On Friday morning I knew I had to see Dr. Looove. I’d thrown up all night, and the pain in my upper abdomen was really intense. After sweating in bed all morning, I went into her office. The first thing she had me do was pee in a cup. This is where I tell you all I AM NOT PREGNANT. I knew I wasn’t and it was confirmed by the pee test. So THERE to everyone who doubted me…MOM.
Anyway. Dr. Loove’s exam consisted of the usual stuff, then she had my lay on my back so she could press on various parts of my stomach. Holy. Hell. That hurt like a mofo. She ruled out appendicitis, then had her nurse come in to draw some blood. Luckily for everyone involved, I didn’t faint! After the blood draw, Dr. Looove came back into my room to say she suspected I had gastritis, but the blood tests would help confirm and/or rule out other stuff. She put me on the BRAT diet (Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast) and sent me home. Upon arriving home, I vomited, and then passed out on the couch.
I woke up about four hours later to a phone call from Dr. Loove that confirmed the gastritis diagnosis. Mike convinced me to eat something, and went into the kitchen to get me a snack. About two minutes later I heard a crash and then a scream. Mike came running out of the kitchen and I could see blood dripping from his hand. One look at his pinky finger and I announced we were going to the emergency room. On Friday Night, at 9:30pm. WITH ANNABEL. And don’t forget, I’m still barfing.
We managed to get to the ER in one piece. I sent Mike in to register while I grabbed Annie out of the car. Annie thought this night time trip was just about the coolest thing EVER, and couldn’t stop shouting and squealing to express her glee. As you can probably guess, that didn’t make her popular in a waiting room full of the ill and injured.
Mike was taken back right away, since his cut was deep enough that it was spurting blood. That left me in the waiting room with my upset stomach, a pounding headache and Miss Excited. I sent a text message to my cousin Leah who said she’d come right over. I knew I had to get Annabel out of there, but I didn’t want to leave Mike alone. Then the decision was taken out of my hands.
All over the emergency room, signs are posted warning to stay away if you have the flu or flu-like symptoms. I saw the signs but thought nothing of them since I didn’t have the flu. But while I was sitting in the waiting room chairs, trying to get Annie to SIT DOWN for the 187th time, I felt a wave hit me, and I knew I was going to puke. There wasn’t time to ask where the bathroom was. All I managed to do was make it to the nearest trash can – the trash can that just happened to be in front of the admitting desk.
The two nurses and security guard jumped backward, surprised. One of the nurses asked me if I was OK. The security guard looked at me suspiciously and said, “Ma’am, do you have…THE FLU?”
First of all, don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old.
I told him no, and that I’d been to the doctor just a few hours earlier and all my blood work had show up clean. The other nurse was sympathetic but stern.
“I’m sorry, but we have a lot of patients here with compromised immune systems, as well as pregnant women, and we can’t put them at risk for the flu. Unless your symptoms are severe and you need to be seen by a doctor, we need you to go outside, honey.”
I looked back at where Annabel was emptying the contents of my purse onto the waiting room floor. Leaving would probably save every one’s sanity. I sent texts to Leah and Mike telling them we were leaving and why, and then hit the road with Annie.
I stopped to barf on the way home.
Mike arrived back at the apartment about two hours later. Leah had stayed with him the whole time, even when HE GOT NINE STITCHES (Leah is awesome). I instantly stopped feeling guilty about leaving him there. Had I been in the room when he’d had the stitches put in, I’d have fainted. You know how I feel about stitches! And I have to look at it every day to change the dressing:
You’re welcome for sparing you the gory stitches picture. Shudder
He has to get his stitches removed in seven to ten days. The sight of nine stitches in his finger will plague me for seven to ten YEARS. Meanwhile, I am still barfing, my stomach still hurts, and Annabel thinks this weekend has been the coolest party of her life.