I Watched the Full Moon Rise and Set Through My Hospital Window

 I haven't written on this blog since February 2023. It is now October 2023 and I think it's the right time to make a post. Please beware, this story of my current health is a longer one...

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In the beginning of September of this year, I was in a constant state of being overwhelmed. I had started a new job that summer and my classes for school were going to be all in-person for the first time in a year. I also had my podcast that I do all by myself and past guests were asking when their episode was going to be released because I have taken so long to edit. My mental state went in the gutter for a bit but after a routine with work and school was in the works, I felt a little lighter. 

After coming out of a time of short lived darkness, I was my happy self again. I drank my coffee each morning, I read a little bit each day, and I constantly laughed (which is my favorite thing to do.)

On Wednesday, September 20th, I had a pain on my lower back. I felt around and there was no bump but the skin was really sore. The next day, a bump did appear. It kept growing and never stopped. It hurt so bad where I couldn't sit without being in horrible pain. On Saturday, the 23rd, I didn't feel great. I was constantly hot when my family was covered in blankets. I didn't sleep well because of my stupid bump. 

Then the next day, my parents left for Las Vegas for vacation. I went to Target that Sunday morning to pick up milk and some cute Halloween decor. I kept saying "it's because I didn't have my coffee yet" as an excuse to why I was feeling off that morning. That evening, I was carving pumpkins by myself and my body almost collapsed onto the floor because I was suddenly in so much pain. I laid down on the couch and the pain never subsided. I just KNEW my bump had something to do with it. I texted my mom "I'm going to the immediate care" and as I was sitting in the random doctor's office alone, I was whimpering like a child. The pain was everywhere: my head, my back, my stomach. I apparently had a temp of 99.5 (which I don't believe) and no one asked how I was feeling despite me not being able to hold myself up.

I caught myself whispering out loud into the empty room: "please help me."

I was taken back to a surgery room and it turns out, the bump was an abscess. I had it drained, it hurt real bad, the doctor couldn't believe I was living with that big of a painful bump for this long. 

By that point, it was definitely too late.

I felt positive leaving with my packed wound but when I got home, I was dizzy immediately. The time after that went too slow and too fast at once. I was too sick the next day to pick up my newly prescribed antibiotics, so my friend picked them up for me. She brought me a coffee, too, and I almost threw up just looking at it. I hadn't eaten since the morning before and when my friend left, I started convulsing with pain on my downstairs couch. I was shivering but my face kept getting hotter. I yelled out loud a lot (which is maybe a good think my parents weren't there to hear me...) and I couldn't stand. I couldn't walk. I had a searing pain in my gallbladder area.

All in all, I wanted to just respectfully pass away at that point. 

I called my friend to come over again to drive me to the ER. I couldn't keep my eyes open. When I was waiting in line to check in, I was swaying on my feet. It was packed on a random Monday afternoon so the called me in after an hour, took my temperature, and it showed 104 degrees. I knew people around me were talking to me, saying that a fever will make me feel bad, but everything was hazy and blurry in my head. I got bloodwork taken, they gave me Tylenol, and made me sweat out my fever in the lobby full of people with with broken bone casts on. I have never felt so vulnerable and exposed. I was in and out of consciousness in that lobby for 1.5 hours while sweat dripped down my back. When my eyes did open, many people were staring. But I was past the point of caring. 

They finally took me back to a room, looked at my wound, said my white blood cell counts were great and that I was fine, then gave me different antibiotic pills. I sat outside the ER, shivering, waiting for my brother to pick me up and having too much faith in random ER doctors. 

I got the call the next day. September 26th at 6pm. 

"Hi Megan, I'm from the ER. We got your blood tests results back and they did grow a culture. We're going to need to you come back ASAP to get more bloodwork as it was probably contaminated." 

I entered the ER doors once again, but my fever had been gone since the day before, so the triage nurses kept telling me I was fine, it was most likely that some of my skin cells got into the bloodwork from last time. They took me back, once again, to look at my wound and since I hadn't eaten in 2 days at that point, a nurse brought me some snacks (which I promptly ate the small vanilla ice cream cup and wish I didn't.)

