My dad is really sick. Really, really sick. It’s possible I gave him what I have… which is what, you ask? We STILL DON’T KNOW.

I went in for more bloodwork this morning… we’re up to 19 vials. I have an MRI on Monday, but hopefully we will figure out what’s wrong with me soon.

When my mom came yesterday, she was taken aback and said, “Wow, you’re really yellow.” Then she tried not to cry. 🙁

Right now she is on the phone with the airlines, trying to figure out if the kid I was sitting near on one of my flights (who I joked must’ve had the avian bird flu) was really sick and if the airlines can contact him to see what it was and if he was contagious.

My bilirubin has climbed to 14.9 as of Thursday. I really should blog some pictures of how yellow I am, but I’m very tired, too. And medicated. Itchy, tired and medicated… 2006 sucks so far.

She is about fifteen minutes away!

YAY!

My mommy is coming and she will heal me.

(By god she’d better… no one else has. 🙁 )

Yesterday = bad, bad day.

When I got to the doctor’s office, as I waited to check in, the doctor came out, saw me and said “Oh, I need to schedule some tests for her.” (Bad number 1) The receptionist couldn’t read his notes, or pronouce normal words, like “liver.” (Bad number 2) They then sent me upstairs to get some lab work while the receptionist scheduled my ultrasound and MRI. Walking into the tiny room, I noticed a soap opera on the little TV… bad sign. The 12-year-old (swear to god) who took my blood blew my vein twice (which means it collapsed, I bruised and massive amounts of pain). (Bad number 3) The next test was scheduled for later that day, so the coworker took me to her apartment and babied me for three hours (love her).

The ultrasound… went well. Kind of. It was supposed to take 30 minutes and it took an hour and 15 because the woman couldn’t believe she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. (Hearing someone say that… Bad number 4) The coworker and I then left and picked up food to take to her apartment. See, the ultrasound was supposed to show that I had a portal vein problem (because of the birth control) and they were supposed to admit me to the hospital because of it. As we started to eat, the doctor’s office called and asked me to come back to the lab because I needed more blood tests… (Bad number 5)

The coworker took me back to the lab (not the doctor’s office, an actual lab) and I walked right in to see… the SAME 12-year-old from the morning. By this time, I had been in tears half the day and that was just the last straw. I didn’t say a word, but apparently a teary, yellow 23-year-old (who by this time—sans makeup—looks 15) brings out the big guns… the grandma phlebotomists. They hugged me, patted me on the head and got the needle stick on the first try, almost painlessly. They then said I could leave, but as the coworker and I were driving away, one of the women came out to ask me to come back in and show my insurance card. (Because the entire day just had to be bad.)

At this point my dad called and said the ultrasound showed nothing, my portal vein was fine and they still didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I told him if they weren’t going to admit me, then somebody better prescribe me a sleeping pill otherwise I was going to jump off the bridge. (Don’t start with me, I itch everywhere.) The coworker took me to the pharmacy and then home, where I promptly took the meds and passed out. The Man claims he called and we talked a little bit, but I don’t remember… ahhh, meds.

The long and the short of it is: I’m sick and getting sicker. My bilirubin keeps rising, I keep getting itchier and no one knows why. Apparently it’s probably a virus… albeit one that they’ve never heard of… that may or may not be contagious. My parents were both supposed to fly in tomorrow morning, but now my dad is sick (with what I had two weeks ago… let’s hope he doesn’t have what I have now), so my mom is coming.

At this point the don’t know what they’re going to do. I have to go get more blood taken tomorrow (up to 16 vials already, woohoo) and an MRI on Monday, but hopefully they’ll figure out what it is before then.

Before I forget, the Man stocked me chock-full of books and cookies, so fortunately I’m well entertained. 🙂 Thanks baby. 😛

Oh, and the coworker is the absolute shit. She’s been driving me around and feeding me and my parents just think she’s hung the moon. Personally, I know she only made out with the moon dude, but still. 😉

I’m heading back to the hospital for more tests, and there’s an excellent chance they’ll be re-admitting me to the hospital–yay. 🙁

Which means no computer for awhile… here’s hoping I’ll be home by the weekend.

So Sunday night I ended up going to the ER, after calling my dad and deciding that I kinda did look yellow (which turned out to be the understatement of the year). I followed the coworker to the largest hospital in the area, and parked. She said she thought I looked awfully yellow, too.

Point: If you want immediate attention at a busy ER, say you have jaundice. The response is remarkable.

I was instantly whisked back, my vitals were checked and everyone vehemently agreed I was yellow—very yellow.

