Where to start, where to start ...? 🤔
Let me see ....
Sunday, August 18th, 2024 was an average Sunday morning in our home. My sista-bestie wasn't feeling too well that morning as she'd gotten up with a backache. I, on the other hand, was a little bit achy from my rheumatoid arthritis which was flaring up a bit. So, our morning tarried a bit as we got ourselves together enough to make breakfast for my son [The Beasie] and ourselves. Soon we found ourselves on the road doing some normal Sunday shopping and running errands. The plan that day was to make Arroz con Pollo for Sunday dinner.
A few miscellaneous things happen that morning as well, but in general everything was fine. Pretty status quo.
At around midday, my sista-bestie tells me that her back is still acting up so she was going to lay down for a while. I was fine with that and so I sat down to read for a bit. Just a few minutes after I'd started reading I began to feel a burning ache in my lower right abdomen which led me to believe that maybe I was having pre-period cramps, as I get those often.
The pain slowly began to increase and spread. Now my right side through under my ribs was burning and aching, and the pain was (according to the number scale doctor's give you) at a number 7, maybe 8. Just a lot.
I took 4 Tylenol and hoped for the best as I wanted to make the Arroz con Pollo and have family dinner with my family.
The Tylenol helped ease the pain enough to where I could successfully make what I wanted to make. We sat, we ate, we looked at a bit of television, and then the pain came back.
Unsure of what was happening immediately I thought to myself that maybe I had appendicitis or something like that, as the symptoms mimicked those of appendicitis. At that time I told my sista-bestie that I was going to lay down, because the pain was bad. I hoped that it would pass. Surely enough, it did not.
Within an hour of having laid down, I was crawling to my sista-besite's room telling her that I needed to get to the hospital. The pain was absolutely a 10.
"Please, I need to get to the hospital!"
We called 911. An ambulance came to pick me up and they took me away. Here is when shit gets really sticky ....
When the ambulance arrives at the hospital, they rush me in on the gurney. I am only partially conscience of what is going on as I was writhing in pain. But I could hear ... I could absolutely hear. Like, everything.
When the first responder wheel me in, they give the nurse a synopsis of what is going on. She asks how my blood pressure is, they say "stable" so then she responds as follows, "Put her on a wheelchair and take her to the lobby to register. We can't take her now."
Now, the issue here is that my blood pressure was stable because I take a blood pressure medication every single day to help my Fibromuscular Dysplasia. Not because I have actual blood pressure issues. Also, I am very good at staying calm under pressure. The harder a situation, the calmer I become. I don't know why, it's just how I am built.
Nevertheless, the first responders pick me up — whilst I am sobbing from pain and even the slightest touch sent electric shocks running through my body — and put me on a wheelchair. They roll me into the waiting room where there are some people waiting. Truthfully, I had no clue how many people were there of what their conditions were. I was too out of it and in too much pain to even think about it.
I slightly remember having had a hospital bracelet band thing put on me. I cannot remember who did it or when.
There I waited, in excruciating pain, for about an hour before the triage nurse called my name. I know that in that time I probably blacked out at least 3 times. No one noticed. When she called my name I raised my hand, as I simply could not speak. I know I was shaking. She comes around and rolls me back to the triage office.
She asks me a series of questions to which I respond as best I can. The nurse was an asshole, to be honest. Her entire demeanor left a lot to be desired. She had that aura of those mean nurses that one sees in movies. So ... she takes my vitals and is like, "You're okay. I am going to take you back to the waiting room until we have space for you."
She wheels me back into the waiting room where I waited for approximately another hour and a half before being called in. Imagine being in a level 10 pain and having to wait all that time.
Finally I am taken back and placed on a bed that was in the hallway. They didn't even give me a room space. Just an open hallway where everyone and their momma was passing by and scrutinizing one's pain and situation.
A nurse — this one was actually very nice — comes to see me about 30 minutes later and asks me the same round of questions. I respond and she says, "Okay, the doctor will be with you shortly." Another seemingly interminable 30 minutes or so pass before a doctor actually comes to see me.
At this point, I have been in harrowing pain for at least 3 hours from the time it started to this very second.
The doctor commences to ask me the same round of questions I'd already answered 2 to 3 times. He examines me and touches my abdomen. I screech in pain. Mind you, I am not the type to scream when I am in pain. I actually internalize it, so if I am opening my mouth to scream ... well, that says something.
