Always Wear Clean Underwear - Part 1

TODAY'S MENU
Where's Clark Gable When You Need Him ... Oh Yes, He's Dead
Clean Up On the Front Aisle
OH SHIT


Many of you may be aware that the last week has been just hell for me. Others of you may be clueless; and some of you, like me, may actually be both aware and clueless simultaneously.

I shall back up a little bit so I can make this story just drag on and on - until my pain medication really kicks in and I fall asleep while typing. Oh yes, I am now typing on pain medication so please forgive if I slur my woooordsss. Also know that when I’m adequately medicated I think some things are just funny as hell. If you’d like to laugh at this following damned story, perhaps you should take your pain medication, too.


Where's Clark Gable When You Need Him ... Oh Yes, He's Dead
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this in my previous posts or if I just think I did – but some of my recent most bothersome symptoms have been dizziness, chest pains, and a feeling that I’m going to faint.

As for the dizziness, you’d think I was a damned blonde or something. (No offense, blondies. Do you blondes even understand the reference…you know, “dizzy as a blonde”? OK – see that’s funny.) I’ve been so dizzy I’ve been using my grandmother’s cane to walk. Not so funny, at least not for me so keep your laughter to youself!

As for chest pains, I’ve been having them on & off for YEARS. In the past they’ve been attributed to anxiety (and how many lymies haven’t had anxiety??) AND also costochondritis (a condition that involves the muscles around your ribs & chest wall…not real clear on it exactly because as I’ve said many times – I’m no damned doctor…although I’m thinking I should be, because apparently the requirements aren’t all that stringent if some of the doctors I’ve encountered in the past are any example….rabbit trail…sorry.)

So – I have really tried to tolerate the chest pain knowing that I’ve got the nervous system of a damned poodle & it doesn’t take much of anything to make me wired with anxiety. Also, knowing that my ribs like to pop out of place as if they’re having some sort of contest or something…I think I’ve been very tolerant with the pain…some might even say brave, or stoic. OK, maybe I’m the only one saying brave, but screw the rest of you.

BUT all of a sudden – over the last couple of weeks I’ve had these moments where I think: OH SHIT! I’m going to pass my ass out if I don’t lie down immediately. Fortunately, I am a smart woman, so I lie down.

When I was a kid & watched old movies like Gone with the Wind where the women passed out with “the vapors” (whatever the hell that means) – it always looked so interesting…almost feminine even. Women in the old movies always had a delicate looking hanky or something in her hand – and conveniently there was always some handsome fellow there to catch her ass…someone like Clark Gable.

BUT NO – not with me. First of all, I don’t own any damned hankies. (Mom- if you’re reading this – are there some heirloom hankies you might consider passing down to me so that I can become more feminine and shit? Thanks.) Second of all, while my husband is quite handsome, if he thought I was about to faint on top him, I think he might take a big step backwards so he wouldn’t be crushed by my ever-expanding ass. (Have you noticed that I do so enjoy using the word ‘ass’ – I think it’s one of my favorites. Say it with me: ASS. Now say it with a country twang: AahSS – even more funny, don’t you think? That’s how I say it. Now again, if you haven’t taken your medication – now might be a good time.)

As for this whole fainting thing – I realize that Scarlet O’Hara fainted ‘cause those damned restraints they wore underneath their dresses to give the impression that their waists were only 18 damned inches thick were too tight….what’s that called….damnit it’s brainfog again… Corsets! (I don’t know if that’s spelled correctly because MS Word doesn’t have it in its dictionary & I’m not getting up to find Webster.) But their corsets were so tight that it cut off their f’ing oxygen! So the first sign of anxiety & a little hyperventilation from them & they were down!

But I don’t wear a damned corset. Granted, I sometimes wear a girdle, but that’s just to help keep my bladder from feeling like it’s going to fall out of my hoo-ha…which is part of my whole interstitial cystitis crap…and I’ll share plenty more about that later…and I trust you’re really eager to hear about it! (If I have any male readers out there - keep reading fellas, and one day I might even use the word ‘vagina’. It will be an exciting day for all.)

So this whole almost fainting thing had me puzzled and I mentioned several times to my cardiologist and his nurses (when I went for the expensive tests) last week that “I don’t feel like enough oxygen is getting to my brain.” I’ve said that at home several times, too. As a matter of fact, I’ve said it to anyone who will listen to me …which I must admit seems to be a decreasing number of people. Why don’t people want to hear me bitch about my ailments? I think it’s entertaining. Don't you?

