So here I am on a Wednesday, hair looking a little Robert Smith-ish, slightly tired. Once again wearing my beloved black Vans t-shirt, even though it has holes in the armpits and probably qualifies more as charcoal grey than black.
I was off work today, Kid was in school, Hubs at his office. I had a lazy morning (kind of -- it's not really lazy if you're cleaning bathrooms and washing sheets) and then headed to my doctor's office. (In case you're not familiar with my medical saga, I've been having problems with my belly since my C-section in 2008. I had a hernia, had the hernia repaired, had my gall bladder out, and had to have the hernia repair fixed. It's been a giant pain in the you-know-what. And of course, just when I think it's done, something else happens. What happened this time? Mysterious, excruciating abdominal pain paired with yet another lump in the area of the hernia.) Anyway, I finally saw my surgeon today. I explained what was going on, and he did a quick ultrasound that revealed a big pocket of fluid where my hernia used to be. One giant needle later, he'd drained about four ounces out of it, and told me I should be fine. He said the pain was probably being caused by all the pressure of that accumulated fluid.
Well, I'm not fine, of course. I'm home and in worse pain than I was before he drained the stupid thing, and it's already filling back up. Lumpy's Revenge. Now I have to go see a radiologist and have a drain installed (that just sounds wrong!) in my belly. The hope is that if the fluid can drain continuously, the pocket where the hernia used to live will close up and that will be the end. In the meantime, I've been given a prescription for pain meds. That's awesome, except that when I have to come OFF the pain meds, I'll go through that ridiculous sugar binge cycle I run into every time I take opiates or oxycodones or whatever they are. *sigh*
I'm trying really, really hard not to sit here and wallow in self-pity. I mean it. I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me or stroke me or hold my hand (although delivery of Thai food, Vogue, and a gin & tonic would be lovely). I just want this to be over and done with already. I've wasted so much time dealing with medical problems. I know I'm supposed to learn something from all of it, that there's a greater plan, that it's all happening for a reason, but right now I just want to stomp my foot and shake my fist at the sky and yell, "ENOUGH ALREADY!"
At least now I can stop speculating about what's going on in my abdomen. I wouldn't call myself a hypochondriac, but I do tend to imagine the worst when it comes to any sort of medical problems. Smith loves to give me a hard time about this:
Me: "My belly hurts. I think I have pancreatitis."
Smith: "You don't have pancreatitis. You need to stop looking at WebMD and go take a poop."
Poop. If only it were that simple!
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