Warning: The next few posts might gross you out. Just saying.
That next week I tried to maintain my
normal schedule—still going to classes (I was afraid I’d get behind), spending
time with friends, and studying for a test that I had on Thursday of that week
in my New Testament class. I actually
collected the stool samples in a plastic bowl from our kitchen and nearly
threw up every time. I mean
seriously. What 19-year-old wants to do
that? Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Then, I had to get the poop (I use that term
relatively because it sure did not resemble normal poop) in to the tiny little
containers that are about the size of a pill bottle. No simple task. It was stressful and disgusting. I hated every minute of it. Sharing a bathroom with 3 others and doing
all that was just traumatic…I shiver just thinking about it.
By Friday I took all 5 days worth of poop
back to the doctor’s office in the little containers inside a brown paper lunch
sack. That was all I had. Great plan right? I can only imagine what people passing me on the street thought was inside that bag. How shocked would they be?!?
Anyhow...I had become weaker and weaker, not really eating anything all weekend
or all week, and if I did, I did not keep it in me for long (if you get my drift). Again, because I did not have cash, I walked
the five looooooooong blocks back to the doctor’s office and was absolutely
spent by the time I got there. I could
hardly catch my breath. I was so tired
that by the time I dropped off my stool samples (gladly giving them to someone
else to deal with so I didn’t have to have them in my possession a minute
longer), I had to sit in the waiting room and just catch my breath. So pathetic.
When I finally decided I had re-gained
enough strength to walk “home,” I headed out on to the street and a nurse came
running out of the clinic calling my name. (I wasn't even aware that anyone knew who I was...remember this place was like the DMV--I was just a number to them).
She said that a doctor wanted to see me immediately. All I know or can think of is that they took
one look at me when I dropped off my "poop" and knew that I needed medical help
immediately!!! So, even though there were
about 15-20 people waiting in the lobby ahead of me (again it was seriously a "take a number" kinda place), the nurse got me right in to see a doctor in a real traditional room with
a bed--completely unlike the original room I had been in--so at least I could lay down. The nurse
checked my vitals and began writing all kinds of things down. The doctor flew into the room, and all I
could think was that I was in heaven:
#1. I was laying down.
#2 A doctor was going
to finally help me
#3 I didn’t have to
worry about myself anymore. Hallelujah!
The doctor explained to me that they
had my blood work back from Monday when I had come in (they tested me for all
kinds of things that day) and then they took some more blood right then and they immediately
ran it to compare to my previous tests.
Two doctors (seriously? I couldn't even get ONE to see me earlier in the week...don't get me started) were in the room reviewing my chart and the little bits of
information that they had on me. It
seemed like they were talking a mile a minute—my brain could just not keep
up. I kept hearing things like
“low hemoglobin levels, more labs, blood transfusion, hospital,” etc.
Basically they were talking about just how sick I was and I felt like
saying, “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU PEOPLE THAT FOR OVER A WEEK!!!! SHEESHH!!!!!”
More to come...
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