I am not the craziest one here

I'm not sure how I forgot this part of my story (perhaps too much morphine?)......
When I first got to the ER there was a couple in front of me. The man was complaining of severe chest pains and informed them that he had previously had two heart attacks. I thought, man, at least I'm not this guy. So he was immediately escorted to the "emergency lane of the emergency room" and rushed back. When I was fortunate enough to enter the back room I didn't realize that he was in the room next to me until I heard him screaming. He was not screaming in pain, but he was screaming demands to speak directly to the doctor. The next thing I heard was a ruckus and people running. Apparently this guy was looking to get some pain killers and the doctor wasn't going to give it to him because, upon further inspection he was not, in fact, having a heart attack. When he realized he wasn't going to get what he wanted, he ripped off his IV (how he did this, I still want to know) and ran. Nurses and aides ran after him but apparently he escaped. The next thing I heard was that the ER was on 'lockdown' and then the police and firemen showed up. The last thing I heard was they found him running down the street a few blocks away.
It kind of felt like I was living an episode of ER. Kind of. George Clooney was not my doctor. Darn it.

The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me.....

The weekend had all the elements of a great time. I was going to run a 5k race. I was going to visit with my family. I was going to meet someone new. I was going to relax by the pool. Enter life unexpected, and this is what really happened:

As I drove from Layton down to Provo, the weather got nasty. The rain and wind worked together to create some extreme driving conditions. As I got out of the car in Lehi to pick up my race packet, I got drenched. Nice. I texted Tom (names of the innocent have been changed to protect their identity) to let him know the answer to a question he asked regarding the race. He asked if I was hungry and wanted to meet and get something to eat. I said yes. Seriously? Did I not just get drenched and I said I would meet him for dinner? I had never met him before. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't. We met and had a nice dinner. He was very gracious and didn't seem to mind my damp demeanor.

The next morning was cool and overcast - a perfect day for running. Tom picked me up at 6am and we drove to Mona. The race started nicely even though it was a little bit muddy. About 1/2 mile into the race my sciatica got the best of me and I had to stop running. As I continued to walk the race, the pain continued to get worse. I was so disappointed. Now I would have to walk the rest of the way. The first mile plus of the race is all uphill. Once I hit the corner and turned to start going downhill, my sciatica loosened up. Maybe there was hope after all. So I started running again, and was able to run any part of the course that was downhill or even slope. The race wasn't a complete disappointment, and although I didn't run or finish like I wanted to, I was able to finish. Now, it was on to the good stuff - lavender ice cream - and it tasted even better than I remembered. Tom and I were able to get to know each other a little bit better and I really enjoyed myself.

I had planned on spending the afternoon reading by the pool but the weather became stormy again, so I changed to Plan B - a long, hot shower and a nap. It was perfect. At 5:30, Tom texted me to see if I was hungry and ready to get something to eat. I said that I was, so I got ready for what was supposed to be the 'real' date (the night before was a spontaneous decision - it was fun, but I looked atrocious; and the race was even more fun, but I looked - and smelled - even more atrocious). It was a good sign that even though he had seen me at what I thought was my worst, he still wanted to go out on the real date with me, right? I was looking forward to it. I had showered, dressed in nicer clothes, done my hair and even put on make-up. Wow, this was going to be good. He picked me up and we went to Los Hermanos for dinner, then we went to The Riverwoods and walked around for awhile. He showed me Provo Beach, an amusement type place that had a lot of fun things to do including inside simulated golf - that's right, you can play 9 or 18 holes of golf and never walk a single step of a course, and it's all inside a dark, movie-like area that projects the golf course scene all around you. Golf, the way God intended. :) Outside on the plaza, we stumbled upon a Battle of the Bands contest with Chunga (huge black mohawk, skinny jeans - he's not skinny, and funky purple shoes) and 3 other weird music people as judges. The bands were actually really good and we ended up sitting and listening to the whole evening. My back started getting a little tired so Tom offered to let me use him for a back rest. I accepted the offer and it was very nice. So far, so good. Tom seemed to have forgotten that I could be hideously ugly and gross. We walked around some more and just as I was thinking that I hadn't seen anybody I knew, I heard someone yell, 'Wendi!' I turned to see my old cellmate from when I did time back in 1984-1987. We were able to talk and catch up for a minute and scheduled a girl's getaway to Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Tom and I decided it was time to go and check out the Harley Davidson motorcycle show and dance, so off we went. As we were walking around Riverwoods my stomach had been hurting, but now it had escalated to a point where I now needed to embarrass myself once again - I had to ask Tom if we could stop by a grocery store so I could buy some Zantac because I had some killer heartburn. Nice. Little did I know it would only get worse.

