Part 2 of my two-part medical emergency

I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s fine.

Right? I passed the kidney stone. I went home. Sure, I felt like I went rounds with Mike Tyson but that makes sense as my body had been through a lot. Made it. Did it.

Remember “hold my beer?” The universe was laughing because whatever “this” was, it wasn’t done quite yet.

Thursday, the stone attacks. Friday, I go to the emergency department, the stone passes and I go home. 

Saturday, after a restless sleep, I get up tired and sore. But stuff needed to get done, so I settled in with a cup of coffee to plan my day. My cellphone rang around 9 a.m. The phone ID displayed the name of the hospital and the emergency department. Truthfully, the last time I took a call from a hospital emergency department was the night My Favourite Husband (MFH) died. So it’s fair to say I picked up the call with trepidation.

An emergency doctor identified himself and said the reason for his call was that blood cultures that had been grown show that I have a bacterial blood infection. I needed to come in immediately for IV drugs. I agreed and asked if I could have “priority” so I didn’t have to wait for hours in the waiting room. He immediately agreed, which raised my suspicions. I gave him an ETA and set out to get ready and on my way.

Upon arrival, I went to the emergency department triage nurse and let her know I was expected. She confirmed and then proceeded to take my vitals. And that’s when I saw a fleeting look of concern cross her face. My blood pressure was very low. My heartbeat was very high. I was running a fever and yet I had ignored all of these signs because I was 'fine.'

I was not fine. I was in the waiting room under 10 minutes before being escorted to a bed, hooked up to an IV line, and antibiotics and fluids were pumped into my veins. There was care and concern on the looks of the nurses attending me. It wasn’t long before the curtain around my bed parted and the doctor who called me less than 90 minutes ago introduced himself. He thanked me for coming in, talked a bit about the bacterial infection that had infiltrated my bloodstream and the treatment. He said he wouldn’t be my doctor and, as he proceeded to take his leave, he laid down the best mic drop I’ve witnessed. “I won’t be the one making this decision but, if I was, you’d be admitted. In fact, I’m pretty sure you will be," he said.

Does this mean I’m not fine? Now there was no mention about a free stay at this 'all-inclusive resort.' I packed for a few hours: my phone, an iPad, communication and entertainment devices. But to stay? No. I needed some stuff. I think the fact I focused on “stuff” rather than what was happening to me was my way of denying, coping, not admitting to myself that I wasn’t fine.

I laid in that hospital bed and my thoughts were a mixture of gratitude for the care and a fright that punched my core with the realization that this was me alone dealing with this. Yes, I have a tight circle of family and friends. Yes, they are supportive. But MFH isn’t here. We had no children. And this fell squarely on me to deal with. Alone. Fuck, I was scared.

The thing about a hospital emergency department is the incredible busyness that permeates throughout. Even if there’s no emergency, the energy is one of preparedness because it’s only a matter of time. 

And as I laid there and that energy swirled around me, I became heightened by it. What’s next? When can I go home? Am I really staying? Why? For how long?

I needed answers because how could I do this alone if I didn’t know everything right now?

A short time after my IV hookups, I was taken for pelvic X-rays. Greeted by a tech at the X-ray entrance, he confirmed my name and date of birth with a cheeky, “Well I guess you aren’t pregnant then," which I’m not sure he said to show off his math skills or his saucy attitude. That comedic effort was followed by one from all three techs who, upon getting me to breathe in and out for the X-ray, exclaimed in unison: “Oh no!” Right after the picture was taken. Now I don’t know what happens elsewhere around the world but, here, medical staff are taught to have neutral expressions. So them having said anything meant I might’ve pooped a little on the X-ray table. When I said, “What??!!” one of them apologized and said they left the leads to my heart monitor on and we needed a picture redo. Thanks. Thanks for that.

The conclusion of my first day ended with me being taken up to a bed on a ward, negotiating an hour to go home and get my “stuff” and the return to more IV hookups. I was one day in and I wanted desperately to be discharged.

I was in the hospital for three more days. Days I spent napping. Days where medical tests and vitals were monitored and, while some blood work was improving, not everything was. I could’ve had a lot of company had I reached out but I honestly wanted to process alone, feel alone and figure out what was happening … alone. I didn’t want to be alone but I didn’t want to be with anyone. A weird paradox, for sure, so my compromise was through messages and texts. I could answer when I wanted, check my anxiety and fear, so no one knew what I was feeling.

Day 4 brought the news I was hoping for: a discharge. And, as luck would have it, my youngest brother and my Mom had just come to visit me, so I had a ride home in an envelope of love.

In the days since, my energy level has been lethargic at best. I’m used to being active, so this tiredness is unfamiliar to me. I want to push myself to be where I was not long ago but I know doing that will only hinder my healing. I’ve spoken with my family physician and she was able to express how serious my situation had been ( “you had sepsis”) and that now is the time to be kind and gentle with myself.

I don’t like it when I’m not fine but I’ll admit that I’ve learned more not being fine than I have when I push hard and repeatedly at a situation to make it that way. I’m still glad I’m stubborn. I’m still glad I’m determined, tenacious and tough. But I’ve learned that even with someone else’s hands on the steering wheel, the situation still can turn out in my favour.

I can still be just fine.

❤️