Yes, the insider was severely jaundiced.

After taking some blood (four vials, sheesh), they then proceeded to give me a shot in the ass (for the itching). Let me tell ya, shots in the ass hurt really, really bad. And it didn’t work. See, jaundice is caused by a build-up of bilirubin salts in the blood, under the skin. Most antihistamines only control itch caused by things on the skin. Therefore, I have terrible itching over my entire body (including my eyeballs), and they can’t give me anything for it… except sleeping pills and phenobarbital (which “supposedly” might help the itch, but only makes me pass out.)

Then they attempted to start an IV in my right forearm and because I stress out, the vein vanished, so she had to pull it out and start it in my left elbow. In other words, I have massive bruising all over my arms—lovely.

Here’s the real fun part—they never started an IV, they just left a saline lock and a damn needle in my arm for two days. Grrr.

So I stayed overnight at the hospital two nights. They took enough blood from me (four times, 12 vials) to create another person.

They’ve run tons of tests and they still have no idea what’s wrong with me, so I’m back home now. Apparently my bilirubin was at a 10 (it’s supposed to be at a .6) when I first went it, it dropped to a 9 and now it’s back up to a 10.2… so just imagine how yellow and itchy I am. It’s disturbing. I look like Big Bird. 🙁

The drugs are starting to work now, so I’m going to bed.

Update: Telling your religious dad you’re on birth control? Not so fun. Apparently I was a little right about the bc. I could have thrombosed something near/in my liver, so tomorrow I’m going for a CAT scan and some sort of other tests.
And now my dad and mom are all appalled that I’m having sex. If I didn’t want to die before… sigh.

So here’s the thing. I’m itchy—almost constantly. I’m trying the whole “mind over matter” thing, but it doesn’t really work all that well. I have trouble sleeping, I hate putting on clothes and leaving the house and my eyes burn a little. After doing much research online, I’m pretty sure I might be slightly jaundiced—as the whites of my eyes are a little yellow… but that’s about it, so maybe I’m not jaundiced. AAAHHHHHHH!

I didn’t fit with any of the main reasons for jaundice/itching… until I saw that BC, more importantly estrogen, can bring this about. Looking back over the past couple of weeks, I have to wonder if my being so sick and taking antibiotics, while still taking BC, has brought this about. If so, the only help is to stop taking the BC (I did, two days ago). Then today I read that the itching might persist for a few weeks (or months), until my body has “realigned” itself. I want to die.

There are a few documented cases where people with an itching problem committed suicide, and I half to admit, I totally understand that. It’s debilitating, to say the least.

Anyway, the point of this diatribe was to say that while I will try to keep up with the blogging, I might fade in and out—just functioning is a chore lately.

Update: And irony… apparently the antibiotic I am on has caused severe itching in those being treated with it. Lovely. Stupid drug.

I passed 10,000 visitors sometime between Tuesday and today!

I feel so loved by you people. 😉

Yeah. Not so much really.

I’m sitting in Dallas, waiting for my flight home. They’re behind schedule pretty bad, mechanical problems again… in other words, I’m just hanging out at the airport, hoping beyond hope that they get me on a plane home tonight.

If I didn’t remember before why I hate traveling, I do now. The planes, the people, the sickness… truly an enlightening experience.

Update, 12:38Am: Made it home alive thankfully.

So we got another test back today. It was the throat swab that had previously said I didn’t have Strep A or B.

And I don’t, but lo and behold, there’s a “rare hemolytic streptoccoccus, not A or B type” and guess what…? Yep, that’s right, I have it. Grrrrrr….

The lab faxed it to my dad’s office on Friday… and we just got it today. He got all cranky that they didn’t call and tell us, because apparently it’s really not that good to go this long without antibiotics. Lovely.

So now I am on the meds and hopefully will feel much better by the time I get on the plane on Thursday.

Going back to work after the holidays sucks. Especially when you spent most of said holiday ill.

Granted, I’m still at my parent’s home in Seattle, but I am working darn you! Not all that well though. I have to keep pausing to cough for several seconds at a time, the evil book of hell keeps freezing up my screen and my mom’s cat is now sitting on my shoulders, trying to get my attention. (I think she wants some love.)

And now the real reason I am blogging… an argument with my dad over how long cookies should be baked—I want to note here that he killed some oatmeal cookies. They are hard and ridiculously crunchy… seriously, you can crumble them up and use them as granola. He thinks they are the greatest cookies ever—”the crunchier, the better.”

I ask you my people, soft or crunchy? Don’t you love that gooey center?