So, last Friday, I woke up wanting Apple Juice. Like fucking mad. Couldn't put my finger on why, I just wanted some goddamn apple juice. I went to the store, maybe twice that day and I even went past the juice aisle, took a gander at the prices and decided against spending two bucks on a pathetically small amount of the overly sugary stuff and instead went on to grab double the amount of store brand generic cola for half the price and went on my merry way. Did all the rest of my Friday stuff and then had a lovely evening with my Valentine watching Thor: The Dark World and stuffing my face with Reese's Hearts.
Woke up the next day to nothing completely out of the ordinary, except for some cramping in my lower abdominal region. Considering I was about a week out from my sorta monthly visit from Aunt Flo, the PCOS fairy, I brushed it off thinking that had to be it... Spent the rest of my day lounging about with my Gryffyn and eating some ridiculously tasty queso blanco. From Applebee's. Don't judge, it's about the best queso one can get in our little corner of almost upstate New York.
Later on in the day I started to feel some chest pains that were kind of like an echo to the cramps. The cramp would lessen and then my chest would start to feel like it was being stabbed from my uterus. Again, I'm no stranger to really weird pains coming from my girly bits, so I again shrugged it off. Except I shrugged it off with vodka because that's usually my go-to for these types of fun reminders of being a chick.
Woke up at 2am with even worse cramps and chest pains, got myself into the hottest bath I could stand and then stayed there until EVERYTHING from my neck down was slightly numb and likely second-degree burned. Finally got myself back to sleep and then woke up on Sunday morning feeling exactly like I did at 2am. Did I mention I still really wanted some apple juice? No? Well, I did. Even more than on Friday. I still couldn't wrap my head around the excessive cost of it though, and since I couldn't think of a single reason why I'd be craving it like this, I just ignored the craving.
Later on Sunday some friends came by and there was meat. And there were Mike's Hard Lemonades and Angry Orchards Apple Ales or WTF-ever those things are called, and throughout the night I felt less and less crampy and eventually it seemed like I was fine.
...Until I woke up the next day. By mid-day Monday, I was in so much pain I caved. I was certain I'd ruptured a cyst, (Not exactly an unfamiliar feeling, but even with my ovaries as oft-covered in cysts as they are, it's not exactly a pain I can identify at random). My Ob/Gyn, being the goddess that she is worked me in for an ultrasound an hour and a half later. So we went and I was invaded by the overly large ultrasound device that seems so damn small but feels nothing like how small it looks only to be handed the news that my ovaries are actually in stellar condition cyst-wise and then I got the look from my doc.
"You know what I'm about to say, don't you?"
"Not really, no..." The only thoughts in my head being that of of course I've got stomach cancer or my uterus is about to explode or that maybe all those jokes I've made about it feeling like Kuato is about to come out of my abdominal area are actually coming true, oh my god, OH MY GOD, OHMYGERD!!!!
"Head down to the ER. I'm thinking either your appendix has ruptured or your gallbladder is giving you some ish..."
I immediately calmed at the knowledge that I wasn't about to give birth to an alien that likes to have cryptic conversations with the Governator, and I headed down to the car all the while enlightening my fiance of the bits of knowledge that he might need handy if I did end up in surgery. I puke in the car on the way home, I might cry if they give me a shot in my butt, and please, oh dear god, back me up when I say I need a sedative before they put me under cause I will massively freak out if they don't!!!!
We got to the car and pulled from the medical center to the actual ER area and, well, that's when the fun started. I cried when they put the IV in me. (I'm such a baby, this I know..)
I got weird looks like you always do when you say you're in pain in an ER and you're not like massively bleeding from a head wound or aren't the victim of a stabbing or something. "I'm not a drug fiend, I swear, I'm just hurting, please help me, damn it!"...
They made me drink some horrible tasting stuff that they warned me would make me nauseous, but were also pumping something into me to keep the nausea at bay, eventually they got me into ultrasound, but when they did they took away the IV with the anti-nausea stuff and I swear I almost exorcist-puked up and down the hallways, but I put on my big girl panties and kept the shit down.
An hour later I was in for the CT scan and then finally got back on the anti-nausea stuff and they even blessed me with some painkillers. Massive stuff, too. Dilaudid. Like the shit I've only had around surgery time. It had me worried. It also wasn't exactly killing all my pain which had me more worried.
About a half hour later the PA, (Who I've seen before in this ER and is just a doll and I don't have enough good things to say about this angelic being of a woman!), came in and told me I had gallstones and to set up a follow up appointment and blah, blah, blah, I may have still been in pain but mentally I was lucky to be able to string together half the words she was saying to me.. Just picked up on the important bits that I wasn't going in for surgery and then started half-assed texting my parents to relay the news to them. (Can't honestly say I've gone back and read those exact texts. Don't really want to. I know full well they were prob not legible, nor eloquent, and I don't wanna know what they said...)
Got home, got settled in and took the meds they gave me since all the pharmacies in this teeny, tiny town keep old-school hours and shut down waaaay before they discharged me. And that's when I started looking up stuff on the intarwebz. Turns out, apple juice is a highly recommended cure-all for gallstones. The acid in it helps to breakdown the stones just enough to help them pass easier. So, now, while I await my all important follow up and HIDA Scan tomorrow to tell me if I'm getting my gallbladder removed or not, you can bet your ass I dropped the dough on some apple juice. Even got the big bottle. And went through all the trouble of hiding it from the kiddo, too. Sorry, kid. This is Mommy's Juice. Want some? Get your own gallstones and then we'll talk!
Next time, if my body is telling me it wants some off the wall thing that I haven't wanted since I was half the kiddo's age? Yeah, I'll listen. Might save me a late night trip to the ER and an IV insertion that makes me cry like a little baby!
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