So…this past Sunday, I passed out on the couch (literally, as in lost consciousness). I wound up in the hospital for internal bleeding until just this afternoon. The experience was not a fun one.
First off, there’s the waiting while they stick and poke and jab at you in order to determine, at least preliminarily, what’s wrong with me. My roommate, who called 911 when it happened, and accompanied me to the ER, took off after a few hours when it was made clear that I would be admitted (I had apparently bled out about 10 of my normal 14-15 pints of blood). About then, they decided to try inserting an NG (naso-gastric) tube. This met with abject failure not once, but three times (it kept triggering my gag reflex in a huge way), leaving me much more miserable than I was when I first came in. Thankfully, the doctor who ordered the NG cancelled the order after the third time.
The next day, I had to undergo an endoscopy in an effort to track down the source of the bleeding. As it turns out, this, too, failed. I have a stricture in my neo-esophagus (itself a long story) which prevented one of the cables to be used for the procedure from being inserted very far, and the doctor was not prepared for that. So, I had to do it again the next day.
The next day (Tuesday), they tried again, but this time the doctor got lost in my innards (things have been vastly re-arranged as a result of a childhood accident). Strike two.
Yesterday morning, I had to do the barium-milkshake thing. Nothing, beyond the actual structure of my anatomy, was revealed there, and the doctor is no closer today to knowing where I was bleeding from. But, it appears to have stopped, so they let me go.
My arms looks like I’m a heroin addict or something, given they were poking me every four hours for blood, and I had three IVs inserted at various places, at various times. My left arm is sore because one of IVs went awry and had to be removed after a day or two (but not before numerous blood pressure checks on that arm, each of which caused excruciating pain for a few seconds).
I can’t sleep in the hospital, what with the noises and tubes and pain and all, so I’m still rather tired. Another reason I hate hospitals is that I feel very alone while there. Yeah, there are numerous nurses and such constantly hovering about, and I got lots of visitors (more well-wishers than friends per se). But the main person I wanted to see (my roommate, whom I’ve had a crush on for, oh, about 8 years now - another long story) seldom showed. So now I am left with some residual “aloneness” as well, which coupled with the time of year, seems to be heading straight for depression.
Blech. I hate hospitals. I hate being in hospitals. I hate being in hospitals this time of year. I think I need some sleep now. Sorry if this was too rambling.