The doctor looks at me and says, "I am concerned that this might be something like appendicitis, or something to do with your ovaries. Probably a cyst that twisted them. I am going to give you pain meds, and a CT scan to see what it going on."
I nodded. Waited another perennial, indeterminable amount of time before the nurse came back with an IV and a series of injectable medication.
An IV was inserted into my arm and delineates what medications she was administering. As if I could understand any of it at this point. My brain was only saying, "Take it away! I can't take the pain any longer!"
I'd been given a mixture of Morphine, Tramadol, and something for nausea.
Once the medication had been administered, it rushed over me like a hot blanket, and suddenly the pain had somewhat subsided. Enough to be manageable. A level 3-ish.
Now, I was in Lala Land, so waiting the other perpetual several hours was okay and I was high and with less pain.
I cannot say for sure how much time had passed before someone finally came to perform the CT Scan, take my blood, and do a urinalysis.
Several hours later the doctor comes back and says, "You have a kidney stone. It's a good sized one. Looks like about 5-6mm. It might not pass on its own. You may have to have something done to help it pass. I'm going to give you more painkillers while you're here, and then send a script to your pharmacy for the same thing. I'm going to send you home. You'll have to call the urologist I list on your discharge papers to schedule a follow-up so that the doctor there can see what can be done for you."
After this is all explained to me the doctor proceeds to give me a laundry list of the only reasons I would be permitted to return to the ER.
- If the pain gets worse
- If I develop a fever
- If I start vomiting or get diarrhea
- If I lose consciousness
- If my blood pressure is too high or low
No other reasons. That seemed to put a stamp on the situation leaving me blindsided. Unable to do anything else, I acquiesced and did as I was told. It was about 2 or 3AM on Monday morning by this point.
The following morning I call the urologist to try to schedule an emergency room follow-up. At that point I am told that they don't have any available appointments until November. But, the best they could do would be to put me on stand-by so in case someone cancels they'll call me to come in.
Shocked, as I was still in the throes of everything, I agreed again. The way I'd been approached by this medical facility from the jump was like, "What we say is it, no exceptions."
Bare in mind that the hospital that I went to was so big that it actually has clinics inside of the hospital on upper levels. So the ER was on the first floor, but the Urologist was on the fourth floor. Same building, different floors.
I waited all day for a return phone call, as they'd promised. No such thing happened. Again the pain returned, this time 2-fold. By nightfall, I was experiencing things like:
- numbness in my feet
- the inability to feel my side — it was numb to the touch
- chills and cold sweats
- vomiting and nausea
- the shakes
- and, my God, the pain ... the freaking awful pain. Even with the meds having been taken.
I called the Urologist again and they said, "Oh it looks like you can come on Wednesday. They'll squeeze you in. Come in at 10:30."
When Wednesday turned around I was basically a zombie. I could hardly walk, talk, move or think. I know I was only a shell of myself. I was pale, and clammy, and cold all the time. Not to mention all the previously mentioned symptoms as well.
I had not returned to the ER beforehand because due to what I was told by the doctor upon discharge that Monday at 3AM, I was not sure if my symptoms were serious enough to return.
So ... My sista-bestie takes me to urologist (I couldn't drive) and they call me in fairly quickly. My sista-bestie was with me the whole time, and I think she may have been leading me through everything because I can't remember how I got from point A to point B. It was all a blur.
The actual urologist was not even there. I met with his PA. Okay, fine. It is what it is at this point, I thought to myself.
So, my sista-bestie is sitting next to me when the PA comes in. Immediately the PA looks concerned. I get asked a series of questions. I respond.
"How is the pain from 1-10?"
I think about it, "I don't know ... a 9, maybe ...?" I reply.
"Even with the pain medication?" she asks.
"Yes, even with the pain medication."
After delineating all of my additional symptoms she begins to tell me that I am going to need surgery as soon as possible, and that she doesn't like the way I am looking right now.
Option A was wait for my insurance to approve the surgery, which could take from 1-2 weeks.
Option B was to go back to the ER and see if I could get emergency surgery. But that wouldn't be until the end of the day on Wednesday, or late on Thursday morning. But, they could keep me monitored and comfortable (with pain meds) until such time as the surgery was completed.