Fortunately all of my “almost fainting” spells (known by the medical people as: “near syncope”) have happened at home where I can stop what I’m doing & go lie down on the couch with my feet up so the blood and oxygen has a chance to return to my brain…..UNTIL this last Tuesday when I had to make a “quick” trip to the grocery store...


Clean Up On the Front Aisle
I live less than ½ mile from a major grocery store. This is the grocery store with my pharmacy in it – so you can imagine I’m there several times a week. I'm practically a fixture there.

The other day I had to take my daughter up to the store after school, so she could get some stupid damned Valentine’s Day cards for the Girl Scout party that was scheduled for that evening. We tend to do things like that at the last minute because as I’ve mentioned, I am experiencing the effects of Lyme disease... and my memory sucks.

I wasn’t eager to go to the store as I had not taken any energy that day to take a shower. I felt like crap, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take a bath or shower during the day with no one at home to pull me out of the water if I did pass my ass out. So – let’s just say I was gross. My hair was oily; I had my 3-inch thick Mr. Magoo glasses on because my eyes were in the middle of a protest against me wearing dirty contacts; and I was wearing the clothes I had on the day before because all I had been doing the last couple of days was lounging around in bed watching soaps & eating the proverbial bon bons. (I’m lying about the bon-bons – not even sure I've ever even tasted them. Now 'Ding Dongs' on the other hand….Hey, do you think 'Hostess' would be willing to sponsor my little blog site?)

In summary, I was feeling like dog shit. I looked like dog shit; and it was quite possible I smelled like dog shit, although I had not come in contact with any to my knowledge. But I’m sure I did not smell very well, regardless, as I don't recall applying deodoarant, either. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the panties I had on….well, let’s just say they weren’t “just-out-of-the-laundry” fresh.

While my daughter was trying to select just the right set of Valentine’s Day cards for a group of girls she really doesn't like – I decided to deplete what little energy I had by doing a little impromptu grocery shopping. I had gone down through about half the aisles in the store when I started having that "I think I’m going to faint" feeling. This, of course, was my signal to GO.

I made my daughter make her important decision and we were just oh-so-close to the check-out stand and I realized that I had a choice. I was either going to lie down voluntarily or fall down without any input in the matter. I tend to be a little bit of a control freak (which I suspect you are just shocked about) so I thought I’d try bargaining with myself and casually sat down in front of one of those mini Coke refrigerators that was at the front of a check-out stand. My daughter decided this was unusual and started getting teary-eyed. I decided that sitting up wasn’t going to satisfy my oxygen needs and I got a little teary too, because I decided I would have to lie down on the floor.


OH SHIT
Before I knew it, there were store personnel and PTA moms hovering around me, offering to put my 22 pound bag of cat food under my head. I tried to smile and declined their offer as I was using my jacket as a pillow. I had taken it off just prior to that climactic moment because I had broken out into a clammy sweat. I also was using it to bury my oily, embarrassed head away from the spectators.

I remember hearing my daughter keep saying “Mommy, are you alright?” and crying. Then some wonderful lady named Nancy (God bless Nancy) asked me if she could call my husband for me. Nancy held my hand and comforted my daughter. The whole experience started feeling rather surreal. In some ways I was conscious of everything that was going on, and in another, it was like part of me was in a different place. There were a couple of ladies that stopped by and grabbed my hand and prayed. (God bless them too.)

Before I knew it, one of the clerks said an ambulance was on its way. “OH SHIT”, I thought. “I’m not wearing clean underwear and I’m sweating like a skinny felon at his first prison shower.” OK, maybe that’s not exactly what I was thinking. Honestly, I was more concerned about my daughter who at this time was crying more audibly – yet I couldn’t console her. I couldn’t console me.

I was scared. I was embarrassed. And I was thinking that I was going to have to find a new grocery store after this.

Prior to the arrival of the paramedics, I had come to my senses enough to ask the clerk to go get a list of all my medications from the pharmacists. I thought that might make things easier. HA!

When the paramedics arrived, they started asking questions to see how alert I was. One of the questions was: “Has this ever happened before?” Naturally I was a little confused so I needed clarification. I asked, “You mean, have I ever decided to lie down in the middle of a grocery store before?” They laughed, took my vital signs, got a good look at the list of all the medications I’ve been prescribed, and then loaded my ass onto their gurney. And NO, I won’t tell you how many paramedics it took to load my ass on there – I mean, really! It’s rude to ask about a lady’s weight! And I AM such a lady, you know!

