That Could Have Been Better

So, I had a bad week.

I'm not going to go into too much detail; it's not the kind of story you pull out for everyone and anyone's edification.

Suffice to say, I ended up in the Emergency Room Wednesday night, with my husband and my mother-in-law helping me.

Click 'Read More' to see the rest. This gets pretty long.



I am, or rather I was, sick. To be honest, I've been feeling ill for a couple of weeks now, ignoring the slow build-up of fatigue and all my other symptoms because it was easier to tell myself I was exaggerating. Instead, I let things slide, told myself I'd give it a few more days. And then a couple more.

I'd complain to my boss at work about being a little tired, to a coworker about not feeling well overall. I'd come home and curl up on the couch and tell Jason I didn't have dinner in me tonight, it would take too much effort.

I continued to tell myself that I'd surely go to the doctor eventually, if things didn't get better.

I told myself that if I didn't feel better by then - 'then' being this imaginary concept that I never seemed to have a concrete definition for - well...

I would see a doctor at that time, that nebulous and constantly shifting then.

Well, last Wednesday night, my body decided that it had had enough waiting, thank you. And then showed up and knocked me over and I ended up in the E.R. Which, by the way, is definitely not an experience one wants to repeat in any fashion.

On the one hand, E.R. visits are always horrible by their very nature. There is something very, very wrong and you need it fixed right away and the doctor would like you to stop crying now, please, so they are always very abrupt and to the point. Which is a comfort, but it's also just as much not a comfort, too.

My mother-in-law kept up a constant running stream of conversation, which distracted me enough to help me cut down on the tears. I texted my sister and my mother, something I am not proud of, but if I had called either of them I would have burst into hysterical tears and probably just started telling everyone in my general vicinity about how much I wanted my mommy now - which I luckily managed to keep only to a single wailing cry to Jason in the car on the way to the hospital.

There is something very surreal about looking back and telling yourself, "Katie, you are 25 years old and you were crying for your mommy."

In any case, I am definitely not going to win worst daughter award - I did ask my mother-in-law to give my mom a call at one point, and I kept my sister and mother as up-to-date on all the information we were getting as often as I could. Eventually, though, 9 P.M. Eastern Time turned into midnight, and then into 2 A.M.

We left the E.R., with some information and not exactly any certainty, at almost 3:30 in the morning. We had been in the E.R. for almost six hours.

On the other hand, I went to the E.R. Wednesday night and walked out, of my own power, able to go to Steak 'n Shake with Jason. So that was a good thing. I ate part of a plate of cheese fries and half of a cup of chili. Jason, who normally would have been working overnight and who was an hour and a half past his usual "lunch" time, absolutely demolished a burger, his fries, the rest of our shared fries, and the rest of my chili.

Then we went home and collapsed into bed at 4 AM, because I had to get up at 8:30 to make a doctor's appointment. Which I ended up having at 2 P.M. on Thursday. So sleep was a rare commodity on Thursday.

At the doctor's, we made it through out appointment and then left knowing, with about 80% certainty, what had just happened to me, and that I would be fine. Which is always a good thing to hear, let me tell you.

So I went to work, showed them my hospital papers to show why I had called in sick (not that any of them begrudged me for a moment; it's not that kind of workplace. I just felt guilty for calling in on short-ish notice). I apologized to the coworker I was meant to be working with today, and then Jason and I went home. At one point, he asked me if I wanted gelato, one of my favorite things in the world.

So we had two of my favorite things for dinner; gelato and sushi. We ate the gelato first.

Friday, I got up and tried to go to work after a quick and of course exciting time at the doctor's giving them my blood. Going into work was a terrible idea and I have had no less than three people lovingly scold me for that decision since. I made it about halfway through. One of my friends, who I work with, called to ask how I was doing. After talking to me for a few minutes, she asked to be transferred to management.

At which point she showed up to work the last part of my shift and I went home and cried because I didn't feel much better yet and I had all these wonderful friends and I wanted to feel less terrible so I could thank them properly and there is just a cycle of tears here, people.

I had been texting a friend of mine off and on about how I was feeling all day. When she made an offhand comment about my 'present' having not shown up yet when I told her I was going home, I didn't really think about it.

However, when I was home taking it easy and trying to think heal-y thoughts... the flowers showed up.

My friend Sarah and her husband Josh sent me flowers. Which I cried about, only this was happy crying, which I explained to Jason probably several times more than was necessary for him to grasp the point.

We cleaned up the living room a little, which was something I at least felt up to doing. I made us some chicken, pea, and pasta soup because there is nothing like chicken noodle soup when you feel bad, and I love peas. So there.

I went to bed early and woke up for work Saturday morning feeling like, finally, I could do this. And I made it through my shift mainly due to my friend and coworker Sherrie's boundless and constant cheer. It is hard to be cranky when she just keeps being cheerful all day, is all I'm sayin'.

Managed dinner with some of my in-laws, though I had started to fade quickly by that point. Didn't manage to even make an appearance at a friend-time get-together that night, though I got to hang out with Sarah for a little bit when she came up to visit me. Then I watched terrible television, listened to the soundtrack to the Lion King three times in a row, and went to bed to read.

Today has been the first day I have felt really and truly better.

I have had energy to go out. I haven't been forcing myself. We took a walk today and I was fine. I feel pretty good, actually.

So hopefully I can pull myself together and get back on track here. I hope this whole long story was not the most boring thing you've ever heard. If it was, well. I'm sorry? But really, if you read this far, something must have kept you interested, right?

Maybe it was just the pictures of flowers. They are incredible, and Sarah did have the amazing knack of picking out flowers that look almost exactly like the flowers I had for my wedding day almost three years before, before I knew her, before she and I had met in any real way.

I love Gerbera Daisies.

I love my husband, and my mother-in-law for their enduring patience with me in the hospital. I love my friends for their support and kindness. I love the whole of my family and friends for their concern, their worry, that happiness that I was okay.

I don't really love the awesome nurse we had at the E.R., but I certainly like him well enough. That has to count for something.

So... that was the last week or so in a nutshell.

That's all I have to say, for now.

Have some flowers.

And please forgive the quality of the photos, I have terrible lighting in my apartment.

Also I had to put them high up enough that the cat wouldn't get curious and then I'd come home and discover her soaking wet with petals stuck to her fur.

The end.