And now...back to me

I thought I was all well and done with this illness phase, and that it was all over but the singing.  Foolish woman, me.  Last Sunday found me getting to know the 4:00 AM shift of doctors and nurses at my local ER.  Yup, another attack of whatever it is I have.  

 

More morphine.

 

More blood tests.

 

And another ultrasound (in addition to the one I'd had that Friday, for which my doctor has yet to receive the results.)

 

My doctor was Melissa Rockefeller.  I asked her if she was of THE Rockefellers, and she said she was a very distant relative...hence having to work for a living.  I was somewhat sympathetic about the having to work for a living part (heaven knows I certainly don't want to), but it was tempered by my recognition of the obvious benefits of having a last name synonymous with untold wealth and riches.  I liked her.  She was very nice and had a good bedside manner.  She also did a much better ultrasound than the chick who did the one the first time I was at that hospital, but not as good as the one I'd had done on Friday by a honest-to-goodness-for-real ultrasound technician who does nothing all day but scan people ultrasonically.  Speaking of which, I tried to get info about that scan from said tech, but she had a really bad speech impediment, and I could barely understand her.

 

Tech: Wraith your arm over yourth ead.

 

Me: (What???  Oh...raise my arm.  Okay.)

 

Tech: Rolth on your side.

 

Me: (Alright...got that one.)

 

Tech: No, twarth me.

 

Me: (I'm going to assume that the "no" means I rolled the wrong way, so I'm just going to roll over the other way.)

 

Tech: Breth in...and hold.

 

Me: (And breathe out...)

 

Tech: (silence, apart from clicking of keys)

 

Me: (AND breathe out...)

 

Tech: (silence, save the keys)

 

Me: (Ummm...hello?  I'm about to pass out here!)

 

Tech: And relethe.

 

Me: (Thank you!)

 

Tech: Breth in...and hold.

 

Me: (Shite!  How many times is she going to make me do this???)

 

Turns out that it was a total of five times, and I very nearly did pass out at least twice.  After she finished, I asked her if she saw anything going on in there and she told me that my "galth bladder wuth contractith" which might be what was causing me pain.  Ordinarily at this point I harass the nurse/tech/doctor until they give me more information than they really want to, but just trying to understand her required such a concerted effort on my part, I figured I could wait for my Not-Regular-Doctor to give me the 4-1-1.  Supposedly the results were supposed to arrive Monday or Tuesday, but here it is Friday and no word.  I had to call my Not-Regular-Doctor and give her the number for NYU's Radiology department so that she could call and get some answers.  I have a feeling that she won't be doing that until Monday, as I didn't phone her office until 3 this afternoon and everyone leaves at 5.  And it's not like I'm one of her regular patients anyway.

 

I do still live with a heightened sense of paranoia at the slightest twinge of abdominal pain, but before sending me home, the ER doc gave me an Rx for Percocet, so I have some controlled substance within easy reach should I need a little pain killing.  I know nothing about Percocet except that people on TV always get hooked on it.  I don't anticipate a dependency or addiction since pain killers have a boring tendency not to work on me.  I'm hoping this works better than Vicodin or Codeine.

 

So anyway, I'm on the mend and finally getting back to looking for a job (other than my preoccupation of looking for the next Rock, Paper, Scissors Championship.)  This makes me far less interesting, but much happier physically.  Many thanks to all my peeps who listened to me BP&M about this for the past two weeks and are still talking to me.  I promise not to complain any more.

 

Until the next time, anyway.