Let’s Talk Toxic Traits
A trip to the emergency room and a four day stay in the hospital gave me time to examine some of my toxic traits that obviously don’t serve me well.
I found myself in the Emergency Room a couple of weeks ago. I’d been having a classic appendicitis symptom for five or six days, tenderness in the right lower quadrant of my abdomen. I passed it off because apparently, I have selectively high pain thresholds. Anytime I get a small splinter and have to have it removed, I whimper like a small, scared child. But possible appendicitis and I blow it off as no big deal. One time, I tweaked my calf doing jump rope and put an ice pack on it. There was a large section that was directly against my skin and while I thought wow that’s really cold, I had no idea I was giving myself a significant burn. I went to get my Botox and asked the Dermatologist to take a look at it and she was stunned I wasn’t in more pain.
Recently, I felt a sharp pain in my right side and thought ooh that can’t be good. Because I had been a trainer and all things corporeal fascinate me, I knew that was a big tell. But it subsided and I didn’t have any of the other accompanying symptoms, like fever, or nausea so I brushed it off and went about my week. It was persistent for a few days, a little more troublesome at night. Scott laid his hand on my abdomen one night and I almost came off the bed. In hindsight, I probably should have gone to the ER that day. But one of my toxic traits is telling myself that I’m fine. I had workouts to do, a husband fighting a cold, blogs to write, and a work trip to prep for. Ain’t nobody got time for a trip to the ER.
It did start to concern me over the weekend but still not having a fever or nausea, I jumped into one of my other toxic traits of self-diagnosis. Maybe I pulled a muscle. Maybe I have a small hernia. Maybe I should get off Doctor Google. I did pop into an Urgent Care and the doctor ruled out both of those based on my report of having done a plank at the gym that morning. He said he couldn’t rule out appendicitis but it could also be a cyst on an ovary based on where the pain was presenting that day. He thought it was a little low for my appendix but encouraged me to keep an eye on it.
Fast forward to Monday, the 24 hours before we are supposed to check in for a flight to Wisconsin for a shoot. I go to the gym, I do a sauna, I run some errands, all feeling perfectly fine. I get home and am sitting in the living room and suddenly I cannot get warm, sitting next to an open window. I decided to hop under the bed covers to warm up and realize my joints are aching a bit and I’m feeling some chills. I’m supposed to be packing, but instead, I grab the thermometer and pull the covers up to my chin. 2 minutes later, I confirm that I do in fact have a fever, as Scott walks into the room and hesitantly asks “Are you not feeling well?” Telltale sign number two. T-minus 9 hours until the car is coming to take us to the airport. When I tell him it’s my abdomen and that I now have a fever he gets very concerned and says we should be proactive and go to the ER. He does not have the toxic trait of saying no it’s fine until he’s doubled over in pain and throwing up. So Lyft picked us up and whisked us to Mount Sinai ER for what became a whirlwind four-day adventure.
We checked in pretty quickly and were under the very misguided impression that it wasn’t very full. And then we sat. I finally sent Scott to get some food because I knew he had to be starving and there was really nothing he could do until they called me. I ended up meeting two lovely women when I helped one of them plug a phone into the outlet to charge near me. By the time he returned from getting some dinner and grabbing me a slice, I had befriended Diane and Linda and we were in waiting bays next to one another, laughing to make the best of nobody’s favorite experience. We discovered we all lived on the West Side and that we all had a penchant for martinis. They were delightful and made the wait much more enjoyable. We said goodbye but not before exchanging contact information and promising to meet up when we all flew the coup.
I was stuck with an IV, transferred to a stretcher, and sent to wait for a CT Scan, with all the other ER peeps. At 11 I finally encouraged Scott to go home and try to get some rest and we could hope that I would get a scan and some good news and be home in time to make the flight. The nurse gave me a side eye and a smirk that should have been my first clue that this was NOT how this was going to go. Hanging out in the hallway of an ER zone, being asked questions, and having vitals taken is not exactly relaxing. I would try to get a nap and I would hear the nurse, what felt like shouting “Mrs. Montgomery”. I determined after a visit with two of the physicians that I would not be on the flight with him so I settled in to wait for the scan. Finally, at 2:30 am, the shouting nurse woke me again to send me to Radiology. She probably wasn’t in fact shouting but I am a deep sleeper so once I doze off, it takes a bit for me to wake up.
