'm done. I need a break from this. Check, please!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
