Getting over

GASTRITIS!!!!!! /jazz hands

I got it right before Thanksgiving, too, that was awesome. I got to go to Urgent Care, where they tried to put an IV in because I was dehydrated. They decided my inner elbow veins weren’t even worth trying. And then, because I was so miserable, I decided to suck it up and let them TRY MY HAND VEINS. WITHOUT NUMBING CREAM. And I only cried after it was over, because I felt miserable, and a bit violated – thanks to that phobia of mine, and also because I was just fucking frustrated beyond belief that I’d sat through two handsticks for NADA: the left hand, the vein rolled too much; the right hand, the vein BLEW. I’ve still got a bit of a bruise that grosses me out when I happen to see it. Barf.

Speaking of which, I did LOTS of vomiting. I HAAAAAAAAAAAATE vomiting. I cannot actually remember the last time I vomited before the gastritis. And there was lots of, ahem, vomiting/explosions from the other end, too. MISERABLE. And disgusting.

Urgent Care sent me home, because they thought I could probably drink enough fluids and didn’t HAVE to have an IV. Except that did not work out too well, because I kept puking and couldn’t keep the anti-nausea meds down, so we went to the hospital. Which makes it like the second (or possibly third or fourth) year I’ve been to the hospital around a winter holiday. Although previously it’s been for anxiety, iirc. Anyway. At the hospital, they were very, very nice, and the nurse was absolutely lovely, and got a vein in my right inner elbow on the first go, with no trouble whatsoever. Because UNC Hospitals FUCKING RULE, and they are awesome, and also, they run IVs more often than Urgent Care probably does. (I’m not dissing Urgent Care, they were very, very nice to me, too. My veins are punks, and I know it. They’re small – except on the backs of my hands – and they roll like sons of bitches, and they’re deep as shit, and even deeper when I’m dehydrated.) Also, the nurse knew the phlebotomist I mentioned, who is a GOD. I’m pretty sure his name is Carlos. I had him a couple years ago when I was having my gallstones, and they had to run a line for the morphine, and he was AMAZING. And the nurse who did my IV Thanksgiving Eve – has the exact same phobia I do! Even down to the whole part where it’s really more about blood leaving your body when it shouldn’t (like, periods are okay, IVs are not). And she loves Carlos, too – she said he was the only person she’d let run an IV on her if she couldn’t do it herself. (Although all their phlebotomists are amazing. But Carlos is the creme de la creme. Apparently he’s been there forever, too. Which is probably why he’s so amazing at it.) Anyway, they gave me two liters of saline, and HOLY SHIT, I felt sooooo much better.

Except for the first time I had to go to the bathroom after the IV was in, and – y’all, I am so dumb: I held the saline bags by my side, in my hand, and didn’t even think about it, and then freaked out when my blood started to run down the IV line. DUH: it’s because the bags need to be higher than your heart. Greg knew. And the nurse who came in knew. And then they told me, and I knew. And the nurse was like, “Just lift it back up, it’ll reverse itself, you’ll be fine. It’ll probably look like fruit punch is in the line for a bit, though.” AND WITH THAT, I CAN NEVER DRINK FRUIT PUNCH AGAIN. (It wasn’t a great love anyway.)

After going to the hospital and getting some fluids, the gastritis was still pretty fucking gnarly, but the vomiting stopped, and I was much less miserable. I guess it’s almost getting on two weeks at this point (a week and a half?), and I’m finally starting to feel 100% back to normal, and it feels SO GOOD! So, posting shall recommence soon. And blog-reading – holy shit, did I miss y’all, and your blogs!

Oh, also? Greg is totally getting this for Hogswatch: