Post-ER Update

As you may have read, last night I was in a lot of pain in my side and stomach. I ended up going to the ER for it. The ran X-rays and a CT scan with contrast and labs and decided the pain was from inflammation in my abdomen, probably from all the purging I’ve  been doing lately, and from a cyst on my kidney. I’m supposed to follow up with my regular doctor for an MRI of the cyst and further treatment. However, my regular doctor is on maternity leave, so I’m going to have to see someone else. I’m not looking forward to that.

They gave my morphine at the ER to bring down the pain. It was awful. It made me dizzy and nauseous and feel like my nerves were raw. I’ve long ago realized that narcotics and I don’t get along. I just don’t handle them well. However, it did it’s job and I got some zofran for the nausea and the other symptoms passed after a bit and before long I was feeling well enough to go home. I spent, overall, about 4 and a half hours there.

I am feeling a lot better today. Still a little pain, but not like I was in last night.

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Not the Day I’d planned

I’m home now.

Thanks to my freakout last night, I showed up at treatment this morning sick, weak, tired, and severely dehydrated.

When I arrived, I had to strip down and put on a sheer hospital gown, do a couple jumping jacks, and get weighed. Then, an EKG, orthostatics, and labs.

However, because I was so dehydrated, they couldn’t get any blood. I had several people trying and still nothing. They decided to make me drink water and try again later, but I was having trouble getting the water down because I was so nauseous.

I went over to sign papers and get my schedule and program binder. When I finished, my doctor had looked over my EKG and orthostatics and decided I needed to go to the ER to get fluids.

So, 2 hours after my first day of treatment began, it ended with a trip to a local hospital. I was there for about 6 hours. Not only was I severely dehydrated, my potassium was dangerously low so I had to get fluids AND potassium. Then more labs to make sure my potassium came up enough to go home. Rinse, repeat.

The treatment center wanted to bump me up to residential, but my insurance said no. I’m relieved. I’m so glad to be home after that long day and not in a hospital. I am not looking forward to going back tomorrow, but I know I need to.

Also, I took a HUGE step tonight and threw away my laxatives.

Hospitalization: part one

while doing inpatient over the last 10 days in a local psychiatric ward, I made some journal entries. Here is the first of those entries.

“I need my bag!”

The quote from an episode of Psych flitted through my head in the most terrifying way possible.

Sitting in the stark, barren room in the emergency psychiatric ward, I heard the frantic screams of another patient demanding her purse.

“You threw it out the window on Santa Fe,” a paramedic responded.

The other patient wouldn’t, or couldn’t, accept that, and grew angry, insisting on the return of her bag.

This was the latest in a string of tirades.

She had yelled about not being allowed to go home, over not having feminine pads, over her shoes, the list goes on and on. At one point, she had taken to hitting and throwing things at the staff, and had to be restrained, then proceeded to shout profanities for a good hour.

Here I was, in the next room, just trying to stay alive, feeling like I was being punished for doing the responsible thing and seeking help.

That first afternoon and night were terrifying. I sat alone in the most empty room I had ever seen, just a bed, chair, table, and the security camera. A guard sat outside my door. I had to ask to get water, or use the bathroom. I couldn’t use my phone, and all they gave me to do was a stack of children’s mazes, a crayon to fill them out with. Shortly before I left, they scrounged up a word search book.

Though the bathroom door had an 8″ gap at the bottom, I purged every meal. They either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

After more than 24 hours in the ER ward, I was admitted to the regular psychiatric ward, or Three West (third floor, west wing).

Purging is more important than an infection

I spent the weekend with my brothers. We drank lots of alcohol, played lots of games, and watched lots of anime. We also watched the first two X-Men movies.

We went to bed late Sunday night (around 2:30 on Monday morning, if you want to be technical). I noticed as I was getting ready for bed that I had a small rash on my leg, about the size of a half dollar coin.

An hour later, I woke up in excruciating pain. The rash had spread up my torso and down the other leg. It was bright red and painful. I was shaking, had chest pain, and shortness of breath.

I woke up my brother and he took me to the ER. I was given IV antibiotics immediately, and they drew 10 tubes of blood.

I was admitted to the hospital and my labs showed that the infection (the cause of my rash) had gone into my blood. I received super strong antibiotics all day and all night last night.

I have to be in the hospital through tonight, then the doctor will reassess tomorrow. I am starting to feel a lot better, but the antibiotics are hard on the body.

I got to shower this morning, which was AWESOME, but I haven’t been able to brush out my hair yet. The hospital’s idea of a hair brush is a tiny, flimsy comb. I couldn’t brush my hair out with that normally, but my hair is a giant not from being in bed all day yesterday, and I had no conditioner or detangler and my hair likes to tangle if I even look at it, so it tangles in the process of brushing it out.

Despite having a septic infection (I think that’s what the doctor called it), I still managed to purge everything I’ve eaten.

Yes, I’ve been purging while in the ER/hospital for a severe infection.

Clearly, something is wrong with this.

Seizures and Vulnerability

This morning, my youngest brother had a diabetic seizure. It was terrifying.

He only has seizures when his blood sugars are dangerously low. Whenever he has one, I worry that we won’t be able to get them back up in time and he’ll die.

I always have flashbacks of when I got the phone call telling me my sister had died.

His seizure this morning was worse than normal. We called 911 and gave him a glucagon injection. He didn’t respond. I rubbed sugar into the inside of his cheek while my mom prepared another injection of glucagon.

He seized for 10 straight minutes while we waited for the paramedics. He had been sitting on a chair in the living room when he started seizing. Before I could get to him, he fell off, faceplanting on the wood floor, and hitting his head on a tv tray.

I rushed to move things out of his way while dialing 911 so that he couldn’t injure himself.

Those 10 minutes seemed to last forever.

Luckily, he’s doing better now.

Are you familiar with Post Secret?

Tonight in group, we did a post secret type activity. We each got index cards and were instructed to write out our secrets on them.

Some were things like “I want another tattoo.”
Most were very intimate.
Many made me cry.

It was a rough group.

Then, we had process group. I admitted that I had been frustrated with my brother for not taking care of his diabetes the way he should be, and thus putting my mom, his girlfriend, and I in the position of just trying to keep him alive and freaking out. However, once process group started, I started feeling hypocritical because I am not taking care of myself the way I should. I admitted that I don’t know how to take care of myself, and that I don’t feel I deserve to.

I cried through my admission, and after, I started to panic and was having trouble breathing. My counselor noted that I feel a lot of shame when I feel vulnerable. It’s true. And I HATE to feel vulnerable.

My homework assignment for this week is to come up with a list of 25 reasons I’m worthy and deserving of food. I’m having a lot of trouble coming up with anything.