Alexis in the Sky with Dilaudid

                                              

the girl with kaleidoscope eyes

Life is somewhat complicated at the moment. My personal issues are the least of the problems. My dad had a 2-day conference up the highway a couple of hundred miles. My recovery seemed to be coming along nicely enough that it should have been OK for my mom to accompany him. My brother and cousin would be here in any emergency. In an emergency, of course, they wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to help other than to call 911 or to frighten away an intruder with a baseball bat, but that's better than nothing.

About 6:00, roughly two hours after my parents left, my midsection started cramping somewhere between extremely uncomfortably and excruciatingly.  I told my brother and my cousin. My brother, pre-med student that he is, decided to check my vitals. He checked my temp, which was 97.2, which may or may not have been significant, but wasn't indicative of anything serious. He checked my blood pressure, which was 90 over 50. That's a bit low, but my pressure runs a bit low. Then again, it could have been an indication of internal bleeding. Then again, it also could have been an indication that my brother sucks at taking people's blood pressure. My cousin Josh asked if me it was that time of the month. It wasn't, and I told him. His question did at least cause color to return to my face, as Matthew, my brother, noted that my previously ashen face was pinker than my bright pink pillow case.

Matthew, my brother, brought in the list of numbers to call. He called my parents' cells first, but only got voice mail. Next he called Dr. Kent, Jared's dad, who had  assisted on my most recent surgery and had performed other surgeries on me. His went to voice mail as well. They left a text there. Next they called GastroMan from Purgatory, who actually picked up.

Matthew talked to him first. Gastroman asked Matthew all about vitals. Matthew delighted in telling about how pale I was until Cousin Josh asked if it was my time of the month. I could hear laughter on the other end of the phone. Sadistic bastards, every one of them.

Gastroman asked to talk to me. He inquired about the location of the pain, the intensity (that scale of 1 to 10 of which they're so fond; if I'm in enough pain to be asked that question, I'm in too much pain to give a lucid answer, and I always pluck a random number out of my head. I think I said eight this time, which actually was probably pretty close. He asked if it was constant, or if it was a cramping nature. He asked questions about gastric function and bleeding.

He said he would come to my house himself except that he was taking his kids to a movie and had already canceled on them once, and would rather not again. He said he would call around and see if he could get someone else to check on me, but if he couldn't find anyone, his kids would have to go to the late showing of the movie, which would be fine with them but would seriously p!$$ off their mother He told me to hang in there for a few minutes, and someone would be in touch. He said if anything got worse or if there was any bleeding, to call him back immediately.

About three minutes later, I received a call from Dr. Kent, Jared's dad. He said that he had been in the shower when my brother left the text message and was in the process of calling me back when GastroMan called him. Dr. Kent told Jared to pack my toothbrush, slippers, extra pjs and undies, and anything else I thought I needed, and to drive me to his house.

I fell going down the stairs, but Matthew caught me, and Josh carried me to the car. I slept in Jared's bed, and Jared went to my house and spent the night there with the guys. It wasn't bad because Jared's mom changed his sheets, and she makes him keep his room clean.

After a [too] thorough exam, Dr. Kent said it was just cramping  that is a normal process of recovery once the colon starts working again. Because everything was working a little too well, Dr. Kent said there was no danger in giving me reasonably strong painkillers. Narcotics can slow the work of the intestines, but there was no danger, apparently, that would be caused by a bit of that happening in my case. Dr. Kent gave me good drugs. I was soon in my happy place, and the night was over as far as I was concerned.

I would never want to be a junkie, because if you become addicted to the good drugs, it takes more and more of them  --  eventually an unsafe level -- to stop the pain and achieve the desired effect. I want the good drugs to work when they're needed.

I'm occupying Jared's bed until my parents return home late tomorrow. I don't think Jared minds. My parents carefully inventory the liquor cabinet, but they won't complain about one or two Guinnesses per occupant being consumed as long as no one drives afterward. Jared's father has given in. He knows his son has discovered beer. His goal now is to come down heavily on the side of safe and moderate drinking versus the standards LDS line, which is, "All alcohol consumption is of the Devil. Don't even keep mouthwash in your mouth for more than a nanosecond."

awake for not good reasons

This is a generic abdominal ultrasound; it's not mine. I'll be undergoing the procedure in about four hours. It's one of the few diagnostic procedures that is both painless and isn't going to eventually kill me with cumulative residual radiation. Someday it will probably be discovered that the soundwaves cause deafness or pelvic inflammatory disease, but at least, for the present, it's considered to be a harmless procedure..

