I hope everyone is enjoying their Martin Luther King birthday more than me. I've had a hard few days. But I've learned a few things that I thought I'd share.
First, this is what happened. On Thursday at 11:30, I was feeling fine, eating an orange and a piece of cheese, and working on my book. Around noon, I started feeling unwell. Because I thought it was gas, I took some Tums and decided that I'd feel better if I moved around so I headed for the store to buy Gigi's birthday present. (It was her birthday) I drove about two miles, by this time the pain was so intense, I had to pull over and vomit. I drove home. Vomited three more times and concluded I must have appendicitis. Larry came home and took me to the emergency room where they learned through a cat scan that I had an ovarian cyst.
They scheduled surgery for the next day. Despite heavy sedation, the pain was incredible. At one point, I thought I was having a heart attack. They later concluded it was a panic attack--but it felt very real and I feared for my life. This is when things got interesting. At this point where I literally felt like I was dying from pain, I heard my own voice--completely disembodied--speaking to me and trying to calm me down. It's hard to explain, but it was my own voice but disengaged from my poor body. Shortly after this, I was taken into surgery.
They discovered a nine centimeter ovarian cyst wrapped around my fallopian tube. The cyst and ovary were both removed, leaving me with three small incisions. The intense pain is gone, but I still feel as if my belly was sliced open--because it was. This is something of a conundrum, since I have to eat to take the pain meds, but I'm way more interested in the meds than I am in food.
I'm glad to be home. This was my first hospital stay where I wasn't in a maternity ward and despite the lovely nurses and my nice room, I pretty much hated it. The first night I was very drugged and I had my room to myself, but the second night I had a snoring roommate who also pooped on the floor. Somewhere down the hall a man screamed in pain for hours. I have a new compassion for people who are regular hospital goers, for those who work in them, and for those who live with daily pain. As I later walked the hospital halls, (a prerequisite of going home) all I could think was I don't belong here. Larry brought me home on my birthday after attending his cousin's funeral.
Yesterday, Sunday, we celebrated my birthday. And it was oh so nice to be at home surrounded by people I love. I probably have another week, or two, before I can move without pain. I have a lot of books to read.
I have a book coming out tomorrow. It's been on preorder, meaning I can't change its release date, which is concerning since this means several people have already purchased it and I meant to read it one final time before it's release. Shirley is doing this for me, but still its not as if I'm doing the read through myself. And at this drug-hazy time of my life, I trust Shirley (and really anyone) more than I trust myself....You can purchase Rewriting Rita on Amazon. If you find mistakes, please let me know.
Other than my incisions, my desire for meds, and repugnance for food, life is good, although I have a lot of faith that it will get much better soon.