back in the saddle

ok, since i know that all of you have been absolutely chomping at the bit, checking my blog as many as one, sometimes even two times a week, here's the quick-and-dirty story you've been waiting to hear: Why I Haven't Blogged Since Wednesday.

so wednesday night during the project runway finale (a sidenote: chloe!? did you SEE HER COLLECTION? it was like prom dresses from oklahoma in 1987. shrugs. shiny upholstery material. sure, santino's and daniel v's were uninspired. but at least they weren't ugly.) my stomach started to hurt. it was kind of bad, but still not as bad as anything i went through in fall of 04, re: writhing in pain during thanksgiving dinner at amanda's house. so i take some hyoscyamine, the drug i was given for times of stomach pain crisis. it does nothing. i go to bed, convinced that it'll go away. i lay there. and then i lay there some more. and as i'm laying there i'm watching the clock. and noticing that it's like four o'clock in the morning and i still haven't gone to sleep. and the pain's getting worse. i start throwing up (sorry to get all graphic, but ya know what? crohn's ain't pretty.) at 4:30, which is disconcerting because the last time i started puking like that was when i went to the hospital. phong starts suggesting that we go to the ER (yes, i'm a homosexual and i had a man in my bed.) at 6:30 and i finally agree, barely able to stand, at 7:15.

so we get to the ER, i'm mysteriously, incredibly, triaged right away, and by 10am i'm being pumped full of some incredible pain killers. and i mean incredible. this doctor comes in a little later, this asshole ER doctor with the bedside manner of eva braun, and informs me--just like this--"that i have a blockage related to crohn's and that they're going to have a surgeon come talk to me and that they're very sorry but they're going to have to move me out into the hallway because they need my room." for those of you who don't know, crohn's causes all this inflammation and scarring in your intestine. when you have a blockage--gross--it means that no poop can get through because you're so inflamed. which means that they have to cut out a part of your gut and then sew it back together. which means weeks of painful recovery akin to gastric bypass surgery. oh, and they're going to need me to get out of the room because they need it.

thankfully, i saw four people from the GI team at hopkins and the attending told me that probably, in point of fact, steroids could make the inflammation go down and i wouldn't need surgery. lucky for me, by friday morning it was clear that i wasn't going to need surgery--this time, at least--and that i'd be able to go home fairly soon. and here in the black hole life-sucking vortex that is johns hopkins hospital, "fairly soon" means in another day and a half.

so, a little list, of which i'm so fond:

doses of prednisone taken: 13
doses of righteous almighty painkiller taken: 3
times vomited: 5
magazines read: 5
books read: 1
hours of TLC watched: at least 13, including 2 episodes of "wacky wild weddings"
crazy old black man hospital roommates: 3
crazy old black man hospital roommates with really comical gas: 1
IV sticks: 3
number of 4am phlebotomy blood-draw visits: 3
number of 5am vital signs visits: 3
number of GI fellows, all of which reminded me of the incompetents on grey's anatomy: 4
number of prescription painkillers with which i was sent home: ZERO. assholes.

so i'm better. my gut still feels kinda funny and the prednisone is making me feel a little bit like a robot. and every time i take it i think, "go down, little gut. stop swelling." the doctor told me that 70% of people that have to have prednisone have to have it again within a year, or have a surgery. he kept going "so you can see it as three-fourths full or three-fourths empty. er, i mean 70% empty, er, i mean full." he just couldn't figure out the math.

hmm, maybe that wasn't so quick-and-dirty. but i had to get it off my chest.