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Friday, September 21st, 2007

Doctor's orders

The situation has escalated somewhat since that last entry. As I mentioned, I'd been avoiding going to the bathroom for a while because it took a great deal of effort just to get on the damn thing, but right after I posted and watched TV for a little while, I couldn't stands it no more. So then I went blood. Not a typo.

Usually what happens when I panic is that I just start speaking strangely proper, so I called my mom and said, "Hello."

"Hello, daughter. How are you feeling?"

"Just fine. There is blood in my urine."

"Really?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you knew what I should do about this blood pee. Pee blood."

She thought up a bunch of different explanations: UTI? Kidney stone? Except it hadn't hurt one bit. In fact, if I hadn't glanced back at the toilet as I flushed I wouldn't have noticed a thing. And because I have both heard horrid accounts of UTI's and been around my dad with his kidney stones, I was skeptical about both things.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling nauseous and it hadn't changed by 8:00. I skipped my morning classes, which I absolutely hate doing, but my reasoning was pretty solid, considering I couldn't walk too fast and I certainly couldn't bend my knees beyond 10 degrees if I even did make it to the bathroom. I eventually ended up systematically lying down on the floor and then wrapping myself around the toilet so that I was prepared when it did come up. I felt slightly better after that (except really, you should have seen me trying to get back up from that position; think turtle).

Kellie called the transport van and they brought me to the infirmary. Aside from being accused of an eating disorder (HALLO, I just threw up all over the place, of course there's no food in me), I was much pleased with the visit because it gave me a word: myoglobinuria. I love getting a word, because it means I'm not just being a whiny bitch, and this word means that my muscle tissue cells are breaking and releasing some kind of enzyme into my body. Fortunately it's only gone to my bladder and not my kidneys, but at the same time I enjoyed hearing her say some other words about my muscles, like "destroyed!" and "damaged!" and "you poor thing, you really can't move!" It was all enough to make me think, I AM PISSING OUT MY PAIN. *insane guitar solo*

What's even better is that the solution is NOT to keep moving or stretching or whatever normal people do. My muscles cells are fucking dead, so I have to just lie really still and let them regenerate. Which is probably why on Wednesday I hurt so bad since I stretched Tuesday night, or why after a three-hour nap yesterday I could walk like a pro but after I marched around triumphantly shouting, "Look at what I can do!" I'd reverted to walking like I'd pooped my pants within an hour.

All things considered, this wasn't such a horrible experience. It hurts like a bitch and the doctor did have to put my pants back on for me, but I could have ended up like a House case, which Steph would have loved. Now instead of having to go to physical therapy or the hospital, I've got a super lazy weekend ahead of me, which is great. Of course, it's also a little counterintuitive, because the whole point of that spin class was to get me back in shape, and instead I've been feeding my depression and pain with Ben & Jerry's and Twix and America's Next Top Model. You win some, you lose some.

 

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