So with Zantac purchased and taken, I was sure I was on my way to feeling better. We drove to the dance and had to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes before I could move to even get out of the car. We went to buy our tickets and stumbled upon an interesting conversation with the ticket lady and a gentleman, who I assumed was her boss because he was talking about certain girls and how some were better to work with than others. The ticket lady was talking about how certain girls were getting better and how they were working on being more friendly and smiling. As Tom and I were talking about what we heard - and then later what we saw with this man on the dance floor - we realized that there may have been some behind the scenes escort services going on before our very eyes. I thought she was just talking about working with other 'ticket takers'. Nope, it seems he was a client, not a boss.

We walked over to check out the motorcycle show. There were a few interesting bikes and I really wanted my picture taken on one of them, but was too nervous that the owner would come over while I was on it and kick my butt. So we danced instead. I did really well with the slow dances. I didn't have to move very much and I could lean on Tom for support. The fast dances were fun, but I had to fake a lot of it. Most of the time, I just had to stand on the sidelines and grab my stomach and try not to double over in pain. At one point as I was dancing, I had to stop. The pain was so bad I had my eyes closed, clutching my stomach and breathing in and out struggling through the pain. Apparently I looked a little weird because when I opened my eyes there was a lady dancing next to me looking at me like I was the scariest thing she had seen since The Twilight Saga movies. I really wanted to stay and dance. I was having a lot of fun despite the pain. Tom was generous and kind to me. I felt bad that he had paid for the dance and I wasn't able to dance very much. My first, second, and now third impression on him was leaving a lot to be desired. As we drove home, the pain intensified to a point that I thought I was going to cry in front of him. Sweet. How could I make this date any worse? I know - how about I get so sick that I almost throw up? Okay, let's add that to the list.

I made it home and into the house. Barely. By this time I was beyond heartburn and was thinking I had food poisoning. I was able to get my clothes off and put on a T-shirt to sleep in, although I knew I wouldn't be getting any sleep. It was an hour before I was able to lay down on the couch. At 1:30am I started vomiting. As if on cue, I vomited every hour and then every half hour, until 4:00am. If this was food poisoning, I should be feeling better since there was nothing left in my body. This was more than food poisoning. In just a few hours I was supposed to take my brother and nephew to the airport. That wasn't going to happen. The new question was, do I wake somebody up to take me to the ER or do I just drive myself? After a little debate, I chose to write everybody a note and drove myself to the ER. I figured if my pain got bad enough I could just pull off to the side of the road and then keep going when it subsided.

I made it to the ER parking lot and tried to walk. I thought, 'I've made it this close and I'm going to be found face down in the asphalt'. Fortunately a girl had just taken a patient to his car with a wheelchair and saw me. She came over to me and said, 'Ma'am, let me help you'. I accepted her help despite the fact she had just called me 'ma'am'. I'm in a practically delirious state of pain but yet I still have my pride - that's me. I was somehow able to check myself in and get through the triage nurse. She didn't seem to understand the reality of my pain. To be honest, I did look like a crazy cat lady. I had on my T-shirt (gray, but almost threadbare), the first pair of pants I found (tan capris), the socks I had worn earlier (black with peace signs), my flip flops, and my bucket in case I puked. If only T could see me now....Anyway, back to the triage nurse - apparently 'stomach pain' didn't warrant an emergency situation and she put me on the bottom of the pack. I couldn't move because of the pain. I realized that my body wasn't going to be able to take it much longer and it's only defense was to faint. I knew that if I didn't get attention soon, that would be my fate. A few minutes later a new triage nurse came into the room. Ah, my second chance. Miss First Nurse didn't care about me - she was off in 10 minutes. As I sat in my wheelchair wondering what to do, my body responded for me. I started puking, and I started puking hard. Any pride I had a few minutes before had disappeared entirely. I was the crazy, puking cat lady. Fortunately for me though, the triage nurse observed what was happening and instantly came over to me, told me she was moving me up to the next opening and wheeled me back when the room opened up a few minutes later. Thank you for new work shifts, bright, shiny nurses, and people who dislike hearing other people puke publicly (me, included).

