Oh livejournal, will you ever cease to be my unending source of comfort and hope? Probably not.
So, the rumors were true, I was hospitalized, six days ago. For those of you who wondered where I went this time, that would be the answer. Yeah, I know Nancy Drew disappears and solves mysteries. Me, I go to Canada or the hospital. Two exciting thumbs up on my memoir-worthy life.
Here's how it went, briefly: So I had that crazy weekend of shows that I over-worked on and stuff. Well, I had these headaches. Then my right lymph node got a big large. But I have a pretty crappy immune system - and by crappy I mean 10+ years of tests to figure out whats wrong with it. I have what they call an autoimmune condition. Which means my immune system is a little slow and doesn't know where to send its antibodies, and they usually end up in the wrong place. Like my organs or joints. Which isn't helpful. So, I thought it was just that. But I was really tired and not feeling great and then my tonsil was bad and my node got real bad and I was almost passing out and I thought, okay, its that time. So I go and get a lot of blood taken last monday for a fun round of tests.
Then, my dad, being the doctor-dad that he is, gets real worried and decides to take me in to some specialists at his hospital. Now, he had plenty of reason to be worried. Immune system possibly attacking itself = bad. So, okay, I go. He works at a hospital in Jamaica, Queens, part of the so-help-us-Jesus Catholic Medical Centers who have been having some problems for a while. But the doctors are top-notch. Really great people who just love to help people. Hence working in Jamaica - trust me, it doesn't look like the place that shares its name. Anyway,
so I go. And I see a bunch of people. Who I've met at all these dinners and award ceremonies and stuff. And they decide I need to be hospitalized. Sure, I mean I was hoping to put my life on hold. This is where it gets blurry.
Lots of IVs, a whole lot of blood taking, a lot of not sleeping. At first I shared a room with Lisa. Lisa is normally in a wheelchair, she works on Parsons Blvd and was crossing the street when a car didn't see her and turned right into her. She came out with no broken bones, just a lot of bad bruises. She was a good roommate and her insurance lady was sure out to get everyone to pay - employer (she was on break, but at work), the guy, the city, everyone but Lisa. I said cheers to that.
There were some great people staying at the hospital - a woman down the hall made me feel like I was in Creedmore. She screamed like they were giving her shock therapy. Then again, funds are low in this hospital, it was possible they combined the wards. Anyway, I felt sad. Couple of other screamers too. Makes you wonder just what people are going through. I couldn't come up with much that would make me truly scream. Then again, I'm not much of a screamer. It's where I fail Gloria Steinem.
Then they moved me and I had a private room. Which was boring. At this point, I was pretty sleep deprived and flooded with IV stuff and I was taken for Catscans a bunch, so I had all this weird iodine in me - for contrast (oh lala) - and I knew it was time to leave. It took the residents who were working on me a day longer to figure that out and my doctors an additional 12 hours to that.
Medically, I came real close to some surgeries, I had a bunch of catscans done and a lot of tests run on my blood, mostly to look at my immune system. Thank the good lord Jesus this wasn't a bit of immune-on-immune action, cause that would have baffled my doctors more and probably kept me in the hospital longer. Speaking of Jesus - this was a Catholic hospital, so lots of nuns curing people and priests running around with jesus crackers. I had two visit me. I turned down communion twice - I am sure lucky I had this huge neck/throat thing going on, I think it saved my dad's reputation. He's really loved there and he's real good on the Jesus, chapel, Mary Immaculata thing. And I'm well ... not. The second priest was real old and blessed whatever skin of mine was showing and kept calling me beautiful. Was he lucky I was stuck to that IV. Really, that's supposed to make me feel better? Bless you father for you are creepy.
Back to stuff that matters -
So right, medically, looks like I just have a number of viruses lurking around, working themselves on my already retarded immune system. You know, it's like having the slow, fat kid in dodgeball for a biological defense. My poor immune system. Thing is, I've had them a while, and because my immune system is easily persuaded to do harm to my body, they've reeked a little havoc, so on top of needing to boot the viruses and deal with their normal bad stuff, I'll have to deal (and probably have been dealing with) the other stuff. Joint damage mostly, and I have a sneaking suspicion some of my alignment has changed.
Oh yeah, I've had this stuff so long, that I'm not really contagious anymore. Yes, this is the miracle that is me - I'll pick up every virus to enter a room and not give it to anyone else. No, no, no, let my immune system have all the fun. You're welcome at least. I'm on bedrest until I can function again, then there are rules to what I'm allowed to do, so that I don't burst any of the other immune glands that are overworking. I've also been on 24hour supervision until last night to make sure that I'm still breathing. As long as it's my parents or boyfriend and not the priest, I'm happy.
So, they had me on a lot of stuff, but I'm down to just one really heavy med to stop the inflammation in my neck/throat. Unfortunately, it feels like someone's been feeding me bad weed brownies. Not a very nice feeling. And I'm stuffy. So its like bad weed and hayfever.
At least I can laugh about it. Ha.
I will later blog about consent forms, how incredibly disheartened and betrayed I feel by the drug companies and America's medical system, and the intense class differences present in contemporary Queens. That's all for when I'm off the medication.
She's a rebel, she's a rebel, she's a rebel and she's dangerous