Sex in a Bowl

So dinner consisted of cream of tomato soup, cream of chicken soup, and a bowl of grits.  All delicious, thus the title of this entry.  It hurt to eat these, but not as bad as I thought it would.  With luck, tomorrow I’ll get to eat soft foods.  I can go home when the pain is under control, my lipase levels get back to normal, I can eat without pain, and I can get off of this oxygen.  I’m currently satting about 85 on room air, and they want it to be closer to 95 before I can go home.  It’s like the asthma attack I had last month; waiting out the symptoms is all I can do.

Just had a popsicle (didn’t I tell you?) and now I’m feeling uncomfortable, probably from the full liquids earlier. Also feeling short of breath and wheezy.  I’m tired, but I can’t sleep from the pain.  I’m wondering how the concert was, and really regretting that I missed it.  It’s almost time for my pain meds and I always hurt when it’s about time for a refill.

My gastroenterologist is on call this weekend, so he told me if I keep progressing like I am, I could go home as early as Monday.  I just don’t want to get home and be in pain again.  I couldn’t drive myself to the hospital this time (my sister had to take me) and the pain was so bad that I became one of those people I thought I would never become:  I moaned in pain the whole time I was in the waiting room and cried like a baby.  The pain was that bad.  However, the hospital was SLAMMED, and there were people there that were way worse off than I was.  There was a poor kid probably 4 years old that was seizing.  A guy with a massive heart attack.  A guy murdered in a shooting.  I could wait.  To their credit, I was the next person they took back.  I kept telling the doctors in the hospital last month (I was originally in the hospital for 6 weeks for my asthma flare up and first complained about the abdominal pain then) that it felt like I had pancreatitis but the gastro doc at the rehab hospital there blew me off.  He was an idiot.  I was beginning to think I was crazy, so I’m so glad they found it here.  Thank God for obscene abdominal pain!

So tonight was Big Bang Theory, Law and Order SVU (with more pizza commercials and a few chicken commercials thrown in to torture me), and now TMZ, but only because my TV remote is in the fritz and only changes channels or turns on and off whenever it feels like it.  I guess they haven’t paid the cable bill this month.  All the money my insurance has spent here, you’d think they could afford to; I’m sure I’ve bought my pulmonologist and gastroenterologist at least a boat, two houses, and a limousine by now.

Also, I’m itchy and hot.  I’m itching from the pain medication and hot from the steroids.  Where’s Christian Grey when you need him?  Turning down the AC is just not the same thing.  Insert sad face.


EUS Me and Abuse Me

So the hospitalist just came in and told me that the “pancreas specialist” (I’m going to call him PS from now on) had decided that my pancreas is far too inflamed to do the EUS (endoscopic ultrasound) at this time.  PS likened it to poking a wasp’s nest with a hot cattle prod, so apparently it will be a couple of weeks before I can have that done.  Also, apparently I am not stable enough medically with my concurrent asthma problems to be sedated.  So what that means is, I’ve been hungry all day for nothing.  Insert sad face here.

The bright side of that is that the hospitalist felt so sorry for me that she ordered a full liquid diet for me.  (Sad face worked.  Yay!). I’m so excited I could cry.  I’ve been eating hot water that they’ve been passing off as chicken broth all week and watching old Law and Order SVU episodes that feature Little Ceaser Bacon Wrapped Deep Dish Pizza ads, and eventually this will drive you stark raving mad if you let it. Everything is better with bacon!  Even pancreatitis!

So I told the hospitalist about my poop today, as I’m very proud of it.  Heck, I’ve told everyone.  You don’t realize how much you take pooping for granted until you can’t, and when you finally do and it takes 45 minutes, hurts like a mofo, and then it comes out like crunchy peanut butter.  I mean, seriously:  imagine having to push out about a cup of extra crunchy peanut butter from your butt.  Then, at some point, by the magic of the gods, it turns into super glue.  I was literally covered from head to toe in poop, like one of those babies who’s about to take a baptism picture and blows his diaper just before the photographer gets there.  The only thing that saved me was the fact that I was getting in the shower after I pooped, but that was the longest shower of my life.  I had no idea you could get poop behind your ears at the age of 50, without involving some kind of weird sexual ritual, á lá 50 Shades of Grey.  (No wonder E.L. James picked the color grey.  She knew old people were kinky too.)

So now the question is, “What shall I eat?”  The hospital I am in has an á lá carte menu, and frankly the food is pretty good as far as institutional food goes, so let’s see what my choices are:

Grits (hey I live in the South), cream of tomato soup, cream of chicken soup, vanilla or chocolate pudding (which I can’t eat due to that unfortunate third grade incident), ice cream, low fat yogurt, and milk.  I’m lactose intolerant so that throws out everything except for the soup and the grits, so soup and grits it is.  My mouth is already watering!  With a side of Popsicles.  Boy they love giving you Popsicles in the hospital, and I guess if it weren’t for all the Blue Bell Snacks Popsicles I’ve been eating this week, I’d probably be certifiable right about now.  Of course, people who know me probably would tell you I’m already certifiable, but I prefer that you, lovely reader, figure that out for yourself by following this blog.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I’m also really upset because one of my all time favorite bands is in town for a concert.  I have tickets, but of course I can’t go, being cooped up in here.  I’ve been trying to figure out how I can sneak out of here to go tonight by strategically arranging the pillows on my bed, but you can’t get vital signs from a pillow, no matter how hard you try, so I’m left to wallow in my sadness because this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity; these guys aren’t well known, and the odds of them coming back here in the next 50 years are pretty much the same odds of me winning the Powerball.  I’m so ill, literally and figuratively.  I’ve been looking forward to this concert for WEEKS, and it just isn’t going to happen.  Insert really sad face here.

Well, lovely reader, it’s time to imbibe in grits and creamy soups so I will leave you to your imaginations to wonder just how certifiable I really am. Good luck with that.

Poopwatch 2015 is over!!

So poopwatch 2015 is finally over!  After 5 days of nothing but liquids, pain meds, (good ones), stool softeners, and the ever delicious miralax, I produced a small, but super crunchy peanut butter poop in the hospital.  You regular people?  Count your blessings.

 I was hospitalized on Sunday with severe pain due to chronic pancreatitis.  I’ve developed several cysts on my pancreas that are so painful it’s not even funny.  Ever since then, the burning question had been, “have you pooped yet?”  Everyone has asked me that:  doctors, nurses, the cleaning lady…so I can finally report success!  

Waiting to see a “pancreatic specialist” to see if he’s going to to an EUS, an endoscopic ultrasound of my pancreas. Until then, NPO, poopin’, and Law and Order SVU.