Potatoes and Codeine

Oh, how funny it is to look back at myself, wagging my finger like an overinflated Shirley Temple, chiding that decision to eat a Subway sandwich with mayonnaise, tsking over the hint of gallbladdery havoc that followed.

That was, what, 24 hours ago?

So, I woke up just before the alarm, pretty sure I was on a ghost ship with eleven black cats sitting on my chest. That's me getting fancy with describing chest pain and nausea. Clack-clack-clack goes the keyboard as it calls in for a sub and shoots off some lesson plans. (Plus a desperate email to a coworker asking if she would please clear my desk of all the tests and notes I left strewn there.)

By 6:45 a.m., I was feeling much better and very guilty all at once. Were the four ibuprofen working? Was it too late to cancel the sub?

By 7:15, I took it all back.

By 8:00, I was asleep, hoping the nausea would go away.

At 10:20, I was cutting a codeine pill in half.

By 11:30, the aches had subsided. Wow, that was... slow. Mike had spent all of his prep messaging me. After two-plus years of actually paying attention to things, we both have this theory that I seem to be more susceptible to gallbladderish "flareups" (either attacks or the edges of one, like this) right before my period, and Mike was sending me links that, if only he were a licensed physician, might be a start on some groundbreaking connection between gallbladder disease and endometriosis.

Unfortunately, I have no idea when my period is due. I no longer keep track of these things - that would be too much like remembering to moisturize. Last year I had a cute desk calendar, bought on sale at Cost Plus World Market - it's so adorable, so I did happen to notice a perfect (or "perfect") 42-day cycle, but now? Eh. It's probably been at least 42 days, so maybe this is just my little bonus shot to the travails of PMS.

NOPE, I AM NOT PREGNANT. Sorry, that's in caps because sometimes relatives read this site. Yes, my period is possibly overdue and I'm suddenly quite pukey, but I promise this gut-pouch contains nothing but the consequences of endless buffet. Don't go calling my Dad and freaking him out, k?

(And, isn't it interesting that Mike and I both come from parents who have never, not even jokingly, indicated that they'd like to see us produce a few grandchildren? I could choose to take that the wrong way, but I like to think it's because we come from wise stock. Me, I have mom jeans, not mommy genes. Some people just shouldn't reproduce, and I like to think/hope that this isn't necessarily an insult.)

By noon, I was back abed. Nausea, nausea, nausea... and exhaustion. I've been tired since Saturday, nauseated off and on, but this was real below-decks stuff.

At 2-something, Mike came home and peeped in. I waved with my eyes.

At 4-something, I decided to stop having a nightmare about MetaFilter and get up. In the dream, I had posted a bunch of test scores from my classes in order to make a point. Unfortunately, I'd left the names of the kids on the elaborate table I posted. And, as everyone knows, you can't edit your MF comments. I tried and tried to get a hold of an admin to remove it, but no luck. Now I was sure to lose my job, probably my whole career, all because I had to prove something to some troll in an internet forum.

Awake, I just laid there in the dim light of an autumnal afternoon trying to make its way past vertical blinds, aluminum foil, proper curtains, and the sheet I said we'd never put up because I didn't want our bedroom to look like a dorm room. (And somehow the light still gets in.)

Snorre is the only hamster who lives in the bedroom, and it was soothing to lie there listening to him putter about with his seeds. He's such an odd one. He hasn't bitten for many months now, but he still prefers working on his habitat-related projects to being nuddled and snarfled. (Just today Mike pointed out how he drinks by covering up the ball of the bottle with one paw while drinking out of the side. He's practically an engineer!)  I feel like he loves us, but he has a rich world that needs his ongoing expertise, and we're just the loyal staff taking care of the day-to-day stuff.

But now his happy little industry next to the bed was a balm to my uselessness. Maybe it was the drugs, but I was comforted by all of his busy scritchings.

After that it was up and down, with some water crackers around 4:30 that I've been regretting ever since.

At 6 p.m., I requested a sub for Thursday as well. I guess the codeine had worn off because some pain returned, but within the hour it wandered away. The nausea? Still here as I type. How can a person be nauseated and burping the kind of burps that make you briefly scan the room for a bucket, when all said person has had is crackers and water?

At 8 p.m. I took some Pepto pills. Well, I tried. One of them came back up. I hate pills.

At 11 p,m., Mike served up some lovely potato and chive soup. (It took that long to decide whether to try to eat.) He also made me a flat Sprite; I've never seen anyone do that before. (Basically, you beat it into submission with a whirling spoon.) My stomach reeled, but since it was already miserable, who cares? I hate being womity and hungry at the same time. Few things will make you feel fatter and even more like a loser than being ill at the thought of food yet terribly hungry.

Now it is 1 a.m. and I'm wondering how I'll get to the doctor's office later today. Today I felt too sick to go, but I'm iffy on taking two sick days from work without some proof of misery. Furthermore, what if I'm no better this time tomorrow? I could go out for Dramamine or copper bands or for a map to the nearest crossroads to make a pact with the devil, but then I might as well just drive the extra mile to the doc and use the insurance I'm lucky to have.

The only thing I dread is that it's all so complicated to explain. Yes, I have a history of similar issues that the last doctor said was gallbladder, but this time the pain was in my chest and a bit in my back - not quite the same as a proper attack (which is sudden, merciless, and also involves grinding hot pokers to the abdomen). What's with the tiredness and nausea? And what about Mike - he started feeling tired and "off" around the same time. (He took Tuesday off, actually. And his face has been tingling for days, but for now he's hoping that's the fallout from a deep nose pimple.) And where is my period? Because you just know they're not going to do anything without pregnancy screenings and so on. (I'd protest more, but I don't want Fate's sense of humour to kick in.) And how mad is the doc going to be when he finds out I took half of a codeine pill without asking someone first? True, it's the prescription he gave me for the pain I had when I had bad tonsillitis last year, but it was still an unsanctioned move.

And what if he looks in my mouth and sees what's going on with that one wisdom tooth? Another part of which must've fallen off in my sleep last week... wait, could all of this be caused by a piece of tooth in my tummy? IS IT TRYING TO CHEW ITS WAY BACK OUT?

This is the wrong time to be reading Jennifer Traig.

Comments

[Reese]

Starting to get worried here . . .

[Shari]

I'm okay! Sorry! I put an update in the sidebar the next day, but of course it is dark text and hard to see. Not trying to be a drama queen - yikes. I don't have the tiara and matching shoes for it.

(It *was* just a gallbladder flareup plus seasonal crud. Everyone around me has been zombiefied with exhaustion. I'm just an early adopter, I guess!)