Because if you haven’t got your health …
I am standing in the new condominium Cute Husband and I purchased. It is dark hardwood, gothic, with several levels, draped in fuchsia velvet, with a small, yellow kitchen.
A tiny Chinese woman sits on a bench with a lapful of towels. Water is running down the walls, soaking into the floor.
“The heating system,” she tells me. “Men came through and mopped. I gave them one yen, each.”
A yen can’t be very much, but I’m grateful, and make a note to reimburse her. And then wonder … why is a Chinese woman giving out yen? And why is this apartment so freaking ugly?
A hard tap to my forehead. I blink and bright blue eyes are peering in at me.
“Don’t worry, Momma,” Ren says. “If you die, you will go up to Heaven. And we will get a NEW MUVER!!” I stare at her a few long seconds before whimpering:
“Do you want a new muver?”
“Liz, Sunbeam is here,” Cute Husband says. I sit up, swallow a few more Tylenol, and step gingerly into the corridor. Sunbeam is digging through drawers, stuffing things into bags.
“And we’ll have a sleepover at my house!!” she is saying. I am jealous of her energy, that she can pack stuff up and move painlessly and she will be spending the day playing with my kids and nothing will hurt.
And then I just love her so much for being there, for being Safe.
The kids take her hands and smile at me bravely and I blow kisses and drag myself out to the car.
Before long I am curled up on a plastic couch in the Emergency Room, my head resting on Cute Husband’s lap while he reads something about war crimes tribunals, but the text runs together and I close my eyes and want to throw up.
Finally, we are taken to a room. They put me in a bed and promise me they’ll wheel me around from now on. That’s so nice. I get an i.v. — a bag of fluids, a dose of morphine and some anti-nauseate. I’m still in pain, so I get another dose of the morphine, and they comment on how high my fever is.
I curl onto my side and hold Cute Husband’s hand. The morphine burned going through my veins and now I feel relaxed, but I still hurt, and I know something is Wrong.
“If something happens to me,” I say.
“Stopit.”
“I know, you hate it, but I need to, so listen … whatever else, just make sure they get educated. Okay? Sell anything, sell Grandma’s ring, sell the house, sell whatever, make sure they get educated.”
“Grandma’s ring wouldn’t pay for a semester of books.”
I am panicking. If I die, how will I be sure they go to college?
I have three things going on: a sore belly, a high fever, bad bad headache with stiffness from my neck into my jaw. It feels like all my teeth are going to fall out, and it would maybe be a relief if they did. It has been getting progressively worse for days. They take me into a small sonogram room where a girl who looks like she is about twelve digs a transducer into my belly. Hard. Right on the spot that hurts.
“Here’s your gall bladder!” she chirps. She rules out gall stones. Yay. ’cause for some reason I find the word “gall bladder” to be humiliating and don’t want to tell everyone I am here because of a little old man disease. No offense to galls, bladders, little old men anywhere.
I get a CT scan.
“Scan’s clear,” the doctor says.
“It’s not a toomah,” Cute Husband says, drawing absolutely no laughs. The doctor is leveling me with a stern look and telling me I have to do what I have said I will not do.
“I’ll get a spinal headache,” I tell him. “I had a spinal tap in college and the headache lasted six weeks.”
“You can have a patch. And you might not get a headache. But we have to do it. It looks too much like meningitis.”
And then I am folded over a pillow, a nurse is holding my arms. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, in through my nose …
“A slight pinch,” the anesthesiologist says.
(Okay, I’m going to interrupt here with a special word to the medical profession: It’s not a pinch. I’ve had two spinal taps and four epidurals and you always say, “Slight pinch” and that’s just freaking bullshit.
What it feels like — and I’ve put some thought into this, so pay attention — it feels exactly like a large spikey needle slipping between two vertebrae. Of course, I suppose, “You’re going to feel a large spikey needle slipping between two vertebrae” wouldn’t exactly qualify as good bedside manner, so I understand why you go with “pinch” but I just want you to know, it’s not accurate.)
“You are fierce,” the doctor says when he is done. “You didn’t even flinch.”
I straighten up, flattered. He notices my name and asks if I am related to the man who taught him medicine twenty years ago. My Granddad. What a thing.
He walks off with three vials of my spinal fluid and they give me more morphine — can’t believe that I am completely unaltered — give me some more. CSI: Miami is on and Cute Husband pulls a large cold fizzy water out of the backpack.
I really love him.
We sit in the dark in the hospital room, watching Horatio and his Humvees solve crime, sipping fizzy water, thinking about nothing, not the vials of spinal fluid or how to pay for college or what we will do if I can’t work. Yesterday is gone. Today is all that matters, and tomorrow never comes.
“Tap’s all clear,” the doctor says.
We’re both startled. And then the hospital is suddenly unsympathetic, they need the bed and we’re wandering around looking for a pharmacy to fill a Percocet prescription at all ungodly hours of the morning. I’ve had enough morphine to stop a prize fighter, but all it’s done is make me vaguely hungry.
Cute Husband gets me home, makes Ramen noodle, changes the sheets and sleeps on the couch. I sleep splayed across the bed, hips on a pillow, hoping to avoid the Spinal Headache.
No such luck. By morning It’s here. My cranium feels loose. Whenever I stand up, I wonder if I’m going to be that grinning man in the movie who smiles and nods and then his head falls off. Don’t ask me what movie, we’ve graduated past water running out of gothic walls, movie identification seems a bit ambitious, you know?
I am in so much pain. I take Percocet. I lie in a cold dark room, hips on a pillow, begging the little hole in my back to fill. I listen to bad television with my eyes closed and have dreams of crazy brides with hairy chins shrieking at their mothers. (You seriously have to watch that show.)
Cute Husband takes the girls to a carnival, and a ball game, and they bring me souvenirs and I keep my hips and my hopes up, up, up — this has to end some day.
Back on the phone with the hospital.
“I think you should call an ambulance,” says one call nurse. “You need a blood patch,” says the other.
I lie in the cold dark, hips, hopes propped on a pillow, wondering, seriously, what the fuck to do next.
My phone rings. “This is Allison,” says a cool friendly voice. “I hope you don’t mind my calling. I’m an anesthesiologist at the hospital. Your primary care physician gave me your number and told me you’ve got a spinal headache to beat the dickens.”
Beat the dickens. Ha. And she called me. Light through the clouds, angels begin to sing.
“I don’t want to go back to the hospital,” I say. “If you really think a blood patch will do it, I’ll come, but I …”
“Yeah, I think it will, but you know what else will do it? — Caffeine. No, seriously, just pop back a couple of triple shots.”
“Are you freaking serious?”
“Mountain Dew, whatever you’ve got.”
“Am I being medically advised to drink latte?”
“Yep.”
And so here I am, hips, hopes planted firmly in a couch at the coffee shop. My cranium is reattached, with only a vague whisper of ache. I am walking, slowly, but surely. In a little while I will hit the market for some supper igredients and then go back to bed while Moonbeam takes the kids to the beach.
I am on my second triple shot. I am typing very very quickly.
And I am grateful: for Sunbeam and Moonbeam and Cute Husband; Mare and the Doodle who didn’t really want a new muver and was just comforting herself. Grateful that we don’t own a gothic condominium, and that the nice Chinese lady has taken her towels and moved on.
And for putting my feet on the floor in the morning, hips, hopes moving forward, just as they should.
July 16th, 2008 at 12:41 pm
Liz, oh my goodness!!! Are you OK? Do the doctors really have no answers for you?
You and yours are in my thoughts and prayers.
July 16th, 2008 at 1:01 pm
Oh, oh, oh.
I have BEEN there! Yes I have. A few times, the headache, the fever, all of it, I’m sorry to say, including the damn spinal tap. I’ve had four taps and three epidurals; you are correct rc: the “pinch” that is in fact a total crock.
I am so sorry you are having to go through this, it seems however, that you have have started to turn a corner?
Will continue to keep you in my thoughts and prayers for a swift recovery.
July 16th, 2008 at 1:35 pm
It takes my breath away to think of how quickly we could lose everything - that’s how it was with my father when he was diagnosed with fatal cancer. It seems like everything stops.
SO glad that it seems you are on the mend.
Becky
http://www.stinkylemsky.typepad.com/
July 16th, 2008 at 1:39 pm
That “new muver” comment will be gold in the future whenever you want to guilt her
July 16th, 2008 at 1:42 pm
Oh, I got so caught up in the idea of guilt ammo that I neglected to add that I truly do hope that this is figured out soon and that you will be getting lattes of your own volition (though medically advised is kinda cool).
July 16th, 2008 at 1:54 pm
I am SO glad you appear to be feeling better. I know how you feel. I am thankful as well that you have your “beams” and Cute husband. I know what it is like to do it alone and you are SOOO lucky. Did they ever figure out exactly what it was?
July 16th, 2008 at 2:00 pm
No, there was no diagnosis. Just a really persistent “meningitis-like” virus. Really scary, but it appears to be over. I’m weak, still, but the pain is mostly gone. So all’s well that ends well, I think.
July 16th, 2008 at 2:26 pm
wow. that is one scary story. i’m glad you’re on the mend.
i’m reliving my not-quite-the-same but-scary-as-all-get-out story from 10 years ago. somehow these things refuse to go away.
July 16th, 2008 at 2:30 pm
You poor woman!
July 16th, 2008 at 2:31 pm
What a scary story. I’m very glad no one had to get a new muver!
I suggest now that you feel better you milk it a bit longer, just so you can enjoy your tlc!
July 16th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
This is a proper scary story. I am relieved that you are now being able to manage the pain? Hope you feel real better soon.
July 16th, 2008 at 3:00 pm
Egads. So glad to hear you’re on the mend. Your description of the spinal tap is *exactly* why I won’t get an epidural. I managed without one the first time and plan to do the same for #2. It is my friggin’ SPINE people. Back off.
I hope the rest of your recovery is quick- should be if you’re tossing back lattes like there’s no tomorrow. Who’da thunk it, and don’t you wish someone would have suggested it for your first one? Making mental note just in case….
July 16th, 2008 at 4:45 pm
Glad you’re feeling better. And actually, I should tell you that I learned the hard and painful way two years ago that gall stones are actually quite common in young women and are even triggered by pregnancy sometimes. I no longer have my gall bladder, thanks to this pregnancy-induced tendency to create super-painful stones. But anyway, it’s not just an old man disease. Who knew?
July 16th, 2008 at 4:56 pm
Ugh, that virus sounds just heinous. So glad to hear you’re on the mend and relieved to know that I wasn’t just imagining the medicinal powers of huge doses of caffeine.
July 16th, 2008 at 5:17 pm
Gosh it’s so hard to be a mamma and be sick, isn’t it? Thank goodness for DHs and for those who can step in. Hope you feel so much better soon. Thank goodness for lattes too!!
July 16th, 2008 at 7:04 pm
I just threw up. I have the weakest stomach in the world and cannot BELIEEEEVVVEEE you actually went through all this.
Have to go and put my head on my lap to stop the room spinning…get better!
*passes out*
July 16th, 2008 at 7:56 pm
Oh my. So sorry for all the pain and random grossness.
Praying over your health. Oh, and the wacky dreams.
July 16th, 2008 at 8:03 pm
That is so scary! I’m glad you’re okay!
July 16th, 2008 at 8:16 pm
I was about to write you a weepy message til I looked over at your twitter and saw the note about watching Intervention and popping percocet! So sorry–moment’s passed!
I was all excited to see that you were posting cause I was feeling a bit blog-stalkery recently (did you get my email?) and guilty. THEN I started reading… Wow. I shoulda been happy stalking… Hope this whole scary, painful mess is just a having-cocktails-with-the-girls-and-one-upping-each-other-with-bad-stories soon!
