Spigelian Hernia, Anyone?

Come join me again on my fucking hell voyage to Surgery Land again. One would think that I would have already been cut enough times to last a FUCKING LIFETIME. Alas, according to my surgeon, my torso "is swiss cheese" and every time he cuts or attempts to repair something I "bleed." Great. So platelets are in my future as well.

I went to my doc on Thursday because I've been in incredi-pain. For a while now I've felt what can only be described as "stingers" in my right side. I figured I was straining against the mesh that was nailed into my abdominal wall during my last surgery. The machine they use to attach the mesh that was used for my surgery is a Pro-tacker. I read my surgical notes and can clearly remember shuddering because I envisioned something akin to a fucking nail gun inside my belly. My surgeon told me I should feel as though someone had stabbed me repeatedly. I told him he was right on the mark and that I would be happy to be his spokesperson who would be honest with future patients and would explain that the surgery would "hurt like a fucker" rather than the whole "you'll experience some discomfort and pain" line that clearly doesn't do the pain factor justice.

So. My doc spoke with me on Thursday. Before palpating on my abdomen, she said, "I'm going to schedule a CT scan for you in the morning." My response, "You have GOT to be fucking kidding me here. The last time you sent me for one, they cut me. And now it's the THIRD DAY OF FUCKING SCHOOL."

She changed her tune after pushing and prodding. She became very calm- almost serene. I looked at her and said, "Fuck me. You're sending me to the ER, aren't you?" Yup. Of course.

She didn't think I would go and kept badgering my ass.
I told her she would have to give me an hour or so to find my husband and get my kid.
She told me I had to pack a bag because she couldn't guarantee that I'd be sent home.
Whatever.

I had my scan.
Bloodwork
Questions, questions, questions.
All the while, the pain increased.

I will be honest with YOU people.
The pain I've been in has been excrucitating.
Wednesday night I took 500mg of Hydrocodone. That shit touched NONE of the pain. THAT is why I made an appointment on Thursday morning.

I was the hit of the surgical team - two peeps came to see me. One of them was handsome yet smug. The other? Overeager and ready to dig her hands into my stomach.

Handsome boy asked me what I thought it was and followed up with, "I KNOW what it is." Then just fucking tell me, asshole. I'm not on some game show here. And I want to go HOME.

Overeager girl was so excited because she'd never seen this type of hernia. It's evidently quite rare. Whatever. I want to be the middle of the road hernia girl. This is one I'd prefer to not have. It's rare and much more painful than the run-of-the-mill ones.

Handsome boy wanted to "reduce it" back into the hole after explaining what it was. Yeah. Hello? That took 100 micrograms of fentanyl on top of I have no idea how much morphine they'd already shot into my arm. Overeager one was so excited to feel the belly and push, push. push. I wanted to push my knee into her face. Handsome boy, while smug, was informative and a nice piece of Latin eye candy. He could have stayed all night. Boss Lady was there with me so that my Pack Mule could be home with Butter. She had a great view of his ass. Had she been wise enough to take a picture, I would have posted it here.

Here's some linkage in case you want to know what this shit is. I can't take the time to fully explain this particular type of hernia that sounds like spaghetti but is so NOT the case.

So. More stories will be forthcoming regarding my evening in the ER. It topped almost any Jerry Springer fest I've ever seen. At least I got some good bloggy material out of this.

The good news is that it's not appendicitis or an ectopic pregnancy, which are two of the possibilities the docs were looking at. The bad news is that I'm heading BACK INTO THE FUCKING OR sooner rather than later. I have an appointment with a guy in my surgical group on Tuesday morning and will know more then.

I was planning on going to work on Monday but was told by Boss Lady that I wasn't allowed back. Huh? Did I miss being banned at work? Evidently so. She said Handsome and another ER doctor said I shouldn't return until I was seen by my surgeon. Hello? I must have missed that on all of the drugs pumped into my system.

This is also probably due to the fact that I had a severe panic attack after the "reduction" completed by Handsome.

I didn't say a word but got really antsy, wanting to get out of bed, change positions, etc. I didn't want to admit that I felt like I was having a heart attack. It wrapped around my shoulder and upper back. I honest to God could NOT breathe. I calmly asked Boss Lady to get my nurse and was quickly hooked up to O2, a heart monitor, and then, an EKG. The entire experience was fucking humiliating. I do not EVER lose my shit.

I'm hear to tell the tale: I lost my shit in the ER.

They shot Ativan into my IV. I felt NO effect whatsoever. What the hell?

Yeah. So the morphine and fentanyl also restricted my ability to breathe well, but I'm readily admitting that the complete loss of control over a situation involving my health caused me to spiral into panic mode. Christ. I hate this shit.

More later.
Think good thoughts.
Please.