Welcome back to our Young & Infected: A Soap Opera series. Missed the first installment? Check out You Give Me Fever.
So at this point, the fever is real. I am so blown away by the number on the thermometer that I’m in a legitimate panic. It’s Friday, so I know if I’m admitted to the hospital tonight—there will be very little chance of me getting out in time for all the plans (meals) for R.j’s Birthday (which is on Sunday.)
The doctors directed the nurse to get blood samples from both my port and a peripheral vein to see which one was infected—if it was just a regular infection (maybe a sinus infection, etc.) or if this port was going to need immediate surgery to remove. Port removal surgery was also not in my plans because I’m going to a wedding in like four weeks and had no plans of recovering from another popped lung or touched nerve.
Some of the blood results came back pretty immediately saying that I had infection—but the ones from the port would need to be cultured which would take at least 24-48 hours.
“Well, we can’t let you out of here if you have an infection there,” the ER doctor said, letting me die a little inside.
They started me on IV Rocephin (a nuclear level antibiotic) and Tylenol to take down the fever. R.J came over straight after his shift and he and my mom went to the hospital’s cafe to get me a hamburger (cause like, as long as I’m dying of an infection, I’m going to eat a burger.)
And so it was with a mouthful of ground beef that the ER doctor told me the delightful news that he was letting me go. That my concierge doctor had assured him I was an “otherwise healthy, young person.”
Good god. Let me catch my breath.
He gave me oral antibiotics and instructions to take tylenol or motrin every four hours. So I’m out! R.J herds me into our apartment and helps me carry my stuff upstairs. Now that the fever has subsided I don’t actually feel that bad. Just bad that R.J wanted to go to a BBQ restaurant that night as his birthday kick-off and now he was eating cereal.
The next day, realizing how precious life is, I wrapped his presents, signed his cards, and made sure I had the right stuff to make his birthday cake. Do you know this about me? I’m big on birthdays. They’re a very sacred thing for me. I really like to put my all into birthdays when I can. I save for them. I put a lot of thought into them. Not that R.J could give a crap, he is not a big birthday person.
But it’s all about me, really. That’s why we’re here.
We ended up going to the BBQ place for lunch and taking a long walk around the plaza. I was feeling okay. The tylenol was doing it’s work with the fever and while I was a little more tired than usual, I thought the worst was over.
Sunday started with presents and ended with cake and me picking up pizza from our favorite place. It was a pretty chill weekend.
Which was good, because the next few days were going to suck. It was like having an active case of mono.
On Thursday the shaking started again. And I just crashed. Before I knew it my mom was towing me into the ER and covering me under 20 warm blankets in the waiting room. This time I knew better than to just get my antibiotics and go.
We asked the doctors if they’d gotten the results from the blood culture we took last weekend. They said they did—but couldn’t differentiate which vial came from my arm and which came from my port.
WHICH IS STUPID and IRRESPONSIBLE. Use labels. Dipshits.
I’m sorry. This got out of hand. See, you have to put yourself in the same boat. You’ve got an infection. We know this. It’s either in your blood just being a ~*whatever *~ infection—or, you have a ticking-time-bomb in your chest ready to shoot germs and shit into your HEART.
We’re not playing games here.
This ain’t no Connect Four.
This is a line directly to my heart.
Everybody get on board the competence boat. We are setting sail. No child left behind.
We had two doctors arguing on whether or not I needed to be admitted. One said it wasn’t all that necessary because I was already on antibiotics. Another said we should keep me here because we hadn’t gotten my culture results. Then the other said that there are germs in the hospital and it’s a dangerous place for me to hang out for blood results. And then the other suggested a private room.
I arrived at my private room at about I don’t know, I was practically delirious by this point and was accusing my nurse of having turned off the air conditioning.
Finally after a long day, turning the air down to 60, and getting all my meds I slept a cool three hours.
Not a bad turn out all things considered.
Stay tuned for the intense, dramatic part 3.
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