January 12th, 2006

still sick, not in the hospital

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. 😉