Wow, y'all, this is for real. Sunday night, when the pain first started, I was pretty sure I had the abdominal infection again, but I believed that if I addressed it right away, I wouldn't go through the actual illness. What foolishness was that? I saw my doctor yesterday, and he gave me a couple antibiotics to take, but I was only able to get one set down last night. This morning I had to have a CT scan done, and wasn't allowed to have any more of them until it was over, so it was like throwing those first three pills down a well. I'm trying to catch up now, since I got home at noon, but I can't say the evil little bugs didn't have time to form a defense once they'd seen a preview of the meds I was planning on using against them. I have felt worse all day rather than better. I'm definitely sicker, with a slight fever and a complete inability to keep my eyes open. I just wish I knew what it was about Percocet that makes me so loopy that I wish I could just swing in a hammock for a couple days straight. It makes sitting still feel like being in a boat on an active but not choppy lake.
Getting the cat scan this morning was a couple layers of fresh hell I hadn't planned on. I objected to the flavoring they used in the typical contrast juice, so my only other option was barium sulfate in suspension. The tech forgot to bring me my second bottle of the vile concoction in good time, so she said they were just going to delay my scan by half an hour while I drank the other one. Oh, no, it's fine, sitting here in the waiting room, watching the same five stories on CNN, trying not to vomit barium on other patients, while my belly is trying to rip open. It is awesome. Let's do this all day. I didn't get enough of the nasty drink down by the time they finally brought me back, so they made me sit on a different bench, still drinking, occasionally pacing around to spread the solution past my stomach, for another half hour. Once I was just about done, they brought another woman back, and ran her scan, so I had to wait even more. My veins suck, so it took another ten minutes for them to find a good one and get an IV into the back of my hand, so they could gently push contrast, slowly enough not to blow the vein. All in all, I was inside the radiology clinic for just over four hours, and with travel time, this little jaunt took me five and a half hours. Just so my doc could call me and say, and I quote, "Guess what you have!" (Fearing my appendix could also be included, I said I had no idea.) "Diverticulitis!" (This particular doc seems to have a pretty goofy sense of humor, which appeals to me.) I suppose the comfort to be taken from this is that I was right and I recognized the signs very early. I warned the man that this is a powerful argument on my case that we should not choose a site way out in the boonies for our forever house, more than a twenty minute drive from a hospital, but he seems to have completely ignored that part of our chat. I'll keep reminding him as necessary.
I don't see much reason to stay awake any longer tonight, except possibly to put a little more time in between today's antibiotics doses. Every time I wake, I find a cat sleeping on the pillow I clutch to my abdomen when I feel like this. I'm smarter than I look, as I explained to a certain needy white cat as she strolled across my midsection. I know there's nothing a cat likes more than to step on an injured human. The padding makes it possible to rest. If I can stay awake just long enough to hit the "publish" button tonight, I will call it a successful day.
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