I got my first-ever CT scan after a mandatory but completely unnecessary pregnancy test and a precautionary conversation about iodine allergies and how I should tell them immediately if I felt my throat start to close. That was comforting. I have no problem eating oysters and shrimp, so I assumed I would be fine but you can never be too sure. They started the dye and the scan and while I did feel a warm sensation course through my body, my throat stayed perfectly clear. It only took a few minutes and then unfortunately I was back under the glaring lights of the bustling ER. I settled in to wait for the results. A few hours later I was woken by a very sweet surgeon who gave me less-than-welcome news. I did indeed have appendicitis and not only that but a small abscess to boot. I immediately Google abscess, not at all pleased with that Google search. That surgeon shared that the possible course of action would be to start IV antibiotics and possibly drain the abscess. After he walked away, tears of fear started to flow at the thought of a giant needle piercing my abdomen to drain disgusting fluids out of my body. I pride myself on my fortitude but I have my limits. Deep breaths brought back my calm, knowing that worry about the unknown doesn’t help the situation and they weren’t whisking me away at that point.
The ER was a zoo of activity. People were everywhere in the halls on stretchers and wheelchairs waiting to be treated. While I was FaceTiming with Chandler, four NYPD officers and security escorted a man in handcuffs past me who commented with a slight slur “You’re pretty”. Lounging on my stretcher, hair askew, eyes puffy from no sleep, I had to laugh because clearly he was high. There was also the gentleman who had taken a turn for the worse and wasn’t exactly coherent, but adamant that he needed to poo. Sitting on the toilet with the door open and two nurses and a security person trying to get him to return to his bay, he repeatedly yelled “OATMEAL” as if that would speed things up. My sassy new nurse B shared that she was doing her best to get me moved up to the surgery floor, they didn’t have a room but at least the hallway there would be quieter. However, she was not pleased with the IV that I had and wanted to try a new line in case I had to go in for surgery. She was the second nurse to say so but I had already had two unsuccessful attempts to move it and I wasn’t looking forward to being jabbed again. I pleaded for mercy but she was sweetly unrelenting, playfully negotiating “Give me two pokes”. I countered with “I don’t want any more pokes.” The banter was her sneaky distraction to actually get a first-try line in my hand that she was pleased with.
True to her word and maybe as a reward for letting her stab me successfully my nurse got me transferred upstairs to the much quieter surgical ward. I was still on a stretcher and now in what we started lovingly referring to as “the hallway suite” which unbeknownst to me would be my home for the next two nights as I patiently waited for a room. Add toxic levels of patience with a side of rose-colored glasses to my traits. At least I had a change of clothes, and some items from home to make the stay a little more comfortable and I had Chandler keeping me company and a visit from my sister from another mister Liz, who snuck me in a delicious-looking pastry that I couldn’t eat because I was on a strict no food or liquid diet while we waited to see if the antibiotics would work or if I would in fact have to go into surgery. I was starving most of the time I was there, which I was told was a good sign. When I shared my level of hunger with my surgeon, he joked that I was going to lose ten pounds while I was there. “Of muscle!” I retorted. He conceded that to be true and probably another 10 of fluids once they unhooked me from the IV.
Dr. N shared that because there was inflammation and infection in my abdomen but the appendix had not ruptured completely yet, he wanted to try a course of heavy IV antibiotics for 2-3 days to get the infection under control. If that worked I would be able to go home, take oral antibiotics for another two weeks, and then have surgery to remove the appendix that would be much less invasive and messy. I felt good about this decision, thankful that there would be no giant needle draining. The caveat and why I was put on an involuntary fast was that if it didn’t work I would probably be whisked into surgery. Let the IV antibiotics begin. I get to work not only on my toxic traits but also on my aversion to needles.
To say that it was a trying time would be an understatement. Another toxic trait is I am not great at advocating for myself. In my mind there isn’t much the nurses can do about a lack of beds so taking my frustration out on them is futile. I had the most wonderful nursing staff and patient care associates who all shared that I was in a frustrating situation. The sweetest PCA who took my vitals and blood draw on Wednesday was a true angel singing softly to me as she did my blood pressure and then telling me all the wonderful things she was making for Thanksgiving dinner to distract me from the needle she was shoving in my very fragile veins after I told her I was so tired of the 4 am blood draws. One of the surgeons on my team hung back after their morning visit on Thursday and said “This is ridiculous, we will call the bed board again.” I appreciated feeling seen. By Thursday afternoon I had been transferred to an actual bed, the client relations team had come by to check on me and drop off a blanket and goodie bag, and there was a plan to move me to a room once it was cleaned. I tried to maintain a positive attitude and saying hello or sharing a small chat with anyone who walked by helped keep my spirits high, especially feeling as absurd as I did. Unfortunately, the saga is not over but I’m listening to my body much more closely now and not ignoring even the smallest of signals. Stay tuned.
