Wednesday, May 2, 2012

5-2-12 the lost Tuesday

So it's May, although I'm coming to the party a little late and still in a partially drug-induced haze, from what will now be known as the lost Tuesday. I was conscious, briefly, for possibly two hours altogether, but only barely. Today appears to be the take it slowly and clear out the cobwebs recovery period. I still can't sit comfortably yet so I've returned to the bed and the hospital table for the day, surrounded by half a dozen glasses of liquid to rehydrate, hoping I don't mess up the work I can sift through too badly.

Sunday, when the tell-tale signs of my recurring UTI resurfaced, I noted the irony of getting one not only on the weekend, but also on the Monday End of Month that followed. Basically, there was no way on earth I was going to be able to leave work to go to the doctor. But the last time one of these flared up, it was so minor that flushing with cranberry juice, water, and pyridium was enough to get me back in balance. So I followed the same course this time, as soon as the flare happened Sunday. I stopped taking the pain meds Monday night thinking if it wasn't going to clear up on its own, I'd need to have that out of my system so they could run the UTI test.

By the wee hours of the morning Tuesday, I knew I was in trouble. The pain radiating up the left side of my back to my kidney was excruciating. The rest just followed suit -- chills, fever, crushing headache, nausea. You get into that fetal position and start swooning out of your head waiting for the morning to come. For some reason, I had two songs that kept repeating themselves, together, like a round, one with rising and one with falling phrases and this seemed of great importance. So by the time Bob could get me in to see my doctor, I was bent over my pillow with my snoopy blanket wrapped around me like a two year old, barely coherent.

Apparently the test came back lit up like a Christmas tree. Between the percoset for the pain and the promethazine for the nausea, and the antibiotic to clear all of this mess up, I was down for the count after that. Those are enough drugs to stop an elephant in her tracks. The only time I came up for air was to sip more water, eat crackers so I could take my drugs, get nauseous, take my temperature, and go back down into opiate induced deep sleep. My calorie count for yesterday is whatever 8 club crackers and a glass of apple juice comes out to.

I remember explaining how to look something up for work at one point in the afternoon when they called and Donna saying, "you're so coherent" and thinking, "coherent. I know that word."

That seems to be the worst part this morning, in between the clammy, sweaty, drugs-seeping-out-of-your-pores feeling is the brain fog. I'll be mid-sentence and realize I have no idea what I was trying to talk about. Sound like a perfect time to blog, no?


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