Yesterday was officially one of the (if not the) worst day ever.
On my way into work, I started to notice that when I inhaled, I had a sharp pain on my right side, near my rib cage. No big deal. It should go away.
As the day progressed, it got steadily worse until I had to breathe really shallowly and it felt like I was being stabbed. After much exhortation by Cris, I called my doctor’s nurse who said, “Come in at 3:30 and we’ll check you out.”
Well, at 2:00, she called back and said, “Nevermind. We don’t want to see you. Take some ibuprofen and suck it up.” ((These may not have been her exact words but it was the general gist of it.))
At this point, I was really hurting. So I decided that I would go to urgent care on the way home.
The first urgent care I went to I waited for 45 minutes without even getting my ass off the waiting room chair. All the while unable to really breathe and feeling like a fish out of water who is being hooked through the side. I basically started sobbing ((Which is really hard to do when you can’t breathe)), ripped the front desk staff a new asshole ((I’m pretty sure I dropped the F-bomb in front of the other patients.)), demanded the refund my co-pay, and stormed out.
The second urgent care got me in to see a doctor before I had even finished filling out my paperwork. ((This is the urgent care we took the Littlest Brewster too and they are awesome. I will never go anywhere else. Ever.)) and within 5 minutes, he was sending me across the street to the ED for a more thorough work-up.
At the ED – commence more waiting. Actually, first I had to laboriously gasp my way to and from the car twice because I left my insurance card in there. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. And had blood work. And waited. And had a chest x-ray. And waited. And had dopplers to rule out a DVT. And waited. ((If you think this is annoying to read, just try living it.))
I hadn’t eaten since 11:30 and, by 7:45, I felt even worse. The nurse finally relented and gave me some graham crackers and peanut butter. And I don’t think anything has ever been more delicious, except perhaps for the chicken Caesar salad I had after LB’s birth.
Eventually, the ER doc came in and gave me my results. Nothing. A big fat nothing.
They don’t know why I’m hurting. They don’t know why I can’t breathe deeply. They do know I don’t have a clot in my lung or anything super scary like that.
At this point, I started to cry (again). The doc looked at me and asked, “Are you seriously crying because there’s nothing wrong?”
I tried to explain. I’m a nurse and I have to deal with the crazy patients who insist on being seen for what are essentially their own neuroses. There’s nothing wrong with these people other than what they invent in their minds. I can’t stand those patients. I don’t want to be that patient.
I don’t want to be that person who goes to the ED thinking they’re having a heart attack and it turns out they just have bad gas pains. Please don’t let me have a heart attack fart….
He assured me he did not think I was a crazy patient and that he did believe there was something going on, but it just wasn’t something obvious (and horrible) like a clot.
I sniffled my way out of the ED and headed home, berating myself for having wasted the time and money to find out I’m not dying. The DreadBrewer thinks this is silly and says that I’m totally worth it and he’s glad I went, but it’ll be a bit before I feel that way too.
All in all, I can say that that was one of the worst Mondays I have ever had and I will be very glad when I feel better and can just forget the whole damn thing.
And you know what? It still hurts when I breathe.