I had to call 911 on myself. If you follow me on FB or twitter, you already know this, but I'm still not quite over it. I've had six surgeries in my life, and multiple weird emergency room-type problems. But the very last thing a dispatcher/firefighter/cop ever wants is to be transported to the hospital by his/her peers.
So when I say that last Thursday, I called down the hall to get my firefighters to come check on me, I was BEYOND HORRIFIED. I had terrible abdomen and chest pains, and I was pale, sweating, and shaking. The only thing I wanted to do was lie down and let it pass. But I was scared. Mostly, I don't get scared over physical problems, even when I should. But this one frightened me.
After the rookiest-of-the-rookies (he only has 2 weeks on) hooked up the 12-lead to my chest (over my best bra, THANK GOD — it also happens to be my most comfortable, which is why I wear it on 48-hour shifts), the crew said they needed to take me to the hospital. I started crying, and it was only partially from fear and pain. Mostly, it was because I was getting put in the ambulance I send to people. I send it. I don't ride it.
The guys were good. They were reassuring. I'm proud to work with them, because I know they treat everyone as kindly as they treated me, even though they let the rookie put in my IV (he did fine.) They also gave me morphine, for which I will always love them.
Turns out I was having a gallbladder attack. Very prosaic. Happens all the time. The ER sent me home to watch and wait, surgery scheduled for two weeks out (it's the most common surgical procedure in the States).
I only made it two days before my gallbladder started getting infected, and holy helen, was I sick. I spent three days in the hospital, and while I know logically that hospitals are terrible places to be, it was another thing altogether to learn it firsthand. The nurses are trying their best, but they are overwhelmed. It was frustrating and nerve-wracking, and it made me grateful for every kindness they showed me. They didn't have to be nice. But they were.
The surgery was done on Sunday, and I was home by Monday night. I'm lucky in that I already had vacation scheduled (to go to Yosemite to the Strawberry Festival, which was then cancelled due to the Rim Fire, which is good, because if I can't go, NO ONE CAN GO), so I don't feel guilt about putting out my coworkers.
(Also: can we just talk about belly buttons for a minute? This is the THIRD surgery I've had which required the belly button to be what was basically a door flap in my tummy. I hate that everyone is like, "Oooh! Take a peek in here! Easy access!" I need a better lock on that thing. Maybe an alarm. Belly button alarm!)
Now I'm overjoyed to be at the place I love to be. Home. This is where I belong, fighting to keep cats off my abdomen and listening to dogs bark at people who dare to breathe outside.
But I took a break from all that to open this text box to write to you, my darling reader. I wanted to tell you funny things about being in the hospital, silly things about how much I loved swapping lipstick advice with the nurses. But really, I just wanted to say hi. This enforced slow-down? The fact that I can't just get up and run hard all day as I usually do kind of freaks me out. It's good for me, though. It reminds me to say hello to YOU.
I always say that I want a stay-cation even though it's almost beyond my powers to actually lie low. Now I have one. I'm doing my best to enjoy it. I just made the biggest spinach smoothie EVER and drank it all. I'm listening to Vespers (Tell Your Mama). Next, I'm going to watch a movie or two. Maybe back to back. And knit. I also, of course, have three or four books cued up on my e-reader, and I'm going to read till the words wobble.
Tomorrow, more of the same (though I might write. I can't promise I won't).
For your enjoyment, here's a taste of Vespers, a 4-person family band. Who doesn't love a family band?
