Its time to jump on my flying memory carpet. Lets fly through 2012, 2011 and arrive in April 2010.
I had been keeping my IBD under control with Azathioprine but I was still having trouble, things were far from perfect and my gastroenterologist wanted to up my medication to the next level and to be honest I can’t remember whether it was infliximab or cyclosporine that he wanted me to go on.
Either way I just knew that things did not look good and surgery seemed imminent. I wasn’t responding to medications, but I was glad that there was another option for me to try.
Unfortunately this option was taken away from me.
I was working, the busiest day of the week, Sunday for all you lucky people who do not work in hospitality, and yours truly passed out.
Middle of the pub, out cold. I came to, very confused and shakey and was sent to bed. At the time for those wondering I used to live about the pub, I didn’t just set up shop somewhere out back.
Stupidly, I went back to work in the evening, not because my boss asked me to, but because the pub was short staffed and struggling, it was Easter weekend and I wanted to help my team out.
I had never felt so rough in my life. I had a fever, was shaking but I got through the shift and even went to work the next day.
Thought I had never felt so rough on that day? The worst was yet to come. I took the next few days off and I had never been so poorly. My fever was unreal, I was wrapped up in bed and my partner at the time would get into bed and literally yelp at how hot I was.
Major giggles at the word partner by the way, society needs to come up with another word for your other half because partner sounds a little too conservative and boyfriend makes me sound about 14. Manfriend,sounds like I’m a a bit on the promiscuous side of life and lover just sounds a little bit to much like some weird erotic novel.
I seem to have gone on a bit of a tangent, anywho…
He begged me to go to the hospital but I refused, saying I would get over it.
It wasn’t until I worked another shift where I, mid shift, sat down and said to my colleague “I just can’t do this” that I thought enough is enough.
Finishing the shift I went to the hospital and believe or not was turned away. Not initially, we did the song of dance of blood tests and fluids but was sent home and told to rest.
But this, whatever it was, was not going away. This was the worst flare I had ever had in the whole 4 years that I had UC and I knew deep down I needed to be admitted into hospital. I was going to the toilet 15+ times a day, in fairness I can’t really remember because I was so sick. I had no appetite, was bleeding heavily and the fever was still raging.
I went back when things weren’t letting up and they admitted me for an over night stay.
Except the overnight stay turned into about two weeks.
Never a fun time, but I will save that for another post.
What’s the longest you have stayed in hospital? What were the events leading up to your surgery?
Would love to hear from you!