Alone
What a weekend it was.
Parts of it felt 100% normalized again with dying Easter eggs and the sun shining outside, and parts of it forced me to face the "aloneness" of quarantine in a way I never thought I would have to do.
Let me start by saying - I am doing ok - I am saying that to anyone reading, as well as myself.
But early Saturday morning, starting around 2:30am, it was a different story.
I woke up to severe abdominal pain. The worst of my life, since my appendix nearly ruptured post childbirth 12 years ago.
Don't go to ER. Not during COVID.
It is all I could think as I lay crumbled on the bathroom floor, as the husband carried me to bed, as what seemed like hours of hell passed.
Don't go to ER. Not during COVID.
What a thing to ever have to think. It is quite a shock to actually realize we are living in a time that it would ever have to be questioned. Another "normalcy" that I took for granted. You are sick. You go to the doctor. It's that easy. But the decision wasn't and the reality that followed wasn't either.
As things only worsened, the hubs made the decision for me...and for his sanity, as I can't believe watching me sob and writhe in pain was any sorts of fun.
Imagine being in some of the worst pain of your life - or scared because you can't breath - or sobbing because you have a broken bone - or whatever the cause happens to be - and then being dropped off at the door of the ER and told you have to enter - ALONE. Then going from that moment forward, during the scans, the explanations, the decisions - ALONE. No loved ones to help manage the fear, pain, any of it. As a grown adult, I was sending texts to my spouse that a child would send their parent:
"I NEED YOU."
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
"HELP ME."
Looking back I'm not necessarily proud of it, because I can't imagine it was making it easy for the hubs as he sat in his truck unaware of what was actually going on inside and unable to help, but when you are in pain, afraid and alone, you morph into someone that you don't even recognize.
Due to the virus, the waiting room was closed and no one other than the "sick" were even allowed through the doors. WTF. It is still hard for me to wrap my head around.
The doctor was fantastic and very aware that his patients were alone, spending abundant time bedside, making jokes like "well a pro to all of this is your lungs are clear and you are COVID free!" and calling the spouse on speaker phone to keep him up to date with details he knew I most likely would not remember. The husband was a rockstar, holed up in the parking lot for close to 3 hours and then working to hold down the fort all while I continued to react once back home from the morphine and meds. And friends, thank goodness for friends.
So yea, that was my weekend. It was surreal. It was painful. And it was scary.
Looking back and revisiting through the events through my writing I now realize as "alone" as I felt in the moment, I wasn't. I had a doctor bedside. A husband waiting as close as he physically could. Friends waiting to lend a hand however they could.
But it is something I will remind myself when I am bored and stir-crazy, quarantined inside my home. Somewhere out there is another - a child, a spouse, a human being - that really feels alone.
Let's get this shit over. Let's get this curve flattened so that we can move on and back to a time when we don't have to worry about being so alone.
**Without going into too much unnecessary detail tests were run, diagnosis were ruled out and the combination of ruptured cysts, fibroids, an "angry uterus the size of what it would be at 15 weeks pregnant" (um...but NOT), and endometriosis caused all sorts of internal issues that will require further tests and follow-up treatment.**
Parts of it felt 100% normalized again with dying Easter eggs and the sun shining outside, and parts of it forced me to face the "aloneness" of quarantine in a way I never thought I would have to do.
Let me start by saying - I am doing ok - I am saying that to anyone reading, as well as myself.
But early Saturday morning, starting around 2:30am, it was a different story.
I woke up to severe abdominal pain. The worst of my life, since my appendix nearly ruptured post childbirth 12 years ago.
Don't go to ER. Not during COVID.
It is all I could think as I lay crumbled on the bathroom floor, as the husband carried me to bed, as what seemed like hours of hell passed.
Don't go to ER. Not during COVID.
What a thing to ever have to think. It is quite a shock to actually realize we are living in a time that it would ever have to be questioned. Another "normalcy" that I took for granted. You are sick. You go to the doctor. It's that easy. But the decision wasn't and the reality that followed wasn't either.
As things only worsened, the hubs made the decision for me...and for his sanity, as I can't believe watching me sob and writhe in pain was any sorts of fun.
Imagine being in some of the worst pain of your life - or scared because you can't breath - or sobbing because you have a broken bone - or whatever the cause happens to be - and then being dropped off at the door of the ER and told you have to enter - ALONE. Then going from that moment forward, during the scans, the explanations, the decisions - ALONE. No loved ones to help manage the fear, pain, any of it. As a grown adult, I was sending texts to my spouse that a child would send their parent:
"I NEED YOU."
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
"HELP ME."
Looking back I'm not necessarily proud of it, because I can't imagine it was making it easy for the hubs as he sat in his truck unaware of what was actually going on inside and unable to help, but when you are in pain, afraid and alone, you morph into someone that you don't even recognize.
Due to the virus, the waiting room was closed and no one other than the "sick" were even allowed through the doors. WTF. It is still hard for me to wrap my head around.
The doctor was fantastic and very aware that his patients were alone, spending abundant time bedside, making jokes like "well a pro to all of this is your lungs are clear and you are COVID free!" and calling the spouse on speaker phone to keep him up to date with details he knew I most likely would not remember. The husband was a rockstar, holed up in the parking lot for close to 3 hours and then working to hold down the fort all while I continued to react once back home from the morphine and meds. And friends, thank goodness for friends.
So yea, that was my weekend. It was surreal. It was painful. And it was scary.
Looking back and revisiting through the events through my writing I now realize as "alone" as I felt in the moment, I wasn't. I had a doctor bedside. A husband waiting as close as he physically could. Friends waiting to lend a hand however they could.
But it is something I will remind myself when I am bored and stir-crazy, quarantined inside my home. Somewhere out there is another - a child, a spouse, a human being - that really feels alone.
Let's get this shit over. Let's get this curve flattened so that we can move on and back to a time when we don't have to worry about being so alone.
**Without going into too much unnecessary detail tests were run, diagnosis were ruled out and the combination of ruptured cysts, fibroids, an "angry uterus the size of what it would be at 15 weeks pregnant" (um...but NOT), and endometriosis caused all sorts of internal issues that will require further tests and follow-up treatment.**
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