"You're fever is gone, there is nothing amiss with your gallbladder, and your wound looks great. Just waiting for your discharge papers."

It was 11 pm when the doctor of the shift came in and said they were going to admit me. Everyone kept saying I was fine and wasn't really sick, so that confused me. 

It was 2 am when I got wheeled into a room in the Kid's Ward (which I found out had 26 full rooms and only 2 were kids...) and my IV's started. I was delirious from my whole body hurting constantly and the nurse on that floor kept saying "we're admitting you because we're just waiting for your new bloodwork to come back." And that's all they said the first night to me. 

I had developed a blood infection, sepsis. It was part of the Staph family. I was given a specific care team full of infectious disease doctors and wound care specialists. The primary doctor I was given told me that my second set of bloodwork also grew a culture but honestly, I was okay, which she stated a lot; It wasn't anything too bad. Even through all that pain, I first believed her that it wasn't anything to worry about. 

Then the infectious disease doctor, who couldn't look me in the eye, came in by himself and said "this is really serious." 

Then I realized that primary doctor wasn't always telling the truth to me and I was glad when I left that place...

In the 4 long days of my hospital stay, there were too many people surrounding me. But I was completely and mentally alone. I had 1 friend who wanted to visit but my hair was matted and I wasn't given the all clear to shower. I felt disgusting but with all my insulin shots, my blood clot shots, my antibiotic IVs, and meds galore, I don't think I wanted anyone seeing me like that, even one of my best friends. The days were long and filled with short naps and quick texting. I didn't read my Kindle nor did I watch TV. I was just there, trying to survive a bit. 

I was released on Friday, September 29th. I finished a mini packet of goldfish at home (that took me 2 hours to eat, but it was progress!) and as my parents were still on vacation, I still had a this strange gnawing feeling of loneliness that kept creeping up. 

Aftercare started that night at 5:30 pm.

I now have a home health nurse (HI JENNIFER! I THINK YOU'RE GREAT), I have a Picc line in my right upper arm (which is a pretty much a permanent IV), I give myself IV infusions every 8 hours (my schedule is 2 am, 10 am, 6 pm), I get winded and lethargic if I walk or stand too long, after my infusions, I usually get sick and have to sit and close my eyes for a bit, I have to take this disgusting anti-infection pill that tastes so bad, I have to act like a literal dog and chase it down with pudding, and my doctor appointments are a lot (wound care, infectious disease center, blah blah all that jazz.) 

It...is intense.
 

I have not worked and I'll be out of work for too long for comfort, so I have no income. I had to withdraw from my school semester (although I might be able to keep one class because my professor is willing to work with me as I'm homebound.)

I'm 30 years old. This isn't supposed to happen at my age. I never expected a pain like this to happen to me where I wasn't under anesthetics. 

But I'm still also battling my own thoughts with this all. I don't have cancer nor have my cultures grown again. I don't understand why my life is uprooted for a blood infection. I feel like a fraud, telling this story when "so many people have it worse" (which, I absolutely despise that phrase, but I needed to use it.) 

My primary hospital doctor didn't always tell me the truth about things and made things up sometimes when she didn't have an answer, but before I left, I asked her "what will happen if I don't give myself infusions? I really don't want this." She came back with a reply of:

"If you stop doing your infusions, or you stop them too early, the infection will 100% come back. You will have a much harder time getting rid of it." 

Coming from that lady's mouth, I was surprised she finally told me something honest. 

I'm currently writing this on my living room couch, where I now reside for the next 2 weeks. I had 1 quick visitor over the weekend and I was over the moon. I have had 2 dinners delivered to my house from my Church family and now that my parents are home, it helps a lot. I love getting "hey how are you" texts from anyone who cares to reach out. My appetite is back but not fully. I like to have little snacks instead of meals. I love cards and now I have 3 "get well cards!" 

 I am not one to ever relax, but I am trying my best for the first time in my life. I am getting better every day but every hour isn't perfect. 

To those who read this post, I'M SORRY IT WAS SO LONG! I even kept out so much and I'm like "wow Megan, calm down." 

To those who have reached out to offer prayers and "thinking of you" texts, I needed them a lot. 

Okay, now I'm about to edit a podcast because I have actual free time (who is she?)

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