Today I passed out in my GP’s office. I’d been up all night pooping and threw up a couple times this morning, so I was pretty dehydrated. I think I freaked my doctor out a little.
I was just there to get refills on my asthma meds–that’s been under control ever since I switched to a doctor who would actually treat my asthma instead of telling me it was just anxiety. Funny how that works, huh? He asked how everything else was going, and I told him the UC had flared up since my gastroenterologist tried to take me off steroids. I told him the patient depression questionnaire they use was skewed against people with UC. Trouble falling or staying asleep? UC. Feeling tired or lacking energy? UC. Poor appetite and weight loss? UC, dammit.
He refilled the prescriptions for my inhalers, listened to my chest and belly. My heart rate was high, but my heart rate is always high. I’ve never gotten a good explanation of why that is–I’m routinely in the 90’s resting. It gets even worse if they do orthostatics–I’ll shoot up to 130 or 140 then, even if my blood pressure doesn’t drop. He said he’d want to keep an eye on my pulses, but he declared me, you know, more or less okay and told me to schedule a follow-up in 6 months. So I got up to go, and then…not so much with the get up and go.
So I got another fun ER trip. This time I didn’t bother asking for pain meds, so at least I didn’t get lectured about how I shouldn’t use the ER for pain management. I just got two bags of IV fluids this time. I actually had a really nice nurse today, and she felt bad there wasn’t more they could do for me. She commiserated with me about how much it sucks when you’re wicked sick but can’t get an appointment with your gastroenterologist until June. When I told her the doctor asked if I’d tried Immodium, she shook her head in disbelief. Then she asked me how long ago I was diagnosed with UC, and I realized it was exactly a year ago today.
So for my UCversary, I got another ER trip. I think it’s my third this year, not counting the one that led to the admission where I was diagnosed. It could be the fourth. I can’t even keep track anymore. I’m on a first-name basis with the staff at my gastroenterologist’s office and the pharmacists at my local CVS. I’ve learned about how to get poop stains out of mattresses and act like I didn’t just crap my pants at work. I’ve learned what ten foods I can buy at the grocery store that won’t make me sicker. I’ve made an unbelievable number of bad poop puns. But I’m still here, alive and kicking. I guess that’s something.