Tacos Are Now On The Naughty List

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Wednesday started out innocent enough.  I dragged my lazy butt to work, worked the morning away, and then went out to a great Mexican joint down the street with two of my managers.  I’ve been there a few times, and every dish I had was fantastic.  I went low key, tacos (real tacos) with beans and rice.  All foods I’ve never had a problem with, and let me tell you, they were delicious.

Back to work I went, and in a couple of hours, my stomach started bothering me.  With having Crohns Disease, that’s not completely out of the norm, but I hadn’t eaten anything I couldn’t tolerate.  Whatever.

Once I got home, I decided to skip right over dinner and go lay down.  I was feeling pretty nauseated, but again, that’s not out of the norm lately.  I figured I’d go sleep it off.  Well, I slept… for an hour.  That oh-my-god-I-have-3-seconds-until-I-hurl feeling woke me up and I stumbled straight for the toilet.

I have never puked that hard in my entire life.  Not even that one night in my early twenties where I didn’t have to pay for patron shots and consumed enough to cost one of my paychecks if I did.  Never.  Puked.  That.  Hard.  The only time I had thrown up that hard was back in my teen years when I got myself a good ole case of food poisoning from an under-cooked burger.  Remembering how long that lasted, and the relief I got in the ER, I figured oh well.  I had the boyfriend call my GI (with Crohns, you can never be too careful, I figured worst case scenario, he couldn’t say I didn’t tell him I went to the ER) and then promptly drive my puking self all the way to the hospital.  I spent the ride in the backseat going “oh my god, where are we??!  Why are we not there yet?!!?”

The ER I frequent is staffed with some very wonderful doctors and some sweet nurses.  They’ve never questioned me when I have shown up… for any reason.  I’m pretty knowledgeable about my body and have a pretty extensive chart.  So I explain that I think I have food poisoning, and yes, I have Crohns.  Mr. ER doc doses me up with some Zofran so I can stop puking, and orders an x-ray to be safe.  I curl up in my ER bed watching the kid and boyfriend play Minecraft on the tablet.  Half an hour later the doc comes back.

“The X-ray showed a loop of intestine that may be blocked, I hate to do this, but I want you to have a catscan to make sure you don’t have an obstruction.  Especially with your history.”  I agreed but had to fight off the urge to roll my eyes.  I’ve had so many obstructions, I’ve lost count… this couldn’t possibly be one.  I was absolutely *fine* this morning, no pain, and plus, I usually don’t puke until the later stages… and I couldn’t have crossed my obstruction timeline in a third of the time.  :::Pukes::: More Zofran please!!!  Oh god, I have to drink contrast??!

Insert catscan here, insert horrible joke about glowing with radiation.  Insert nurses prediction on where said contrast was going to end up.

When I got back from the catscan, I sent the boyfriend and kid to sleep out on the couch in the waiting room (way better than the chairs they had in my little hole).  I figured I had food poisoning.  In another hour the Zofran would kick the crap out of whatever pukey little bug I had, and I’d be off to sleep at home.

No sooner than I settled back in my little bed, I had to grab the puke bag.  The nurse called it… all that contrast came right back up.  As I’m sitting there puking, the nurse runs in with the doctor.  Apparently I somehow do have an obstruction, and now they want to put in an NG tube.  I had already maxed out my Zofran, and seeing how I’d rather sit on the toilet for hours, rather than puke, I agreed.

The tube helped, and I was able to get some pain medication and sleep.  (Bonus: I accidentally pulled it out later… and I got to keep it out! Hell to the yeah!)  I stayed in the ER until morning since the hospital was full, but they finally got me a room… which is where I am now.  It’s Friday.

After speaking with the surgeon/a radiologist/my GI, I basically came out with one hodge-podge of a story.  Surgeon and radiologist see a stricture, a bad one at that… with little to no inflammation.  That explains my lack of symptoms… and skipping from cramping straight to puking my brains out.  GI doctor was angry I didn’t want to take one kind of my medication anymore, and we had to have the “quality of life” argument again.

[Something I’ve learned along this journey, is that quality of life is really, really important.  I would much rather have a couple of bad days here and there and *not* take a medication than take a medication that makes me lose my hair, lose my appetite and gives me the worst fatigue I’ve ever felt (and coming from someone who deals with fatigue on a daily basis, that is saying something).  I’d much rather spend time with my family than all my time sleeping.]

So long story short, barring some horrible incident when I’m finally allowed to eat again, I’ll be allowed to go home “sometime this weekend”.  I’m just hoping for before the massive snow storm that’s supposed to hit Saturday night.

I really wish I was home right now, I’m pretty home sick after only a few days.  It has nothing to do with the care I get here, I drive 40 minutes past 4 other hospitals for a reason, I just miss my family and hate being reminded that I am indeed mortal.  I know that my little one is having a sleep over with one of her favorite people ever tonight (thanks Jess!) and is having a blast… but I still miss her.  After losing so much time being sick, I hate losing any time at all.

I’ll be finally switching to the new medication I’ve been rambling about (the name escapes me at the moment) and I did agree to go on the shall-not-be-named medication I hate, but at a low low LOW dose (I was on such a high dose last time, it was beyond what “high dose” is considered normal- hence the horrible symptoms.)  I’ll also be stuck weaning off of the prednisone again too.. because yup… during a morphine nap, a good ole bag of prednisone got hooked up to my IV.  Sneaky Sneaky.  Maybe they’ve caught on that I’ll try to refuse if I’m awake.  To think, I *just* got rid of the moon face too.  That’s a whole different blog though… one I don’t feel like mentally visiting right this second.

All I know is that I really, truly hate NG tubes, seeping IVs (my hand doubled in size overnight) and now apparently tacos.  Oh tacos.. you will be missed.

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