EMERGENCY

I ended up in the emergency room of Highline Hospital a few nights ago. I’d been living with an increasing pain on the left side of my lower back for the better part of a week, but had assumed it was a pulled muscle so just went about my business as usual.

I live with a certain amount of pain on a daily basis and this time of year my fibromyalgia acts up anyway. Chronic pain ends up being something to manage, not something to get rid of, so I just endure it with the help of OTC ibuprophen. I have heavy-duty prescription medication available but I don’t enjoy just sitting around happily drooling.

So I hurt a lot, but not being over-medicated means I can write, and drive myself to swimming. Both things are important to me. I’m not used to living with acute pain.

The night before I went to the emergency room had been hell even with Vicodin, so not wanting to go through another night like that, I had to decide what to do. And, smart as I think I am, I couldn’t figure out what to do. I was in too much pain to drive myself anywhere, but it didn’t feel like it was a genuine 911 emergency.

When my children were little and I was busy writing I used to tell them not to bother me unless it was a breathing or bleeding emergency. I did not have that serious an emergency so after a few tears of self-pity I got on the phone.

I ended up having to get permission from two consulting nurses to allow myself to think about calling one of my kids to take me to the hospital emergency room. Not easy to do. I like to think of myself as being capable and independent. I don’t know how to be sick. The last time I went to the emergency room was ten years ago.

Michael came and drove me to the hospital. It took an hour to get some relief from the pain, then came a series of hurry-up-and–wait tests. I sent Michael home. He is dealing with another flare-up of his Crohn’s disease. Two hours later I got the diagnosis of acute pylonephritis (bad kidney infection) for myself. I was relieved to know what the problem was and that it wasn’t something more serious or mysterious.

Deborah came to take me home. By the time she got there I was feeling no pain (temporarily). The next day I felt okay enough to drive to the pharmacy, but was pretty shaky by the time I had to wait for a half hour and was ready to pay for the prescriptions. In retrospect I obviously was less capable than I thought because I could not remember my credit card pin number.

Fortunately my fingers finally remembered on my third try. Good old muscle memory! I came right home, took my medications (antibiotic and Vicodin) and went to bed where I belonged.

P. S. I’m getting better every day. Thanks for asking.