I was at HyVee Friday morning because they had a killer sale on ribs (of which they were sold out, but got a rain check), and I was standing by the meat area contemplating my next course of action. All of a sudden, I had a really sharp pulling pain in my lower abdomen. So strong, I doubled over. Had I not been holding on to the cart, I would have face planted on the floor. The guy next to me gave me a strange look, and I just told him I was very traumatized by the fact all the ribs were sold out.
Thus cut short the shopping excursion. I slowly gimped to the checkout, the pain getting worse with each step. Somehow made it to my car, and drove home. A couple calls, some over the counter pain meds, it was finally determined that I needed to go to the ER. The very last place I wanted to go.
I waited until Mother got home from work because she forbade me to drive, and off to ACME Hospital we went. I entered the check in area and was greeted by a heinous smell, the source being a very unwashed looking family sitting in the chairs across from the desk, glaring at the nurses who were obviously overwhelmed by the sheer number of visitors.
You'd think that being a nurse at ACME would sort of grant you special privileges...like speedy service. Not so much. Mom and settled in the waiting room for what would be a four hour wait. Yes, four hours. Just in the waiting room, sitting in their uncomfortable hard chairs. Needless to say, the people watching was top shelf. Various drunks, people with a noticeable limp, crackheads, tweakers, all peppered in with a couple large families...all of whom felt they needed to be seen right away, and would often go to the front desk to tell the nurses such. Ironically enough, a coworker also came in to be seen, and we sat in the waiting room and commiserated together. A handful of people in the waiting room figured out we were staff there, and were appalled by our wait. If they treated their own staff this way, it didn't bode well for John Q. Public. In fact, after a couple heard this, they decided to leave and go to another ER. Sad to tell you this folks, but all emergency rooms operate in the same fashion. They see patients based on need...and the lady with the stroke or the teenager with the gunshot wound is going to jump to the front of the line, despite the fact you've been sitting in the fish bowl for five hours with your scraped knee. Being an employee there carries no weight, it just means the nurses will probably be nicer to you...as you wait half a day to be seen.
Any attempt to go to the desk and inquire on the wait, you were met with open hostility from the staff. They were on the defensive.
Finally, after a pressure sore had developed on my ass for sitting so long, I was called to the back and given a room...where we remained for another 5 hours. Meanwhile, Happy Helperton tries to draw blood, misses his mark, and then just sits there, fishing around my arm with a needle, hoping to get something. Until I tell him that he's done.
The nurse I was assigned to was nice. She mentioned there being a full moon, and the ER was a hot bed of activity. Namely, drunks and drug seekers, which was supposed to explain my long wait in the ER. She makes an attempt to draw labs, and gets it on the first try.
I'm seen by a doctor and her assistant, and they do their little assessment, including the detailed girly parts exam. They don't have a traditional table handy for such things, so I am reduced to having my lower half propped up by a bedpan covered with a pillow case. The doctor, who was also nice, manages to check my tonsils by way of the vagina, and surmises that a sonographer will need to be called in. They only call these guys from home on a weekend unless its emergent.
Meanwhile, my lab work comes back, and I'm not pregnant. This disappoints Mother greatly.
I'm carted up to where ultrasounds are done, and is greeted by some dude who has apparently had too much coffee. They do a traditional ultrasound with jelly on the belly, and I think we're done. Then, Mr. Coffee tells me to go empty my bladder for the next test. I get a sinking feeling.
I don't know if you know what a transvaginal ultrasound is, but in a nutshell...they basically stick something that looks like a vacuum cleaner attachment up your yoo-hoo and take pictures. So, I'm in a dark room with my feet in the air. Mom's in the corner sipping her coffee. There's Mr. Coffee and his Magic Wand of Wonder, and another woman who works for the hospital. Everyone, but me, is looking at the computer screen that shows the seldom seen of Heather's Adventure Kingdom. I'm staring at the ceiling trying to find my Happy Place and go there. Immediately.
Mom: (pointing to the screen) What do all those colors mean?
Me: That's where the magic happens.
The test is finished, and didn't even get so much as dinner out of the deal. I'm shipped back down to the frigid halls of the ER, where I continue to wait. They thankfully provided a boxed lunch, and I made Mother eat the turkey sandwich. Meanwhile, we watch a special on the History channel about gangstas. I start thinking about adopting a gangsta name to pass the time.
Finally, the doctor comes in and tells me I have ovarian cysts. Isn't that fun? And here's some prescriptions and to follow up with my primary doctor. Is there something they can do about the fact that it feels like my ovaries are being pulled out by an uncoordinated 5 year old? Nope. Have a nice day!!
All weekend, I get to deal with this, with the strongest medication given being the Naproxyn that the doc gave me. Currently, I'm waiting for my gyn doctor to call me back. Something tells me that they are going to want to see me a lot sooner than my scheduled routine appointment in August.
June has shaped up to be a spectacular month.