My Trip to the ER

On our way home from Thanksgiving with my family, I muttered the following to Andrew:

"I feel sorry for my blog. It's like life hasn't been eventful enough to blog about. Or maybe I'm just too tired to think anything is funny anymore."

Andrew gave me a look, as if to say "For real?". He then gently pointed out that not 15 minutes prior to my somber musing, our eldest daughter has taken the liberty of using her new gift of princess pink chap-stick to paint her lips. And cheeks, knees, and car seat. As well as smear gobs of the stuff all across her window. Never mind the fact that Andrew had just detailed the truck before our trip, and that it now smelled like flowery pink wax. Nope, that minor event was just a quickly passing blip in my mind. I don't know what I was thinking, but my friends, I'm here to tell you to be careful of what you ask for.

For a little back-story, I'll fill you in that I had a cold the week heading into Thanksgiving. Genius that I am, at the tail end of my cold, I grew really tired of my sniffles, and took some herbal stuff to dry that sucker up. It did. Most effectively. So, once the holiday and festivities were over, I thought my cold was, too.

But it was not.

Upon our return home, I started feeling a little funny. There was a strange pressure in my sinuses. "No big deal.", I thought. That's normal after having a cold, right? It however was not normal. Very muchly not normal.

As it turns out, my fabulous idea of drying up that cold backfired on me. The herbs dried it up, but the cold stayed in my sinuses, and became the perfect breeding ground for a raging sinus infection. I say raging, because my right sinus was so badly infected that it agitated the roots of my teeth. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Even thinking straight was nearly out as a possibility. All that Sunday night I could feel my heartbeat pounding away in my teeth. It was like hearing the drumbeat to my own execution. Being awake all night long gave me ample time to rethink my life, question how I'm doing as a wife and mother, as well as mourn the things I should have been doing...since surely, this horrible infection would be the end of me. At least that's how it felt.

When normal business hours arrived Monday morning, the girls and I were found in town checking in with a doctor. I was pretty straight with the lady and told her I was ready for some antibiotics to roundhouse kick the infection in the butt. So, maybe I didn't say it exactly like that, but her checkup confirmed that I did indeed have a sinus infection, and it would require antibiotics. I usually avoid such things like the plague, but as it felt like I had a plague, I was ready to take anything if it meant feeling better.

Once my prescription was fulfilled, I quickly loaded the girls into their car seats, locked us in, and dove into that goody bag of meds. I took what she'd prescribed, and pointed the car home. Being in "town" with all the big chain stores usually means a big errand day when I make the effort to leave our small town. However, as my face was surely seconds away from exploding, I released myself from the guilt of not making the most of the trip, and made peace with simply getting our carcasses home.

Monday night came and was a close mirror of the previous one. The drum beat was throbbing away in my teeth, which around 1am had me on Google, finding reassurance that antibiotics can take up to 24 hours to kick in. So it said. Deceitful beast.

On very little sleep, I awoke Tuesday morning feeling very much...not myself. This time it was more than my teeth or the excruciating sinus pressure. My face. Something about my face wasn't right. I sat up and realized that I couldn't feel part of it. I went into the bathroom and beheld a horrible sight.

If you've ever seen the movie "Fun with Dick and Jane", then you have a perfect idea of what I looked like. In the movie, Jane participates in a botox trial to earn a few bucks while they're desperate for cash during Dick's indictment. At the completion of the trial, the doctor is reading the results, noting that only two people had serious reactions to the trial. As you can only imagine, Jane was one of the lucky winners, leaving her with an enormously swollen face, and distorted lips. THAT my friends, was the face before me on Tuesday morning. Even Andrew was impressed with the enormity of my lips, calling me his "Botox Princess". Very funny. And while I'm at it, I shouldn't say lip...because it was only the top right portion of my face that was swollen. Lovely.

