Tummy Troubles - Part 1
It was a Monday morning in September 2006. I worked part-time while also on dialysis, so most of my days were either consumed by work, dialysis, or rest.
I didn’t wake up to the sound of my alarm that day; I woke up much earlier. In fact, I had woken up several times overnight. My stomach was hurting, and the pain had woken me up several times. I’ve had stomach aches before, but this one was different.
Having dealt with systemic lupus erythematous for almost exactly 10 years at that point, my body had become accustomed to varying levels of pain. However, what I felt was a higher-than-average pain tolerance meant nothing this time. I was in the worst pain I’ve ever been in. I called in sick and remained in bed.
The Lead Up
I was living at home at the time, so I had the benefit of having both my mom and dad around to take care of me. My mom brought me breakfast and dinner faithfully. My dad used his work lunch breaks to bring lunch for me. Unfortunately, my appetite was non-existent. Getting weaker and sicker by the minute, I attempted to eat small bites of food. Unfortunately, I would immediately throw up afterwards.
Tuesday morning was dialysis day, so my dad drove me to dialysis as usual. As soon as I sat at my assigned station, I told my dialysis nurse that I needed to see the doctor. I was sick, in pain, and barely able to function.
About an hour or so later, the doctor came and began doing his rounds to every occupied dialysis station. I sat patiently in my reclined dialysis chair awaiting my turn.
When it was my turn to see the doctor, I explained the pain that I had been in since the day before. He assessed me, asked questions, then made his recommendation-once my dialysis run was complete, I was to head to the emergency room immediately. I called my dad and told him what the doctor said. My dad said he would be there to take me.
Once disconnected from the dialysis machine, my dad wheeled me to the emergency room to check-in. It didn’t take long to register and go through the triage pre-checks, however, the emergency room had a steady flow of people coming in, bordering "busy". There were no less than 20 people in there at any given time. Still, believing that I would be seen promptly based on my current state, I sat in a chair and waited with my dad beside me.
Emergency Room Number 1
Seconds became minutes, and minutes became hours. My dad went to triage several times to ask when I would be called in, but the nurse simply stated that it was busy, there were people ahead of me, and I would be called in when it was my turn.
I watched people enter the emergency room, check-in, and get called in, all while I continued writhing in pain in my chair. At one point, my dad grabbed me a hospital blanket and laid it on the floor in a quiet corner so that I could lie down.
I finished dialysis at around noon, and we headed straight to emergency. It was now nearing 6 pm, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I begged my dad to take me home. I was sick, and uncomfortable, and despite my dad’s many follow-ups, it didn’t seem like I was any closer to getting called in than I was when I first arrived. All the while, I continued watching people enter the emergency room, get called in, and even leave after receiving whatever treatment. My dad drove us home, and I went straight to bed.
The following day, things got much worse.
My Rheumy My Saviour
I woke up that morning feeling worse than ever. My mom brought me some ginger ale and told me to try taking a few small sips, which I did. Not too long after, I threw up. But this time, what I saw in the bucket I just vomited into startled me. My vomit was thick and pitch black.
My dad recalled a time in the past when my rheumatologist gave me his pager number so that I could follow up with him concerning a different matter a year or so prior. While I hated to page my doctor, I didn't feel like I had a choice. I was in immense pain, and my attempt to be seen in the emergency room was a failure. I called my doctor’s pager, punched in my cell number as the callback number, and waited.
20 minutes later, I got a call from an “unknown number”. I knew it was him, as calls from the hospital often showed up as unknown. I answered the phone and heard “Hello, this is Dr. Fortin returning your page.” I told him it was me and explained my situation, including the fact that I had gone to emergency, but left after several hours. Dr. Fortin told me to come to his hospital, and he would be there waiting for me.
Not Just Another Bump in the Road
My dad called a close friend to pick us up and drive us to Dr. Fortin’s hospital. Although it was a different hospital, it was still part of the same hospital network as the hospital I went to the day prior.
When my dad’s friend arrived, my dad slowly loaded me and a bucket into the van, and we headed to the hospital.
Seeing the state that I was in, my dad’s friend attempted to drive as safely, but quickly as possible. As is the case with many cities, my city has a bit of a pothole problem. As we headed to our destination, we were, not surprisingly, met with a few potholes. Each pothole sent a surge of pain through my stomach that made me wince in agony. My dad’s friend slowed down and attempted to drive more thoughtfully, but we still met a few additional potholes, and my God, did it ever hurt.
Worried and Waiting/Emergency Room 2
When we finally arrived at the hospital, I looked up at the doors and saw the most glorious thing that I had ever seen. My rheumatologist, Dr. Fortin, standing outside of the ER doors with a wheelchair, anxiously looking at every vehicle that drove by, unsure of which one I would be in. I could have cried when I saw him. He was outside, with a wheelchair, not knowing when, exactly, I would arrive. But he was there, and he was waiting.
My dad hopped out of the van, and Dr. Fortin saw him and quickly scooted over before my dad even had the opportunity to waive him down. Both my dad and Dr. Fortin carefully moved me from the van into the wheelchair, and Dr. Fortin wheeled me into the ER. “I’ll be right back,” he said. I saw him head into the area behind closed doors where patients go after being called in. He returned about 5 minutes later and sat beside me. All the while, my dad had started the check-in triage process.
I spoke to Dr. Fortin for a few minutes, and he assured me that I would be seen soon. He said he had to go, but he would check up on me.
Finally
Sure enough, approximately 15 minutes later, I was called in. My nurse promptly inserted an IV into my hand. Getting an IV isn’t a comfortable experience whatsoever, however at that moment, I welcomed the distraction from the stomach pain that I was in.
While waiting for the ER doctor, I threw up into my kidney basin. Once again, it was thick, and it was pitch black.
Time for Contrast
When the ER doctor arrived, he asked me all of the standard questions that I had already been asked several times that day. I answered all of his questions without protest. After examining me, he advised that he wanted me to do a CT Scan. In order to do that, I would need to drink a massive cup of contrast.
While I was eager to get to the bottom of this unthinkable stomach pain, there was a problem. At that point, I could barely keep down a sip of water, much less a gigantic cup of contrast. Nonetheless, I was determined. The doctor empathized and asked that I do my best, which is exactly what I did.
I drank, and I vomited, and I drank, and I vomited some more. After what seemed like an eternity, a hospital porter pulled back my room curtain, introduced himself, and took me off to the radiology area to do the CT Scan.
After the scan, I was wheeled back to my corner within the ER, feeling slightly better as the pain medication made its way through my entire body, but also concerned that I hadn't consumed enough of the contrast to get meaningful test results for the CT Scan. My father sat and waited faithfully in that curtain-walled room for me to return.
Diagnosis Negative
About 30 minutes later, a different doctor than the one we had originally been speaking to pulled back the curtain moments after saying “hello” in order to make his presence known.
After introducing himself, the doctor looked at the papers in his hands, as if to somehow suggest he didn’t already know the results of my CT Scan and he needed a few seconds to read it.
“Well, Florence, I was just reviewing the results of your CT Scan. It doesn’t look good…
Look out for the continuation blog post - Tummy Troubles - Part 2 soon!