Bringing the Pain, and TMI

It’s probably a bad thing when ER staff start recognizing you. Not just by seeing you either, just your name is enough. I have reached this point. Today’s trip to the ER involved the doctor walking in saying “Back again? Well at least you’re one of the easy ones!” then proceeded to recommend her usual migraine cocktail for me.

Haha no. Those are my "I already tried to get rid of it" meds.

Haha no. Those are my “I already tried to get rid of it” meds.

Up to this point we were fine. I like this doctor, she doesn’t mess around and won’t give me narcotics, which some doctors oddly think are awesome for migraines. I never want morphine ever again, I explain every time. They just stare at me, like I’m crazy. I’m wrong too, if I lose a limb I will gladly accept morphine. Then again the nurses stare at me like I’m crazy because I suggest my brain could be fixed with a good brick smashed into it. My sense of humor is inappropriate at best.

Once they find out my pain scale (you should always say 10 by the way, otherwise you’re not super important. They also don’t accept numbers over ten, such as eleven billion, I’ve tried. I’ve considered bringing them a copy of the “a better pain scale” comic for these instances). Next you get a partitioned area/room/cubicle. Now, this is yet another reason I go to this hospital. Your area comes with a TV (you have to share with the other person on the other side of the curtain), you get a recliner instead of those panic attack inducing, completely uncomfortable, and once or twice doused with vomit or blood that was not properly cleaned up gurney beds. Lastly? They usually only allow ONE visitor per patient, so less kids running around, and very few babies crying. Its best if you go to the ER on nights that The Walking Dead is airing. Everyone loves it, so people are nicer to you (Except this one really religious lady one time who kept loudly saying possible bible things at the TV, which once she saw Dianne and I progressed to things about us. I think I threw up when she was there. Vomit karma.)

Once you’re in the chair, that’s when the meds come, which is usually pretty quick. Today was an IV, which I get so often you would think they could just follow the marks from the last few. This is where things can get rocky and uncomfortable. I either get awesome nurses or really terrible ones. Awesome ones listen to when I say that I prefer my IV in a certain place, and that I need certain meds first unless they want to clean up multiple bodily fluids (getting old sucks, did you know you start to pee yourself when you vomit? Yeah, now you know its coming, you’ve been warned). If I get one of those nurses who refuses to listen (which is always the big issue with bad ones), I assume the bodily fluid cleanup is really their karma. Or maybe an important lesson for them to learn… not sure.

Today’s nurses were bad. The first one was irritated that I wanted my IV somewhere else and wouldn’t do it, plus he called a me a liar about my migraines last time I was there, so I have a bit of a grudge. On top, he got mad that I even suggested that an IV that any nurse there placed would end up bruising my arm. Next we had the ex stripper nurse (Not so big secret: when I was stripping, 90% of the strippers I knew were in school to become nurses or medical assistants. Once you know that, it’s not too hard to pick out the ex strippers in any medical facility.) She ignored me about the order my meds need to be in, so she got to be on vomit watch. Grumpy, surly, irritated in general. Did I offend her in some way? Personally, I wanted to be warned if vomit is coming. Maybe she likes vomit. I’m not hip with the cool fetishes I guess.

From here, I’m not sure if an injection in the stomach normally bruises this badly, or if there was something she was taking out on me. It was my first stomach injection, and I was terrified. “Ok this one goes in your tummy” she said, filling the needle. I was ready to leave, I wanted to say “Nevermind, I feel better, let’s get this IV out and I’ll head home”. I’m not afraid of needles, I’ve had probably hundreds of injections at this point. I generally get comments about how surprising it is when I don’t care about injections, or IV’s where they need to dig around for a bit to find that pesky little hand vein, basically, I can handle this stuff like a champ. Not today, nope, we are never doing that again. (Please picture a bleach blonde tanned nurse with sparkly American flag fake nails coming at your bared stomach with a needle, I don’t think I can find a picture that specific.)

I am sure you’re waiting for something interesting to happen by now, but really in my migraine ER stories, things always get fuzzy at this point. Everything hits fast, and if it goes well, then I’m loopy (or loopier). If it goes badly, well, we talked about that already (once a nurse actually asked what I ate that day as she threw away the bag, which grossed me out more than the fact that I vomited). I do happen to like at this point is when they always get me to sign the paperwork consenting to treatment, billing, etc. They should just give me a crayon, it would explain the quality of my signature at that point so much more. At least a typical visit is less than 2 hours start to finish.

When we finally left, my arm is bruised from the IV. My stomach is bruised from that stupid injection. And… my migraine is back two hours later. It was nice to have those couple of hours off of the brain through a blender feelings.

Last, two thoughts:

1. They always ask if I’ve been exposed to Malaria, Mrsa, Hepatitis, or any communicable diseases. I say no, but then I remember I’m in the ER, I could have been exposed to them in the waiting room for all I know.

2. Its not considered “acceptable” to diagnose yourself if its a strange disease. Migraines, sprained ankles, that stuff is ok to suggest. You get listed as crazy if you ask to be tested for Hantavirus.

I lied, three things. Odd personal side note: I’ve dated a few alcoholics, and that’s not easy. You have to learn to keep up or basically stay home and break up really soon. Due to keeping up I used to vomit like a champ. Stealth vomits that no one ever knew about, kept partying, felt fine the next day. Now it feels like actual death. On top of that, all of the muscles in my torso hurt the next day. I just tell everyone I’m building up my vomit muscles.

All of this hurts. Yes some of it is organs, I was trying to not scare you. Those hurt too. Everything hurts, like that REM song, but about your body.

All of this hurts. Yes some of it is organs, I was trying to not scare you. Those hurt too. Everything hurts, like that REM song, but about your body.