July 16th, 2008 at 8:47 pm
oh thank goodness! thanks for posting the story, because that twitter update was kinda cryptic…I didn’t email, but I thought really hard for you
I am glad you’re okay- you’re my favorite read!
July 16th, 2008 at 9:02 pm
So glad your getting back on track!! Thank god it wasn’t meningitis.
July 16th, 2008 at 9:04 pm
I’m so glad you’re okay! I really was worried throughout the whole entry that you were going to be dangerously sick with something, and I felt terrible for you and your family. I hope it’s just a really bad case of the flu.
Funnily, I could have told you the caffeine thing….it’s my quick fix for headaches (and the low downs).
July 16th, 2008 at 9:04 pm
You’ll be in my prayers. And Ren is still freaking funny.
July 16th, 2008 at 9:17 pm
Spinal taps and epidurals suck - so sorry you have been so sick….it sounded so liike meningitis… glad you are out of the woods.. love The Graykens xxx
July 16th, 2008 at 9:34 pm
I looked all over the Hallmark store, but I couldn’t find any “I’m so freaking glad you don’t have meningitis!” cards.
So this is just to say that I’m so freaking glad you don’t have meningitis!
July 16th, 2008 at 9:37 pm
Glad you’re getting better!! I’m starting to think Renny would write great advice columns….
But after this: “for some reason I find the word “gall bladder” to be humiliating and don’t want to tell everyone I am here because of a little old man disease,” you knew my excitement in asking for deadline extensions…..
July 16th, 2008 at 10:44 pm
Oh Liz, I’m so very sorry that you are going through such a painful time. Your pain experience certainly resonates with me after three years of chronic daily headache/migraine. I’m glad the triple shot eased your pain.
What’s a blood patch?
July 16th, 2008 at 11:02 pm
I’m so sorry you had to go through this and I hope you’re feeling well soon.
July 16th, 2008 at 11:16 pm
Sue, I can’t imagine living with a headache for three years. The first one I had last week was from the virus — it was resolved with a lot of morphine and other high-end narcotics. The second headache was a result of the spinal tap. The needle punctured my lumbar epidural space to get fluid to test for meningitis. The hole it leaves leaks and causes a headache at the base of the head. It literally feels to me like my head is going to fall off.
A blood patch is made by taking the patient’s sterile blood and injecting it into the epidural space. It adheres and seals the leak. The caffeine did basically the same thing. Caffeine contracts blood capillaries. So by throwing back a couple of triple lattes with my hips elevated I kept the thing from leaking while the capillaries tightened and sealed the hole.
That kind of pain will really mess with your head. I am so sorry. I hope it gets better for you soon.
Thanks for all the other kind words. Sorry for making Cranky barf. Shoulda posted a warning.
And yes, Roo could write an advice column. It would be highly entertaining.
July 16th, 2008 at 11:17 pm
Geez Liz, you sure had us a bit worried with your tweets.
Glad to hear that the worst has passed - hopefully and that you’re looking forward - mentally and physically to tomorrow and beyond.
Oh and far as spinal headaches! I’ve had two and how I wish someone would have told me about the caffiene thing. I suffered through 12 weeks of agony and 4 blood patches! Grrrrrrr.
July 16th, 2008 at 11:45 pm
Sorry, Auds, I didn’t mean to freak people out with the Tweets. It seemed so logical at the time. You know. The time when I had had Morphine, Vicodin, Demerol. Percocet. So, like, no more drugging and tweeting, I promise.
I had a six week spinal headache in college. Literally lost a semester. No one ever told me to drink caffeine. So disseminate far and wide: it works. I did two triple lattes and kept my hips on a pillow and the rest of me flat. Took a day and it was over.