When I went to the room I couldn't move. I had a nurse, a doctor and an aide have to lift me up out of the wheelchair onto the bed. I couldn't straighten out and I couldn't relax. They gave me a wonderful hospital gown to put on but they soon realized that wouldn't be happening - it would take me hours to perform that clothes change miracle. The doctor immediately ordered an anti-nausea medicine and a double dose of morphine. I had never heard such beautiful words. Usually I would have been beside myself having to get an IV (too many bad experiences in the past) but I told Jack (my new best friend) to get that IV in me as fast as he could. Unfortunately, I have very small veins and it took him what seemed like forever to find a vein he could use. Finally, the IV was in and I waited for the morphine to take effect. It took about 5 minutes, but when it did, I wanted to weep with joy. Thank you God for creating morphine. At the initial assessment, the doctor and nurse were pretty confident that I had a gall bladder problem, but they waited on the blood test results for further information. I asked my nurse, Allie (my other new best friend) if I could have some ice chips because my mouth was so dry. When she told me she couldn't because I might go into surgery and I couldn't have anything in my stomach, it finally hit me. I could be a few minutes away surgery. As my mind drifted back to the last time I had surgery, I started to get scared. I couldn't have surgery. I vowed that I would never have surgery again. As I laid in my bed, I got my phone out and started texting everyone I knew who would pray for me - especially those miracle workers in my ward. I got almost instant replies back. I was on the prayer roll, and my confidence grew; but my morphine was wearing off quickly. Yikes.

I asked Allie if I could have another does of morphine. As soon as it was okayed by the doctor, in went my 3rd dose. I awaited the pleasant relief. It didn't come. More time went by and no relief. I was in trouble. At that point, I needed to use the restroom. I had to have help getting up out of bed and then as I started to walk, I wasn't able to walk in a straight line. I basically stumbled down the hall and back again. When I got back to my room, the doctor had arrived. Apparently he had observed my little jaunt to the restroom and he asked me if I always walked that way.....seriously? He told me that the blood tests eliminated a gall bladder problem but showed an elevated white blood cell count and also an elevated count of something else (I can't remember what it was, but he said it was something that also indicated infection). They would have to do a CT scan to see if they could locate the problem and rule out the pancreas, liver, kidneys, etc. I tried to think this was good news - no gall bladder surgery, but still no idea what was wrong. And even more good news - I got to drink something! Okay, so it was contrast, but at least they mixed it with grape juice. It was delicious. Jack wheeled me into the CT scan room and that's where Conner took over. He inserted some saline solution into my IV to make sure it was working, then he said he would insert something that would make me feel like I wet my pants. At this point I was certain that this whole experience could not get any more humiliating. Nope, there was just one more thing....since I wasn't in a hospital gown I had to take my pants off so the zipper wouldn't show in the scan. So now I had my pants off and felt like I was wetting my pants (or lack thereof). Excellent. After the scans were done I was wheeled back to my suite and was told the results would take about 30-40 minutes. I had realized that it was going on close to 18 hours since I had slept at all (thank you for that afternoon nap). I don't know if I fell asleep or if it was just the effects of the fourth dose of morphine, but I was able to leave reality for about an hour.

I was awakened by the doctor coming in to tell me the CT scan results. The only thing they could find was a layer of infection surrounding the outside of my small intestine wall. Apparently this is not a big deal even though it sounds weird to me. He gave me prescriptions for anti-nausea medicine, pain killers, and an antibiotic, told me to see my doctor within 48 hours and said to go home. Um, okay.

So Jack came in to take out my IV. It hurt almost as much as my stomach pain (okay not really, but oh.my.gosh.) He told me that they use extra sticky tape so people can't rip them out. I'm pretty sure I will never have to shave the inside of my elbow ever again. Jack also told me I was not allowed to drive myself home since I had enjoyed so much morphine they didn't want me dodging the cute bunnies I would see on the road and causing more trouble. Fortunately I had a ride home (could you just see me trying to hitch hike?). When I got to my mom's house I think I ate my weight in food, and with a full belly and pain meds, it was time for me to take another afternoon nap.

As the morphine wore off and I became more coherent I realized that I had just experienced the greatest amount of physical pain I had ever felt (no kidding, here) only to be told I had the flu.

All of that for just a flesh wound.

As a side note, I haven't heard from Tom again. I can't imagine why.