And that’s it for our TMI portion for the day.

Chico the monster

Yes, I am really going to post about one of my dogs. It’s for a few reasons, one is that he is awesome, which might be like when a person has a kid and thinks its awesome, when the kid is just regular variety kid. Next is I started writing this story yesterday and it’s from a dogs perspective. It’s not horror, and not erotica (ew, from a dogs perspe… just, no), it’s just, well, sad. Really sad. Dianne read some of it and said “this is really depressing”.

a royal affairSo I’m taking a break from that depressingness today to play video games, annoy my dogs, watch youtube videos, and possibly watch the movie A Royal Affair

(which if you don’t know, its a historical drama with a little romancy bit, and its all in Danish, which is just the best combination of everything really. Unless someone has tea and danishes for me to eat while I watch it. Damn, now I’m disappointed I don’t have those things.)




Now, please meet one of my awesome dogs, Chico. I call him Chico Monster, and we often tease he looks like a dancing bear or one of those Racoon Dogs (do not google that term, you mostly end up with really depressing articles about them being made into shoes, which will make you possibly want to kill yourself, or someone, or just be filled with impotent rage).

chico 4

A Racoon Dog

We adopted Chico from a rescue we used to foster for. He was already 9 years old, and his owner had passed away. The person taking care of him couldn’t keep him, saying her dogs didn’t like him, and that he pee’d on everything. He was a little mess when we picked him up. His left eye is missing (no idea why), his fur is all undercoat, and he was completely bald from top to bottom on his spine. Turns out he has a thyroid condition, which is why his fur is just the soft floofy undercoat and the baldness. He also had to have several teeth taken. Sometimes a combination of issues like that make a dog more adoptable, because he’s such a mess its considered cute.

We finally decided to adopt him when we left the rescue. We didn’t want him to move to another foster home, since that rescue was full (most are), and had quite a few fosters that were actually hoarders.  I just thought of his life, how he had this one person his whole life that loved him, and then that person was gone. Now he was being moved around for possibly years, until he found a home. I didn’t want him to feel like that, and I actually fell in love with him the longer we had him.

Now his thyroid is under control, but he’s older, so he’s developed a little arthritis, and begun to go blind in his existing eye. One of the things that makes him awesome is despite all of these things, he is so happy. He dances around when its time for dinner or treats.

So damn happy you can't be in a bad mood with him around

So damn happy you can’t be in a bad mood with him around

When I’m laying down on days I don’t feel good he snuggles onto my shoulder and does this strange snortle in my ears, which forever makes me laugh. Occasionally he’s protective of me, which is endearing except that he growls at Dianne when she kisses me goodbye in the morning. He’s a tough little guy, he takes all of his medicine, some of which he really hates (they eye medication primarily), without being a pain about it. Even some of his fur has grown back on his back, so he’s not all bald. He gets strange looks at the veterinarian, and a friend of ours has nicknamed him a “hot mess”. He has a kind of grumpy friendship with our other dog Butch, who is also a little older, and I call them my grumpy old men club.

I forgot to mention the snoring

Ok, one last favourite thing. Everything is his. If we foster puppies he tries to take care of them, cuddling with them, playing with them, and generally watching over them. When we took in a stray cat that our neighbours abandoned, every time we brought her to the bed to try to acclimate her, he always ran up like he thought “hey, you brought my cat!”. He does the same thing with our bearded dragon too. (If at this point you’re thinking, dear god this person has a lot of animals, you are correct).

Right now he’s sleeping on the couch next to me (with pretty much all the dogs), but he’s happiest when he can get as close to me as possible. He’s a manipulative little booger, and knows I won’t move him if he’s being cute.

I wanted to write more, but now I realize I’m rambling, and I actually have developed a really terrible migraine in the 20 minutes its taken me to write this, so I’m going to down a ton of pills and hope my brain stops trying to liquefy itself.

Not pictured: three other kinds of pills I had to take after these ones as well.

Not pictured: three other kinds of pills I had to take after these ones as well.

Where have I been?

Because I don’t spend nearly enough time at the doctors or feeling ill, I ended up having surgery on April 3. It was a 3 part outpatient thing, and now I have a giant hole in my belly button that is disgusting to look at.

Because of this, and all of the added complications that came with it, I haven’t been doing anything. No writing, no editing, not even hanging out on facebook and twitter. Instead I’m in bed, with a roller coaster of physical ailments. The fun part is I have extra time to have my crazy thoughts. Here are a few:

Filling out patient forms, Sexually Active? Yes. Form of Birth Control Used?: Lesbianism. Also made a check box for domestic partner. My girlfriend did not find this as amusing as I did.

Someone on facebook said that I’m “deceitful and salty”. I’m confused by this.

I can’t love unicorns. Try to sway me with magic, mystery, and connections with Neil Patrick Harris, I just can’t. You’re upgraded horses. Sorry Unicorns, it’s not you, it’s me. I must love the magical Horned Rhinoceros instead. Stop trying to sway me with glittery rainbows! Wait Unicorns! It is your fault! You are part horse, cloppy hooves & giant teeth you knew you terrified me! I must go, I can’t, I just can’t.

What is this Hulu Plus? I’m paying to watch advertising? I’ll just stick with cable.

My doctor called me two days after surgery to ask if I “passed gas out my bottom”.

I hear they are sending people to Mars. I would like to go. I would take over and RULE MARS!! I would also make myself a big shiny hat. Wait, I would have one commissioned. Ruler of Mars doesn’t make her own hat! Pharaoh of Mars!! (Taking over Mars would be easier than Earth, there are less people there, and they don’t have a military force yet.)