I was never explained what type of surgery would be done. Just that I needed one ASAP.
I deliberated with my sista-bestie. It was a hard decision because there was many important factors to consider.
- My son
- My work
- Her work
- Some things going on in the home front
Within minutes I am rolled down to the ER in a wheelchair they had handy.
Again ....
I was rolled in, they made me wait about an hour and a half to be seen by triage, then another hour to be called back, and even more time to be addressed. However, in that time I learned several things.
- The doctor that read the results of my CT scan on Sunday gave me the wrong information. The kidney stone was not 5-6 mm, but rather 8.6mm. It. Was. Huge.
- The CT scan also showed that I have a bad heart valve and arrythmia.
- I should have never been sent back home in the first place.
- I should have been given some medication or interventional medication to begin to dissolve the stone, but I hadn't been.
- The patients that were present were running a muck. Some literally screaming in pain, others moaning, others agitated because they wanted to go home already ... so on and so forth.
- The nurses and doctors gossiping and talking shit about the patients every time the met up with each other in the nurses station.
- First responders rushing back and forth.
- So freaking much.
I did all the things and was continuously ignored. I was freezing cold, shaking, and just waiting.
Several hours passed before I was addressed again.
"Ms. Correa, we are going to have to monitor your heart because it seems to be acting funny. Also you are dehydrated, and your blood sugar is too low. It's at 53. We'll have to give you something to eat to bring it up."
"I can't eat anything. I throw up everything I put in my mouth."
"Then we'll inject you with some sugar water."
The sugar water did raise my blood sugar but it also gave me palpitations.
It was at 4-ish PM when I was told that I would be admitted into the hospital for emergency surgery. But that the surgery would more than likely be the next day. I was told that they were waiting for a room to become available so that I could be transported to it.
I got to the ER at 10:45-ish AM and was not "admitted" until 4PM.
It was also around 4PM that I was told what type of surgery they would be performing but not why. I was told that I needed a ureteral stent put in because the stone was simply too big, and I had a severe kidney infection and UTI, and my heart was not acting right. Thus, I was taken off of the Tramadol, kept on the morphine, and hooked up to a heart monitor, with an IV constantly pushing fluids and antibiotics into me.
I was constantly cold and asking for more and more blankets. I think I may have tipped the scale at 6 blankets by this point.
Yet and still, it took them approximately another 4 hours before I was actually admitted and eventually rolled upstairs to my room.
The rest of the night was a blur. I can't remember most of it. Mostly because when I was not hopped up on drugs, I was squirming in pain. It was just plain awful. The kind of awful that I would never want anyone to experience.
I agreed. I had no choice. I contacted my sista-bestie, my family, my son, my work friends and explained what was going on.
Meanwhile, back at home my sista-bestie was holding down the fort. She was absolutely amazing. She took care of my beastie, called my emergency contact, stood in touch with my job, held it down. I mean, just absolutely amazing!
I am so grateful for her.
It might have been around 10:30AM when I nurse came rushing into my room and said, "Guess what? The doctor just called up and said that he is taking you in right now! Let's get you ready to go. They are on their way up now to come and get you."
I was simultaneously relieved, nervous, scared, and transfixed.
The next several hours were like a foggy dream.
Then I woke up. When I woke up I was no longer in pain, but I was uncomfortable in my nether regions. I was not sick, but I was tired. And most of all, I really had to pee!
Now I am stuck in a place where I am going to have to hunt for some information and a peremptory note that will allow me to go back to work. But at the same time, go back for another surgery in a month's time to remove the stent and blast the stone.
I was not able to have the stone blasted with a lithotripsy (a non-invasive procedure that uses shock waves to break up hardened masses like kidney stones) because I'd developed so many complications.
During my second surgery they are going to remove the stent and then hopefully perform a lithotripsy.
Suffice it to say, the saga is not yet over. I have many more steps to go, but at least I am not in pain. Although, I am currently going through the discomforts of the aftermath of a surgery, I am doing much better now.
Although, I do feel quite traumatized by the way I as handled by the medical staff.
I apologize if there are any typos in this blog post ... it was so much to write that I am positive that there are mistakes somewhere.
Peace and Love,
Y. Correa
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