July 17th, 2008 at 12:36 am
wow… hope you’re doing better… what made you so sick?
thank goodness the caffeine worked to keep the spinal headache from becoming something horrible…
July 17th, 2008 at 8:28 am
Oh my gosh! I am so sorry to read that you’ve been so sick.
I’m glad its not a toomah! (I LOL at that by the way
hehe)
July 17th, 2008 at 8:31 am
Oh my gosh! I am so sorry to read that you’ve been so sick.
I’m glad its not a toomah! (I LOL at that by the way
hehe)
July 17th, 2008 at 8:33 am
Hee hee…so drugged tweeting is kind of like drunk dialing to the masses
I had meningitis when I was too young to remember it. No recollection of the pain, but they say at some point, I just stopped moving altogether. No real damage though besides a deaf ear and a somewhat crappy immune system. However, my parents still get pale and weepy whenever it comes up, and I’m 30 years old. I want to tell them, “I think we are out of the woods, people.” Reading about your agony makes me realize in a way I hadn’t before just how lucky I am to not be able to remember.
I’m so glad you are bouncing back so quickly. It seems like whenever we tell our bodies that we need a rest, some nastyvirus comes along to really make us slow down. It is almost like our immune system says, “You want a vacation? I’ll give you a vacation.” With a evil cackle of course.
July 17th, 2008 at 8:53 am
What a scary situation! I’m glad your on the mend. I had no idea about spinal headaches from the spinal taps. God bless that lady who suggested the caffeine.
July 17th, 2008 at 9:44 am
Whoa. What a trip. SO glad the caffeine gods rescued you.
July 17th, 2008 at 9:52 am
When my son was 7, he had the aches, the headache, the high fever, the nausea. We went to the doctor, who evaluated him, not really able to find anything wrong. She went to lift him up from laying down on the table, and when his neck moved, he whimpered and told her that it hurt. Badly. She gave me the hard stare, and boy of boy, did I know what was coming next!
I say this because I learned of the coffee thing when they told me afterwards to give him iced coffee. Lots of it. I thought they were insane, but damn, it worked! He was fine two days later. And residually hyper. I wish I had been able to tell you the coffee thing when you were in college, Liz. I know the backache that I had from the epidural was nothing compared to what you must have felt, but that was bad enough, and I don’t envy you one bit, even with your doctor’s scrip for lattes!
July 17th, 2008 at 9:56 am
so, so glad you’re ok. and what a dream come true, medically required to drink coffee! i love it!
July 17th, 2008 at 10:03 am
So what did they find out is wrong with you? So scary and glad you are ok.
July 17th, 2008 at 10:26 am
I’d like to reiterate what Jen said about gall bladders not just being an old man issue. Three women in my family have had theirs removed between the ages of 25 and 40. Really, why doesn’t anyone tell us these things?!!!
And glad to have you back among the non-drugged, non-pained, latte-drinking members of the blogosphere! Your blogs about Ren keep me from hanging my 3 1/2 year old up by his toenails most days.
July 17th, 2008 at 10:29 am
Dear Liz,
Thank God you are ok! That is all I’ve got to say.
Margaret
July 17th, 2008 at 10:30 am
Dear Liz,
Thank God you are ok. That is all I’ve got to say.
Margaret
July 17th, 2008 at 10:31 am
I told you caffeine is your friend!!!! Happy to see I made it into the blog and that you are feeling better. I’ve been keeping my eye out for you here. Yes, the boy Anesthesiologists say “just a pinch” in your back, but really…….it hurts, but hopefully only for 10 seconds.
It’s refreshing to read that my life is just as crazy as others.
Good Luck
July 17th, 2008 at 10:37 am
*bighug* I am so glad you are on the mend. Those illness’s where you are truely afraid are the worst of all. You don’t know what’s really wrong and, of course, the mom brain starts going worst case senario on you. *sigh* I am so glad it wasn’t meningitis.
Take it easy and abuse the ’script for a while I think
July 17th, 2008 at 10:39 am
Feel better! We enjoy you and the girls so much! My daughter and sister, who both have children the age of your two, NEED your sense of perspective. I just get a good laugh, remembering the days…..
