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For those who want to know icky details
Aug. 17th, 2008 01:33 pmI never got round to the second post about hospital. Maybe later today it will be easier: I spent most of yesterday discovering just how unwell I was.
Warning - details ahead:
On Friday, my lower body was like something out of a story by John Wyndham - you know, the one where the future has no men and there are giant puffy women who are breeders. That size still comes and goes, though today I am more of a size 20 from the ribcage down (mostly) - my pre-emergency size was a 16, if that helps. When I swell up to the bigger self, it feels as if my skin is going to burst from the pressure. I want to take a pin to it and burst the balloon. I want to whiz about the room, buzzing with let pent-up air. Mostly, though, I want to not burst.
My mouth is always Sahara-dry when this happens.
The flesh in the swollen areas is hard and you can draw pictures in it. If you press hard enough and long enough, a deep impression can remain for about a half hour. One of the nurses and I discussed the possibility of skin art (I was so bored, being unable to read - at a couple of points I got very chatty).
One thing they were worried about in the hospital was that all of this might have been infection. They were especially worried about its affect on my heart and stuff. I wasn't told the ECG results and I *was* released, so the heart must be fine. I could see the BP results for myself and I was released after the specialist saw me (3 doctors not agreeing about how to treat meant I got to be turned over and poked by someone super senior - - and by 'poked' I mean literally, because the consistency of my flesh was one of the most interesting things about me to them - and here I thought my sparkling mind and wit gentle wit trumped all - it was rather amusing, but don't tell anyone I said that) and and the BP was down to within reasonably safe (but still a bit high) limits. I was warned about my pulse rate being too high, and that was all. (Today I realised that my gentle exercise regime really has paid off - I'm sure it was a factor in this.)
Anyhow, the four doctors disagreed on whether I was infected. No, that's not true, they knew the surface of my skin was infected but that was low grade infection and they weren't worried about it. I'm not worried about it either - it's a side effect of bad eczema and tea-tree oil is handling it beautifully on top of the IV antibiotic they gave me (I had 3 IV bags attached to a drip and got to see up close just how IV works - my machine was haunted by Mork and kept saying "nanu nanu" - I refused to talk back to it).
They finally decided that the problem was inflammatory and had been triggered by my allergies and that's when the condition was given a name and that's why I'm doped up on antihistamines. This is where the heart-thing comes in, I guess. Superficial inflammation looks super-impressive: inflammation round the heart can kill. And my father had no. #17 coronary bypass in Australia when he was my age, so there is a family history there. This could all have been so much worse than it was.
I'm doped out on those big antihistamines and on cortisone right now and it's working. It's not instant, but it's improving, bit by bit. I have fewer shudders and I keep telling myself that size 20 is really not so bad. It isn't, actually - my legs actually look like legs at this moment, rather than like something out of an SF short story. My upper body and arms are peeling erratically: the serpent-Gillian has forgotten how to shed skin.
The cortisone is giving me bad indigestion, which is an annoyance and nothing more. I can't do much at a time - I'm astonished at how much of an effort it is to type this or to talk on the phone: I think I'll order enough Chinese takeway to last me through the next 3-4 days, because roasting a chicken last night zapped me so entirely I couldn't move for 2 hours. Between the chook and the takeaway I will be eating properly, which is important. I also won't have to wash dishes, which is good, because I can't - my hands look like the surface of Mars rendered with a pink wash. I know I'm going to have to shower today and I know it's going to *hurt.* Thank goodness this is only for a few days!)
I can read again, which is the biggest thing. Yesterday and the day before I couldn't and life was so wrong. My book for today is Free Food for Millionaires, because it was the top book on my TBR pile. Now my eyes are working properly, I'm a bit less morose (I couldn't even concentrate on films - the Olympics were my highest intellectual attainment). I can deal with the side-effects of the meds with chocolate and it's odd to be planning food but not caring if I eat it or not. It's also odd that the lower half of my body has mysteriously become the size I would be if I weren't careful about my PCOS.
What's most odd of all is that (on doctor's orders ) I warn people regularly about the possible consequences of me having the acute allergies. I've lost friends over these warnings, since most people don't want to deal with them (and some don't want to believe that they're real). My family and I have always known that hospitalisation was possible, but, since I was a child, we developed a raft of techniques for me to deal so that I wouldn't need it. For a family with such a strong medical background, my parents were oddly frightened of sending their children to hospital. So this was a first. My first emergency visit to hospital for my allergies.
At the rate I'm improving, I'll be a mess for 2-4 more days and have just enough energy for teaching on Wednesday. I suspect I'll be slow etc for a week or 2, but I honestly don't know. I do know I'll be taller - all my muscles contracted under the inflammation and I am bowed over like a little old lady.
I'll see my regular doctor as soon as I'm back from Betty's memorial service in Melbourne and then we'll see if there are any consequences from this little episode. My suspicion is that I'll be subjected to more testing - 2 sets of blood tests from the hospital won't tell the whole story, I bet.
