leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trip to the ER There was great excitement this week. Okay. Perhaps not. It was probably much more like a minor medical thing that became way more dramatic than it probably was. And it certainly, in the moment, felt very dramatic. But at the same time very silly, so that it was surreal to say the least. And I must beg the forgiveness of any of you who once (for whatever strange reason) thought me the least bit interesting, or witty, or observant...because I do know how this has deteriorated into sad little periodic entries about my attempts to not lose any major organs while vomiting profusely (oh and having to live with a boy, and the unimaginable sock smells that has entailed). But I ask your forgiveness, because once again this involves throwing up. I managed to land myself in the ER after discovering that nothing that went down stayed down. Not one little sip of water. In fact those one little sips would result in five minutes of vomiting far more liquid than had gone down (from goodness knows where), and another five minutes of futilely heaving muscles. Twelve hours of this resulted in a reluctant trip to the *blech* hospital. If it had just been me, I would have gladly died at home; a sad, shriveled little dried apricot of a girl. But when you are four months pregnant, and the baby is still more you than not you, and you keep envisioning it shaking it's little life line wondering what the hell is going on up there and couldn't it please lady just get some gatorade, you suck it up and go to the ER no matter how much you hate them. So a night in the hospital, and some iv fluids and powerful drugs, and two days of bed rest later...and we're alive and well. One of us still highly medicated and the other doing summersaults and happily showing off her (*shhh* don't tell - but i think it's a girl) heartbeat and swimming skills every time I sneak back to the clinic and borrow the doppler. And he was good, and kind, and useful - standing in front of me, holding back my hair, emptying emesis basins, carrying me up the stairs, and somehow still calling me beautiful while I was trying not to splash his clothes with all manner of foul liquids. I mentioned it later and he said he liked to think I'd do the same for him. I swore I would. But I haven't told him yet that hearing someone throw up, usually makes me throw up too. *Shhh. Don't tell.* I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Love y'all. 1:39 p.m. - March 11, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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