Had an interesting day yesterday. Got shot up with morphine. Twice.
Was sitting at the computer minding my own business when I felt an odd pain on my left side, just above my hip bone. I thought it was indigestion. Half an hour later, I realized it wasn't feeling at all like that. It was a solid, steady pain with a hit of throbbing, not the contractions that come with digestive woes.
I had had a CT scan on Monday because of some problems the previous week. Still hadn't got the results. Called the doc's office who said "Yes, there was an abnomality. Go to ER."
So then I was really afraid *and* in pain. Threw on some shoes, got in the car and off we went on the 45 minute trip to the hospital.
The pain was bad and, naturally, every time we hit a single-lane stretch of road we were stuck behind a boat or motorhome going at the minimum speed limit. When we'd get on a better stretch of road, Steve would floor it. As I told him, "If the cops pull you over, tell them you're taking me to ER and make them escort us." They didn't pull us over, and he just flew on the straight stretches.
ER was the usual nightmare. I was panting and moaning by arrival, and felt sure I was bleeding internally. Fifteen minutes in the waiting room and I was getting angry/hysterical. It didn't help there was only one other person in the waiting room and he was also panting and moaning because of a pain in his gut, and he also was getting the brush off. "Yes, we'll get you in as soon as we can" then back to the nurses gossiping about what they'd do this weekend.
I still have an image from TV wherein screaming pain gets you to see a doctor right away. Hahahahahaha. That is, unfortunately, a fantasy.
I got a bed within twenty minutes. Within half an hour they had finally got a needle seated so when the doctor ordered meds, they could give them right away. Then I was left alone. And alone and alone and alone. They finally let Steve in to sit with me. And still the doctor didn't come and still the pain kept getting worse. I finally sank to crying out "Help! Please help! Help!" What I meant was... "Help!" In my world, when a person yells that, they mean it and you help them. Not so much in ER. In ER it means the patient in bed 6 is being annoying.
After a long, long forty-five minutes, the computer relayed a doctor's OK to give morphine. Naturally, it helped calm me down immediately but I was unnerved by the fact it did not stop the pain. It just stopped me yelling about it. A doctor eventually rolled by and took the info. She didn't think it was a bowel impaction and the CT scan showed it wasn't diverticulitus. The "abnormality" turned out to be "a fatty deposit we think is benign." (Personally, I feel that when a doctor uses the word "benign" they shouldn't just think so, they should know so.)
She scheduled an ultrasound to see if that and blood tests might reveal what was going on. More time went by, though the drugs made the wait fairly easy to tolerate. Ultrasound showed my female parts had a lot of fibroid cysts but, otherwise, nothing notable. Which was good, from my point of view.
Even better was that by the time I was back in bed, the pain was subsiding, nearly as fast as it happened. No digestive activity, so it wasn't a gas pain. I would have blushed had that been it but would have been happy for something so mundane.
Since it still twinged every now and then, they gave me another shot of morphine. It surprises me people take it for fun. The initial drug rush is awful and made my head feel like it was going to explode. But ten minutes of measured breathing and it slacked off and just did its job.
In the end, the doctor felt it was most likely a ruptured cyst. That certainly matched the location and symptoms and she said the ultrasound did show extra fluid around my left ovary, which would fit. The only baffling thing is that normally only happens to women who are still in their child-bearing phase and I am well into menopause, by years. Still, I looked it up this morning and if that wasn't it, I'd be surprised.
Over twelve hours in ER. Whee! Fun for all. I feel fine this morning, if a little shell-shocked and mistrustful of my body. Guess I'll relax when it's been a few days and all goes well. And I will drop the illusion that ER recognises screaming as a reason to hurry the treatment process, and I'll know when the nurse pats my hand and says "I'll be back with a warm blanket and a doctor," she means "within an hour or two."