I am awake at this lovely hour because of extreme abdominal pain. One thing we know it is not is appendicitis, because my appendix was removed a couple of summers ago. An appendix can regenerate itself (it does so only rarely), but not in two years.  It appears, for reasons we need not get into, not to be a bowel obstruction, either, which is a good thing. Bowel obstructions are rarely if ever good.

My dad thinks it's adhesions from a prior surgery. I've had two kidney surgeies, an appendectomy, and a splenectomy. The appendectomy is the one most likely to result in adhesions, although the location of the pain is vague enough that it doesn't automatically point to that as the culprit. The pain is centralized enough now that it could also be gall bladder or kidney stone issues, neither of which have been a problem for me before. It could even just be a bad stomachache from something I ate or something I contracted, though I only have a low-grade fever. My dad is convinced that it's adhesions. My mom is certain I picked up something at the lab where I'm interning, where they use interns to dispose of waste in a not entirely safe matter and to mop up toxic spills.  My dad, who was the first one to suggest the tasks the lab personnel were giving the interns there are hazardous, says my mom is letting her imagination run wild, and the odds of my having contracted some lab-created superbacteria are quite remote and sound like something from deep in the entrails of her memories from  her early childhood days when she used to watch soap operas with her older sisters, or maybe from an episode of House, M.D.

Blood and urine samples have been delivered to the hospital lab, and my dad picked up IV versions of the good drugs, so I'm not feeling nearly so  much pain and nausea as I was about three hours ago.  My dad keeps telling me to go to sleep. The drugs help, but not that much, so sleep is not in the stars for me right now. I wish I could go to sleep, because then maybe everyone else in the house would go to sleep. They've even got my Uncle Steve, my primary care physician, who lives 30 miles away, here to monitor things.  One would think the logical thing to do once specimens are being delivered to the hospital and I'm receiving IV meds, would be to admit me to the hospital, but my dad and Uncle Steve, though they spend a good portion of their workdays in hospitals, are afraid of hospitals when it comes to their own kids, and won't let us in one unless it's absolutely necessary and only for the length of time it's absolutely necessary. If you ask me, my dad has something of a fetish when it comes to MRSA,

My dad or my uncle could give me drugs that would knock me out, but won't because pain is a diagnostic tool. Drugs that dull pain when necessary are OK, apparently, but something that could allow me to sleep through virtually any level of pain when the cause of the pain is unknown is not OK. I'm going to the hospital at the crack of dawn for an ultrasound. It seems to me that the sensible thing would be to get it done now while we're all awake anyway, but my  uncle Steve says the lady who's on duty for ultrsounds right now is bat-shit crazy and a bitch as well. He could read the ultrasound himself -- she's just the tech, not the radiologist  -- but she's apparently enough of a psycho that he'd rather risk my life than deal with her. He says I'm being melodramatic.

At least my illness didn't interrupt anyone's 4th of July festivities, as I didn't begin to experience symptoms until just after 10:30 p.m., which was after  the party had wrapped itself up. One thing I know is that I didn't get anything from eating anyone's potato or macaroni salad, as both are on my Donner Party List, which is my list of foods that no level of starvation would induce me to eat.  Actually, I ate one browine and a couple of crackers. I wasn't all that hungry; the illness was probably already on its way. My dad says it's not food-poisoning, anyway, because the output isn't enough, if you know what I mean. There's been a little of both types, but not enough for food poisoning. The major symptom is pain, and the nausea, my dad says, is mainly from the pain itself.

Jared was at the festivities. We were not rude, but did a good job of ignoring each other. I assume from his presence that he and his father must be back on at leat semi-speaking terms.  My brother told me Jared texted him to inquire about my well-being when he learned that I was ill. My parents had to call everyone at the party to rule out any obvious food-related issues, although my having eaten only two saltines  and a brownie (a plain one -- not one of those dressed up things with cream cheese that shouldn't even be called brownies) should have pretty much ruled out food-borne illness.

By tomorrow morning we should know if adhesions are the source of my pain. I almost hope they are even though such could necessitate another surgery, because if the cause of my symptoms cannot be pinpointed, my mother is going to go crazy thinking it's something created in the lab for which there is neither a readily available diagnosis nor a cure.  She has been worried about my immunity ever since they took my bone marrow to give to her without her knowledge and against her express wishes. She needs to get over it. It was over  twelve years ago. Any major consequence  suffered as a result should have come and gone a long time ago.  It's akin to donating blood in a perfectly sterile environment, then claiming eight years later than light-headednesss or some other symptom is from the blood donation.

My mother is an intelligent woman, but she sometimes appears to be from another planet, or even from another galaxy. My father shows some of the same characteristics, although at the moment, my mom is out-weirding even him, which is not an easy feat to accomplish. It's a miracle that my brother and I function as well in society as we do.

This is as good a place as any to reinsert a video from one of my favorite songs.