And that's the medical update, for those who need to know such things. I still want to tell everyone about the surreality of the hospital, but I can only do things in little blocks of time (even sleeping happens like that) so it will have to be later.
Warning - details ahead:
On Friday, my lower body was like something out of a story by John Wyndham - you know, the one where the future has no men and there are giant puffy women who are breeders. That size still comes and goes, though today I am more of a size 20 from the ribcage down (mostly) - my pre-emergency size was a 16, if that helps. When I swell up to the bigger self, it feels as if my skin is going to burst from the pressure. I want to take a pin to it and burst the balloon. I want to whiz about the room, buzzing with let pent-up air. Mostly, though, I want to not burst.
My mouth is always Sahara-dry when this happens.
The flesh in the swollen areas is hard and you can draw pictures in it. If you press hard enough and long enough, a deep impression can remain for about a half hour. One of the nurses and I discussed the possibility of skin art (I was so bored, being unable to read - at a couple of points I got very chatty).
One thing they were worried about in the hospital was that all of this might have been infection. They were especially worried about its affect on my heart and stuff. I wasn't told the ECG results and I *was* released, so the heart must be fine. I could see the BP results for myself and I was released after the specialist saw me (3 doctors not agreeing about how to treat meant I got to be turned over and poked by someone super senior - - and by 'poked' I mean literally, because the consistency of my flesh was one of the most interesting things about me to them - and here I thought my sparkling mind and wit gentle wit trumped all - it was rather amusing, but don't tell anyone I said that) and and the BP was down to within reasonably safe (but still a bit high) limits. I was warned about my pulse rate being too high, and that was all. (Today I realised that my gentle exercise regime really has paid off - I'm sure it was a factor in this.)
Anyhow, the four doctors disagreed on whether I was infected. No, that's not true, they knew the surface of my skin was infected but that was low grade infection and they weren't worried about it. I'm not worried about it either - it's a side effect of bad eczema and tea-tree oil is handling it beautifully on top of the IV antibiotic they gave me (I had 3 IV bags attached to a drip and got to see up close just how IV works - my machine was haunted by Mork and kept saying "nanu nanu" - I refused to talk back to it).
They finally decided that the problem was inflammatory and had been triggered by my allergies and that's when the condition was given a name and that's why I'm doped up on antihistamines. This is where the heart-thing comes in, I guess. Superficial inflammation looks super-impressive: inflammation round the heart can kill. And my father had no. #17 coronary bypass in Australia when he was my age, so there is a family history there. This could all have been so much worse than it was.
I'm doped out on those big antihistamines and on cortisone right now and it's working. It's not instant, but it's improving, bit by bit. I have fewer shudders and I keep telling myself that size 20 is really not so bad. It isn't, actually - my legs actually look like legs at this moment, rather than like something out of an SF short story. My upper body and arms are peeling erratically: the serpent-Gillian has forgotten how to shed skin.
The cortisone is giving me bad indigestion, which is an annoyance and nothing more. I can't do much at a time - I'm astonished at how much of an effort it is to type this or to talk on the phone: I think I'll order enough Chinese takeway to last me through the next 3-4 days, because roasting a chicken last night zapped me so entirely I couldn't move for 2 hours. Between the chook and the takeaway I will be eating properly, which is important. I also won't have to wash dishes, which is good, because I can't - my hands look like the surface of Mars rendered with a pink wash. I know I'm going to have to shower today and I know it's going to *hurt.* Thank goodness this is only for a few days!)
I can read again, which is the biggest thing. Yesterday and the day before I couldn't and life was so wrong. My book for today is Free Food for Millionaires, because it was the top book on my TBR pile. Now my eyes are working properly, I'm a bit less morose (I couldn't even concentrate on films - the Olympics were my highest intellectual attainment). I can deal with the side-effects of the meds with chocolate and it's odd to be planning food but not caring if I eat it or not. It's also odd that the lower half of my body has mysteriously become the size I would be if I weren't careful about my PCOS.
What's most odd of all is that (on doctor's orders ) I warn people regularly about the possible consequences of me having the acute allergies. I've lost friends over these warnings, since most people don't want to deal with them (and some don't want to believe that they're real). My family and I have always known that hospitalisation was possible, but, since I was a child, we developed a raft of techniques for me to deal so that I wouldn't need it. For a family with such a strong medical background, my parents were oddly frightened of sending their children to hospital. So this was a first. My first emergency visit to hospital for my allergies.
At the rate I'm improving, I'll be a mess for 2-4 more days and have just enough energy for teaching on Wednesday. I suspect I'll be slow etc for a week or 2, but I honestly don't know. I do know I'll be taller - all my muscles contracted under the inflammation and I am bowed over like a little old lady.
I'll see my regular doctor as soon as I'm back from Betty's memorial service in Melbourne and then we'll see if there are any consequences from this little episode. My suspicion is that I'll be subjected to more testing - 2 sets of blood tests from the hospital won't tell the whole story, I bet.
And that's the medical update, for those who need to know such things. I still want to tell everyone about the surreality of the hospital, but I can only do things in little blocks of time (even sleeping happens like that) so it will have to be later.