I Hate Hospitals

Blog No. 145

In the last few years (probably going on five or six now, though I always overestimate time) I’ve spent far too much time in the hospital. Granted, any time could be considered too much for the hospital, but it’s even worse when you are the one on the receiving end of the treatment. To be very clear, I want to point out that, other than a little unnecessary waiting and that one time no one in my family could convince the nurses that my well documented disease could be the culprit when they couldn’t figure out what was wrong (it totally was said disease too) my experiences have been as wonderful as could be when ill. Still, that could be rainbows and unicorns and I would still hate going to the hospital (and not just because neither of those things really does it for me). The only type of person I know who actually likes hospitals are sad sacks who crave the attention and sick-os who find it all fascinating or get off on healing people (you know, doctors and nurses).

I hope that dig on doctors and nurses was as sarcastic as I intended it to be. Meh, so. Last week, while minding my own business at work, I got poo-brain. The start of a headache was loitering in the back of my head (not totally unusual) and my eyes were acting funny. You know when you look at a computer screen too long? You writers will understand that. I decided to get some fresh air, and on my way out, I told a co-worker what I was up to, but it all came out wrong. Alphabet Soup (so I’ve heard it called). My words were all jumbled. I knew what I wanted to say and I knew that wasn’t what I was saying, but I couldn’t say the right thing. By my third attempt, I sat in a chair and my quick thinking co-worker sprung into action. He blurted out Hospital (not my favourite place as I’ve mentioned) and I dully nodded and was whisked to emergency for aforementioned poo-brainedness.

What followed was two days of being in and out of the hospital (my favourite place to be) lots of tests (including a spinal tap) and no writing at all. Thankfully, nothing seems to be wrong, but the headaches are sticking around. My family members have some experience with migraines and that seems to be the issue, but that doesn’t make it any easier, or me in less pain. I was given some (very little) medication which, when paired with sleeping, has been pretty good with taking the edge off the pain, but it adds to my addled mind. It hasn’t been any fun at all. In my weakest moments, I start to worry that I’ll have to be like this forever. It was the same when I was so sick a few years ago. What if I’ll always have a headache and have to take pills that make me dull. What if I’ll never be able to write again?

I know that’s not likely the case. That hospital place put me through several tests and all the obvious (and more devastating) options have been ruled out. I still have more to go, and the headaches only come in waves now (rather than a constant, growing agony). That little menacing doubt (when fueled by pain) does like to rattle my cage though. For now I’m trying to work when able and not lament the loss of time too much. I will continue to investigate and hope that this is just one of those things (I’m certainly not the first person to deal with migraines) and hope I’m not poo-brained for life. A thanks goes out to my co-worker for his fast action and all the people who filled in while I was poked and prodded (a needle in my spine!). Also, to my family for putting up with me, as always, and for their patience and care. I suppose also the doctors and nurses who did all the prodding.

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