Thankful I Suppose

I'm feeling really sorry for myself. I'm doped up on pain killers, watching my stomach turn nine shades of purple and fighting on and off bouts of nausea and headaches. Not how I expected to spend my weekend, or Monday for that matter I suppose. Especially not two weeks before my wedding. And I stink.

But it could be worse. I almost died Friday. During this interval of lucidity I'll attempt to tell you why. I warn you, this isn't pretty because it wasn't. And some may ask why I choose to write about it. Well, for one, I certainly don't want to talk about it, and two writing always makes me feel better. Like I can put it past me once it's on paper.

I didn't feel well. I left the office around noon, and worked from home. I did a little yoga around six and felt better, so we went to dinner. Around 11pm I felt a demon invade my lower abdomen and try to pull every organ out through my belly button. I fell asleep, or maybe passed out, due to the severity of the pain. I woke up an hour later, a disgusting human being discharging from all orafices who passed out before I reached the bathroom which means all over myself. I was half conscious, in delirious pain and completely unaware of what was happening to me. At this point, I'm thinking food poisoning or abdominal obstruction. Four hours later, when I couldn't walk or turn to either side, it was time to find out. In retrospect, the scariest the night of my life.

I arrived at the hospital with a pain rating of 10. Appendicitis, this was the initial diagnosis. Two hours later after numerous blood tests and a CAT scan, it was determined I was bleeding internally - heavily - from what they thought was a burst ovarian cyst. Seems there was too much blood to determine for certain (all in all, 500 ML, go ahead, measure it). Within an hour I was in surgery. I spent the rest of my day on morphine, and don't recall much other than being woken up every hour for vitals. And that smell, of blood and iodine.

It was in fact a burst cyst, one I didn't even know I had. I was told that had I waited any longer or had the blood been flowing any faster I would have decomposed. No one ever wants to hear the word "decomposed" in reference to oneself, especially while laying in a hospital bed. So I guess you could say I got lucky. And then there was the question of how this affects my ability to have children. Once I understood I wasn't dying, it was all that mattered. I'm told it won't, as both ovaries are healthy and everything else looked great, except for that giant bleeding cyst. I don't know how much I believe this, but I guess time will tell.

And that's where I am. Struggling with the idea that the only reason I'm not dead is because I got lucky. Wondering how I'm going to walk down an aisle in two weeks for a wedding I've been waiting on for eight years. How all the work at the office I strategically planned to do between now and next Wednesday will get done. Hoping that children are still in my future. Fearful that the bruising and headaches I'm having aren't normal and that clots have formed in my brain. I'm a hot fucking mess who can't decide whether crying or laughing is appropriate but damn sure that both really hurt right about now.

Then I go back to the fact that I'm alive. And I guess that's all that matters. But I'm having a hard time seeing that way. I would have expected that coming out on top of a life threatening incident would make me thankful. But I'm just sad, angry and scared. I'm not even enjoying the painkillers. I mean seriously.

My soon to be husband is a bright spot in all this. If I ever doubted he loved me, I certainly don't now. He's been so supportive and positive, and there for me every minute I've needed him. I'm sure he's freaking out as his bride just fell apart two weeks before his wedding, but he's not letting it show. Instead, he's encouraging me, calming me, and even told me I look good, all things considered. He's a wonderful little liar who I love with all my heart.

That's my story. Not that you asked for it. But it does make me feel just a tiny bit better having put these very real feelings on paper. Here's to healing soon, and finding myself again.