July 17th, 2008 at 10:51 am
Glad to hear you are feeling better, hang in there!
July 17th, 2008 at 12:12 pm
sounds like viral meningitis to me. I had it when I was 16 and they only way they found the virus..was with um….poo. I’m glad you are feeling better. Isn’t coffee sometimes the wonder drug
July 17th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
Oh Liz, bless your sweet heart! I’m so sorry you went through that! I hope you’re feeling back to normal..well, as normal as normal can be…very soon!
July 17th, 2008 at 7:39 pm
Liz, I’m so glad that you’re on the mend. A spinal tap would totally freak me out. My strict “no needles in the spine” rule exists because it totally gives me the willies. It makes me shudder to think about it. But, I’m filing away the tidbit about caffeine, should I ever have to go through such torture.
July 17th, 2008 at 8:41 pm
OMG! LIZ! Dontcha just love it when they do all the tests and then send you packing like: ok, you’re not dying, so go home. That happened to me when I was preggo with the twins. I got the Million Dollar Workup as they called it. Thank God for husbands who keep their sense of humor. Mine said: “So, I guess that means it’ll cost me a million dollars, right?”
So glad you’re better now. Keep drinking lattes. Best health advice. EVER.
July 17th, 2008 at 9:17 pm
I’m so glad that you’re o.k., Liz!! What a scary time for you and your family….
July 17th, 2008 at 9:33 pm
So glad you’re on the mend… feel better soon- we’re all pulling for you!
July 18th, 2008 at 4:17 am
Gosh. i got worried when I read that. Coffee is good for a headache, remembered my mom always fixed me some during those study grinds in college. Get well soon
July 18th, 2008 at 6:46 am
big hug and glad to hear the worst is over, that Roo didn’t lose her perspective of what is important and most importantly that caffeine really is THE answer (not that I ever doubted it)
xx
July 18th, 2008 at 11:06 am
sooooo glad you’re okay! What a scary thing to go through. I’ve missed reading your thoughts, so to speak. You are absolutely my favorite female writer, and I have been known to quote you from time to time…..soooo glad you’re okay!
July 18th, 2008 at 11:10 am
Sooooo glad you’re better!
I had the freaking spinal headache after knee surgery. Worst Pain Ever. I too wish somebody had mentioned the caffeine…
July 18th, 2008 at 3:37 pm
Yes, gall stones are not old men problems - I had mine out four weeks post c-section with my first baby (2 years old), and the attack was worse than labor pains. In addition to 9 months of hyperemesis (and 8 months of picc line + months-long stays in the hospital). Apparently, gall stones are more prevalent for patients that suffer from hyperemesis. How lucky can you be?? My doc said that when you are unable to eat for long periods of time, like months, your body goes into starvation mode and you stockpile nutrients - guess what makes an ideal little storage pouch? Your gall bladder!
What they don’t tell you is that once you have your gall bladder out, you can get pregnancy-induced KIDNEY stones, which I was lucky enough to endure with pregnancy #2 (baby is 3 months old), along with another, worse 9 months of hyperemesis (2 picc lines, by this time I was queen of the antinatal inpatient care unit at the hospital!). Tubes are now tied and the baby shop is closed down. What we go through for our kids!
BTW, weirdly enough, my sister just got over viral meningitis, and said the spinal tap was worse than her epidurals…
July 18th, 2008 at 4:06 pm
This post brings me back 20 years. DH, me and our 10 month old son all had meningitis at the same time. DH won the spinal tap draw. What I remember the most from that time was it was the worst headache of my life and how much the light hurt my eyes. I am really glad you are okay and that there is no need for another muver. Your girls are blessed beyond belief to have you.
September 5th, 2008 at 12:26 am
[…] in your joints is the effect of a bacteria crawling around your central nervous system. The Chinese woman in the gothic condominium was an hallucination and if things keep going, you’re going to start suffering memory loss […]