I Went to the ER a Couple of Weeks Ago

I was supposed to have the cyst surgery...

Continuing on with yesterday’s words (Some of the puns go together so… Might behoove to reread once it’s all done, in one sweep?)

Thank you for caring, for being here, for calling for change, for commenting, for creating… for anything else that would round out this sentence cohesively.

I will write a really blunt update on how the cervical spine recovery is going and what is going to happen with what this story is about - exploding cysts in my stomach!!!! (Just thought I’d try saying something as dramatically as possible for fun?)- and everything else next week.

This final week of semi-pre-scribed pieces will wrap up, and then I will cautiously share a little more about “real time” life (and what surgery is next? And why are parts of me exploding?)- but I wanted to give my C-spine as much time as it could to fuse or heal or whatever the hellck it’s actually doing, before looking down which hurts a lot.

“Hellck” is what I used to say as a kid to pretend I wasn’t saying ‘hell’ (very rude, very on the list of “no” words for my ladylike momma), and was saying ‘heck’, and somehow wasn’t just making Gollam like sounds that are even less cool.

Okay, here we go… Part Two!

“I can’t tell if this pain is from liver, which causes me pain more and more lately,” I told the (bad ass) ER doctor, upon arrival…

“OR if it’s the ovarian cysts they found and are wanting to operate on as soon as possible. One is pretty large and they’re the kind that could twist, or something. And the doctor wants to clean out some scar tissue there too, because she thinks that isn’t helping the situation.”

I was supposed to have the cyst surgery awhile back, after the spine surgery, in order to be ready for an active dance season… And then the spine surgery got pushed back, twice. 

To say it blew up my world (again) is a statement the size of an Alice tea labeled “Drink Me”…

But finding out I had overgrown cysts at all was a surprise too.

I’ve already had my uterus removed because it prolapsed. I’ve been hyper-focused on trying to stop the discs in my spine from herniating, even just for a few months or something. Or for bones to stop fracturing- even though, luckily, it’s really just my left hip bone that seems to be shrinking and suffering- the rest of my Dexa was clean as a wh-istle (imagined that pronounced with a strong “wh” like a loveable Disney cartoon character… or my Dad… or any man who talks about the third house he owns).

So, I didn’t think much about my lady parts… Even if I still wish I could use the song “Came Out of a Lady” by Rubblebucket in a future dance theatre show as was always planned. (If you haven’t heard this song, please pause what you’re doing right now, and do so. If you do not feel tempted to dance- even in your head- you are a wonder of medical science.) 

I am not a wonder of medical science… But sometimes I feel like I’m just too many things all at once.

I go to the ER because my stomach is hurting and I think it’s my J-tube and they tell me they found problematic cysts on the CT. I go to see the specialist about that, later, and she is super laid back and awesome, and draws on replace-able chair-paper with a sharpie to explain how she’d protect me by getting these bad boys out, and my favorite doctors always draw on things. My least favorite doctors always draw on me. (I never asked for their autograph.) 

I went to the ER a couple of weeks ago because I was told to, yes… But mostly, it was because I’ve been diligently collecting data on my pain in connection to my liver since 2015 or so… And my Nancy Drew efforts benefited me greatly when I finally listened to my CF and GI team and saw a Hepa-whatever (though the waiting list to see one is longer than Swift tickets). But that’s not really why I get a lab order, or go to an urgent care, or (worst cases only) tersely tread to an emergent place for a non-emergent feeling reason:

It’s because I need to know “why” I’m feeling the terrible pain I’m feeling, so I can tell myself “how” to wait it out and whistle as it gets worse. 

I say this with absolutely no authority but 100% experience… but there is a clear and calculated cohesion between handling suffering better if you “know” where it stems. 

Honestly, my own data collection on that psychosocial subject could make its own book (ghostwritten by Milli Vanilli, as its scientific standing would be completely made up), because you CAN handle pain “better” if you know where to place that pain in your own mind. If I don’t know why something suddenly hurts, the rush of anxiety of trying to figure out which organ it could be makes it worse. (Have you ever Googled what women feel when they have heart attacks? They feel a Monday. They feel a literal Monday morning and they’re secretly about to have an attack-ack-ack-ack (That one is pronounced like Billy Joel in Anthony’s most respectable Song, of course.)] 

If I can tell myself, “You’re just feeling your dumb liver again. If you suffer for two weeks and pretend Ursidol works in any way, it will eventually lessen until the next time”…. Then I can often wait out the worsening that is really just living our life, except we have to pretend that “waiting” as a professional job isn’t as insulting and horrifying as it actually is.

“It’s like putting a ‘Be Right Back’ sign on us,” I told a friend recently, discussing how doltish it can be to live with a limping organ inside of you, while not being able to really do anything until you can only do BIG things.

“I am just a human being, walking around with a permanent ‘Be Right Back’ sign on.”

Give me treatment any day of the week. Give me “sushi on a warm summer’s day” inspired meds through my portacath… Give me operations where healthcare can’t really care because the ‘care’ in the word is a silent one…. Give me PT, OT, PRN, PR (Paul Rudd): Give me anything that feels like an action or a step forward, even if it’s just for my mind. 

But waiting? Waiting while you worsen? (Imagine that one to the tune of Snow White, of course)…

That does something to the mind that needs to be studied a hell of a lot more. 

Part Two. More Tomorrow. (They’re connected!)

I wish I could share this an audiobook, and do so in elaborate voices like the dude everyone talked about from the Harry Potter books growing up. Imagine that.