Once again, as soon as business hours were upon us, I was on the phone with the doctor, attempting to figure out what to do. She told me I'd need an x-ray or CT scan, which unfortunately are only available at the hospital. Still in desperate pain, now wearing a distorted face, unable to put my teeth together or close my lips, I talked it over with Andrew and decided to turn myself into the ER. It seemed so stupid going to the hospital, but in the event that more drastic measures need be taken, that was the best place to be. Andrew rearranged his schedule so he could stay with the girls and work from home. He had to get a few things from the office, so I had half and hour to get ready before I could go to the hospital. I showered, but after that, there was only so much I could do to improve on "Botox Princess".

I pulled up to the ER equipped with my kleenex, essential oil hand sanitizers, and bag of prescribed meds and began my journey to the sliding glass doors. A male nurse was outside on his phone, and watched me approach; likely assessing what triage category I fell into. I felt like Quasimodo as I attempted to smile and look normal as I passed him, but my swollen lips wouldn't comply, and it likely looked more like a snarl.

The lady at check-in was kind and prompt, and I was soon sitting in the waiting room. I hadn't been waiting long before a nurse came through a large door with a wheelchair. I saw her speak to the lady at the desk, and noticed them looking at me. I busied myself with my phone, but couldn't avoid the fact that the chair was for ME after she called my name "Geena?". I walked over, ignoring the chair, and we chatted about the events that led me there. She said she'd take me back, and though I asked if it was REALLY necessary, she told me just to sit down and relax.

Being wheeled around was a strange experience and not in the least bit relaxing. Not just because I didn't NEED to be in one, but mainly because of the loss of control over the situation that I felt slip away. In a group text amongst my family, my Aunt put it best: "You are no longer human. When you are in the ER, you might as well be a one-hundred-something pound Petri dish." She further commented that: "Something about that place makes you feel like you are going to live out the rest of your days under the fluorescent lights, never to see the sun again."

Her humor was timely, because I was wheeled into a room dingily lit with fluorescent lights, and instructed to strip from my comfortable clothing and put on a ghastly, thin, and highly starched hospital gown. I hesitated, but obeyed. A few nurses were in and out of that room...I wasn't entirely sure who was caring for me, but I told my story about half a dozen times before the doctor came in. He told me I was likely having an allergic reaction to my medication, and that he'd be prescribing me some new stuff. Oh, and I'd also receive a shot in the butt before I left. He asked if I had any questions, and was soon on his way. The end.

No X-rays?! No CT scan?! I was relieved, but was also wondering why the heck I'd gone to the hospital. They say hindsight is 20-20, so for the information I had at the time, that was the place I needed to be. Even still, I felt like it was all a bunch of overkill. I was ready to protest when a random nurse walked in and asked if she should start my iv, but another nurse interjected that it was unnecessary as I was nearly on my way out. Thank goodness. The walls were starting to close in, and I was ready to get my new prescription!

Since I was reacting to my original medication, the Doctor ordered a steroid shot before I left, to help take the swelling down. I'd heard rumors about where steroid shots go, and a quick inquiry from the experiences within my family group text confirmed that I should prepare my tushy to be a receiver. I'm not a fan of shots, but have come a looooooooooooong way from the days of passing out. I think childbirth has had something to do with this.

Anyway, the nurse came in with a very large needle, and I made like it was no big deal, and took it like the strong farm woman I want to be. There was indeed a burning sensation down my leg from the shot, so once that was done, I changed out of the gown, gathered my belongings, and began limping for the door. I was free.

After quick stop at the pharmacy for my new, non-allergic reaction inducing meds, and then I was home. My hero-husband and peanut gallery received me, I smiled my puffy smile at them, relieved that all would soon be well again...and then I slept. For three hours.

And that's the tale of how blog fodder is created from rogue colds that turn into raging sinus infections. And explains why my brain is still a bit foggy after such an eventful week. Next time I'm feeling hard up for blog material, I'll be sure to keep it to myself.