Earlier this week, I spent eighteen hours in the emergency ward of our lovely public hospital.
Coming off the back of a long weekend, (Australia Day, Oi, oi, oi!!), I woke at some ungodly hour on Tuesday in agonising pain. Like thought I was in labour again pain. I was doubled over, clutching at my stomach, thinking that an alien was going to come out of my abdomen, because there's no way that I've been walking around growing a baby for the last nine months and I just didn't know about it!
After writhing around for a few hours, (crying, screeching, clutching at the sheets), Juffin convinced me that it was time to seek medical assistance. I grudgingly agreed. There was no way that this could be normal gastro pain. I was just hoping that it would go away after a few hours. It didn't.
Thinking that it wasn't quite emergency ward hospital status, I tried unsuccessfully to contact my GP a few times. At this point I was grunting every time we hit a bump on the road. Juffin was gripping the steering wheel and glancing over at me every two seconds, whilst the Mushroom was babbling away in the back. The whole drive, I kept thinking about going to the hospital when I was in labour. It wasn't a pleasant experience.
I finally get through to my GP. Except he's on holidays. Of course he is. I ask if I could get in with another Doctor asap as I'm not doing so well. She is suitably concerned and puts me through to the nurse who advises me to go the hospital.
We do. After dropping the Mushroom off at daycare. Where he is very unhappy to be dropped off by his Daddy.
At Emergency I catch a break and a girl I know is working triage. She takes me straight through. Huzzah! Except no-one knows what's wrong with me. Poked, prodded, scanned, tested; ruling out miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, gastroenteritis, appendicitis, gall bladder issues..... the list goes on. At one point, I start thinking there really is nothing wrong with me. It's psychosomatic. I have literally stressed myself out so much that I've manifested abdominal pain.
Twelve hours after arriving, we have a diagnosis. Finally. I am admitted, but spend another five hours in emergency where they pump me full of drugs and don't let me drink anything in case I need to go into theatre soon. Juffin has organised for his Mum to take the shroom and he's staying the night at her place. Juffin is being stoic and lovely but I send him home as he's clearly tired and hungry and there's no point in him sitting around being uncomfortable in a hard ass plastic chair. At least I have a semi-comfortable bed to lie in.
The verdict is, I will need surgery, but thankfully, I'm not dying. Ironically, though we do have health insurance, we don't have the money to pay the Doctor's out of pockets to go through the private system so I'm now on a waiting list. Even more ridiculous is that when I wake on Wednesday in the ward, I have no pain. Gone. Like the day before never happened.
It's still another eight hours until I get to go home and the worst part of all of this is being separated from the Mushroom. It's like an ache all day. I can't wait to see him and squeeze him tight.
As a result of this little setback, we also have to put off our plans to get pregnant with baby number two.
This year sucks man. I woke up on New Years Day with a head cold and it hasn't stopped. A super infection, gastro, headaches, tiredness, money woes and now this. I'm over it and February has only just begun.
It's hard to be positive when everything sucks the nut. So here's the good news. I finally got some info about study, and looks like I'll be starting that fairly shortly. And I also took my first order for cupcakes on Valentine's Day. It's not all doom and gloom!