Before I knew it, I was inside the back of the ambulance & I could hear my daughter crying from the front seat. The paramedics kept busy taking my blood pressure, putting cardiac leads on my stomach and around my ankles, and looking for a vein in my arm to start an IV. One fella said he couldn’t find a vein, at which point I asked if it was his first day on the job. (Note to self: Don’t piss people off when they are preparing to probe you with needles.) Sometimes I should just shut the hell up, you know?

Fast forward to the hospital, where my husband was already there waiting…he’s such a good man even though he probably wouldn’t prefer to have me collapse on top of him, and even though he NEVER reads my blog or any of my miscellaneous rambling writing attempts. (Clearly he’s afraid of my weight...AND discovering how truly brilliant I am!)

Rolling into the ER, I said “OH SHIT” again when I discovered that Dr. Jekyll was on duty. You may wonder why I would be familiar with Dr. Jekyll. It is because I live in a relatively small community and I know lots of sick people, including myself. I’ve had many experiences with Dr. Jekyll and a few run-ins with Mr. Hyde.

Dr. Jekyll came in surprisingly soon and introduced himself. I pretended not to know him either, thinking it would increase my odds of survival.

I presented my symptoms to him, (and this time) I resisted the urge to go ahead and diagnose what it was that was going on with me. At that point, I was just convinced that I had neurally mediated hypotension (NMH). I wasn’t entirely sure what NMH was, but I was sure I had all the symptoms based on my research, and I was clear that there is a connection between NMH and Lyme disease. I thought I’d give Dr. Jekyll a chance to arrive at his own diagnosis without any help from me….you know, to see if he was smart.

I went through the normal pin cushion type experience and they then filled me with some saline and made me take a breathing treatment that did nothing other than made me jittery as hell. And every time someone came in, I’m sure I reiterated that I CAN NOT HAVE STEROIDS AT ALL. People with Lyme disease are immunosuppressed already, and therefore can not have steroids because it might just kill them.

After several hours of misery, Dr. Jekyll returned to tell me that I didn’t have enough oxygen in my blood. HUH? Did I hear him just confirm what I had been bitching about for almost 2 f’ing weeks?!!!

Then I thought, “OH SHIT – what exactly does that imply?” I didn’t ask Dr. Jekyll because I have learned you don’t ask him questions, as it will irritate him. I was too weak and tired to awaken Mr. Hyde…and I’m too much of a bitch to allow Mr. Hyde to be cruel to me without me biting back. I wanted to go home, so I just listened. Dr. Jekyll then said that according to the little blood pressure test they conducted, that it seemed like I might also be experiencing orthostatic intolerance. Orthostatic intolerance, I understand, is when your blood pressure has a hard time staying regulated between the lying down position and the standing position….and that seemed really close to my self-diagnosis of NMH, so I decided Dr. Jekyll – while clearly having a borderline personality disorder – might not be a complete idiot after all.

Dr. Jekyll told me to follow up with my doctor the next day, and to get an AM fasting cortisol test to rule out Addison’s disease. He gave me a prescription for Florinef (a damned STEROID) and told me I could go home.

Before being released, I asked Nurse #1 if I could have a copy of my ABG report (arterial blood gas) to take to my doctor, as I had an appointment already scheduled for the next day. (As a career patient, having a weekly doctor’s appointment is business as usual for me…damnit) Nasty nurse #1 said, “NO – you must get it through the medical records office during normal business hours blah blah blah” I wanted to tell him that it was my damned blood and my damned gas – but again, I’m trying to learn when to shut up.

Nurse #2 came in to take out my IV so I could leave, and I sweetly asked if it might be possible just to know the results of the ABG so I could tell my doctor. Nurse #2 was nice. He took the copy of the test results out of the clipboard and laid it on the bed and said, “Shh. You never got it from me.” God bless Nurse #2.

The next day, my husband drove me to my doctor’s appointment and upon seeing a copy of my blood gas report, my doctor said: “I can't believe they would let you out of the hospital with blood gasses this low!”

Then I thought again, “OH SHIT”!
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Stay Tuned for the exciting conclusion of: Always Wear Clean Underwear.
(DR Wiseass must nap now.)