How This Day Pissed Me Off/Ductwork
So, day starts normally. It’s raining and I would have preferred to stay in bed, but whatever. Work. It’s actually nice as my boss in out of town this week, and I have a shit-ton of work to do, so going in didn’t suck too badly. Lunchtime came and I determined to go the book store and browse around. Before I went to the book store I determined to go the bathroom, because browsing the book store with a full bladder is never a good time. After I wash my hands, I feel a weird twinge in my stomach, which rapidly becomes a wave of spreading, throbbing, dirty pain. I feel simultaneously like I am going to throw up and pass out. I start sweating. I bend over the sink for some stability, and notice that my hands are shaking. Hooray for me, 5 months after having my gall bladder out, I am still passing leftover gallstones through my ducts.
I have to stay in the bathroom for about five minutes, as I can’t possibly walk. I can’t describe what the pain is like really. It’s not like anything else. It’s not sharp, it’s not like something you can rub away or stretch out or anything. It comes from the middle of your body, it comes from everywhere. It doesn’t even seem like it can be real, that pain. The whole time you’re feeling it you’re wondering if it’s even happening. Perhaps you’re just hallucinating your insides trying to escape. And there’s nothing you can do to relieve it. Just nothing. No position you can assume or thing you can massage or anything. It is a nauseating, breathtaking, just stand and sort of try to keep breathing until it goes away kind of pain. It makes me feel like an animal, caught in a trap my body is making. I just stand and pant and stay really still so the pain might forget I am there, and leave me alone.
Apparently there are lots of tiny tiny little ducts in there that never make it into the medical illustrations, and mine are all full of sludge and bits of leftover gallstones! Hooray!
I finally wobble back to my office, covered in sweat and scary pale. I sit for about another ten minutes, trying to stop shaking so that I can drive myself home. I finally think I can, so I tell my staff I am sick and leaving, and go home. I fall asleep at home, and when I wake up I feel somewhat better, except – wait, no I don’t. I have another attack around 4pm, not as bad as the first, but not at all nice. This time I take some industrial strength pain killers, and then I go lay down for another hour.
Now I am better, maybe. I feel as if I have been kicked in the abdomen by something really angry, and I can’t move very well, but I am OK. Unfortunately I am also high on painkillers and rather out of it. Which fucking blows. I wanted to do some shit tonight, but now I am too high to even watch a fucking movie, much less read a book or do some housework, which were my other plans. So basically, thanks so much body, for ruining my day and not letting me get my work done at work, and then ruining my evening too.
And all I can think is that if this is going to keep happening, what if it happens when I am out, or around people? It’s bad enough that I have to go through this, but what if I am in the middle of something and have some kind of fucking attack and have to like, flee the area and can’t? One more thing to add anxiety to my going out of the damn house. And there’s no point in calling my surgeon, he’s just going to tell me what he told me last time, that the leftover shit in my system will take time to clear, how much time he cannot say. If I have intense pain for 24 hours, go to the emergency room, blah blah blah. Thanks for nothing.
So I am crabby and pissed off and scared and resentful that this is happening to me. Go away, fucked up ducts or whatever the fuck. Seriously. I feel extremely childish and want to throw a tantrum and there is no one at whom to throw a tantrum. One more way in which being an adult sucks a giant bunch of donkey balls.
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If you’re out or around people somewhere, they’re your friends, right? Friends will help you flee if needed.
If you want, we can pretend that you have thrown your tantrum in my direction, and I will remotely pat you on the head. I would offer remote cookies and milk (with additives of your choice… vodka? Kahlua? Bailey’s Irish Cream?), but sadly it wouldn’t be the same as the real deal.
Feel better soon. *hugs*