Sunday, May 2, 2010
Tuesday morning I woke up and I felt like I had pulled a muscle in my upper thigh. It was very sore to walk and just generally ached all the way down to my knee. I thought it was a little odd because I hadn’t done any running for several days, but I figured, “Ehh, oh well,” and went on with the day. But by evening, it was still as achy as it had been that morning and I decided to take a little Ibuprofen and head to bed.
In the morning, the pain was still the same, and my brain settled into an area it knows best; over analysis and extreme paranoia. I grabbed some coffee and went downstairs to the computer to start Googling. One of the first things that popped up, besides the obvious pulled muscle, was a blood clot. That was all I needed and I was convinced that I had a blood clot and that it was only a matter of time. I should probably get my affairs in order.
The rest of the day, I still kept taking Ibuprofen hoping that there would be some change that would indicate that I wasn’t facing sure demise, but things remained the same. When it was time for bed, I was a mess. I was so sure that I not only had a blood clot, but that it was also going to break loose in the middle of the night and that I would never see the light of day again, that I considered going to the kids rooms to see them one last time. Insane, right?
The next morning, after I thanked the Lord for letting me make it through the night, I called my doctor and got an appointment. I felt really stupid for the whole thing, but I could not turn my brain off and I had to know that everything was fine. My doctor assured me that I was not stupid, though I’m pretty sure that she didn’t rule out insane, and that there was no harm in being sure that everything was fine, so she sent me downstairs for an x-ray and an ultrasound.
I went to take care of the x-ray first, but when it was done, I still had an hour to wait for the ultrasound, so I found the cafeteria to get some pretzels and a drink. I paid for my stuff and headed back upstairs to call Mike and give him the update, and on my way, I opened my pop and took a drink; a big drink. Blah! This pop is completely flat. Oh my God, I don’t remember hearing it fizz when I opened it! Someone tampered with my drink!!! Dear God in Heaven, someone tampered with my drink. If the blood clot doesn’t get me, then whatever is up with this pop surely will. I am a total goner! What are the odds that a complete hypochondriac freak like me, who is only in the hospital to prove that I am indeed not dying, gets the ONE bottle of pop in the whole cafeteria that doesn’t fizz when it opens? This kind of crap happens to me all of the time and has most likely contributed to my paranoia.
When a few moments had past and I hadn’t started convulsing or foaming at the mouth, I decided that I was fine and went to the ultrasound. The woman that performed the test just so happened to be my parent’s next door neighbor which was perfect because that was exactly what I needed; more witnesses to the fact that I am completely bat shit insane. Great! She was very pleasant and did what she had to do and when she was done she declared that I definitely did NOT have a blood clot. Thank you Jesus! But then she said, “I am just going to call your doctor with the results.” “Why did you say it like that,” I thought? So she leaves and closes the door and a few moments later I heard over the intercom, “Doctor, So-and-So is returning a page.” Doctor So-and-So is MY doctor. Why is she being paged? Holy crap, it’s worse than a blood clot. What’s worse than a blood clot? Man, if only I could Google right now!
Then, while I was sweating and scribbling a last will and testament on the butcher paper that I was sitting on, my parents neighbor, AKA the woman who performed my test, walked back into my room, took the phone off of the wall and said, “Here, she wants to talk to you.”
I almost passed out.
Shaking, I reached out and took the phone, gulped, and said, “Hello.” Dr. So-and-So proceeded to inform me that my ultrasound was clear, no clots, and that the x-ray was fine. The only thing that she saw was that I do have some arthritis in my right knee. I still have to do some Google research, but I am fairly confident that no one has ever died from arthritis. She reassured me that I was fine, to just rest the leg, continue taking the Ibuprofen, and everything should be OK.
I floated out of the hospital high on life and the fact that mine was still intact…for now.
Posted by Amy at 11:43 AM