All's Well That Ends Well
Oct. 22nd, 2004 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueYesterday, there was blood where there wasn't supposed to be. That's not unusual lately; old wounds keep reopening for no reason I can discern. Everything's been bleeding this week: menstruation at a time when I shouldn't have a period; blood on my toothbrush from a sore I can't see or feel; blood all over my right ear from a piercing that healed seven months ago. This morning, after a second toilet bowl full of blood, enough blood lost to make me dizzy, I called a doctor I would rather not afford.
Bloody stool can be symptomatic of almost any major problem in the digestive system, from ulcers to hemorrhoids to infections to cancer. It's often the only symptom; there are very few nerves in the cavity of the torso, and abdominal discomfort tells you next to nothing about the location and severity of the trouble. This blood was red, which indicates freshness - trouble with the rectum, or the small intestine. Maroon blood suggests trouble higher up; black blood, higher still. It's the one conceivable clue that scares me enough to seek medical help immediately, instead of waiting to see if it heals on its own. Substantial internal bleeding.
I don't have any insurance. I thought I did; I certainly pay quite a bit for it. I even read all the quarterly statements. A paperwork error, the same kind of thing that makes my ID card give someone else's social security number, no matter how many times I call to correct. A bill was sent to the wrong address, even after change-of-address forms sent to the insurance company, the post office, and our old apartment. Fortunately, Patrick is a dyed-in-the-wool stage hand, and he keeps good records. He might be able to fix it.
Might.
After thorough digital examination and the drawing of more blood I can't really spare, the doctor declares that I have an anal fissure, (which, although I suspected as much to begin with, is a relief. I won't have to go to the hospital.) A cut. A deep cut which splits my sphincter. The doctor is puzzled that I don't know how or when it happened. It should have hurt. Perhaps unbearably. Even now, I can't feel it, but I have a very high pain threshold. So high that I don't notice things. It's the reason I complain a lot about minor discomfort; if I don't constantly remind myself that I'm hurt, it won't occur to me to slow down and let myself heal. I'll get distracted and forget the warning signs. I take a lot of "sick days," just in case. Just for the times when it's something big and I can't tell the difference.
I'm anemic, from the blood loss, which makes me tired. The doctor can't give me iron supplements, because they might make me constipated and worsen the fissure. Instead, I have to take laxatives and lose even more fluid. And I'm not allowed to wipe my ass. Otherwise, the cut won't heal.
So after a rousing and drawn-out day of waiting at the doctor's office, I have spent the evening sitting on my floor, surrounded by pillows so that I can't fall far and will be cushioned if I do, dizzy and exhausted and swimming in the smell of my own shit and blood.
I'm so camera.
Bloody stool can be symptomatic of almost any major problem in the digestive system, from ulcers to hemorrhoids to infections to cancer. It's often the only symptom; there are very few nerves in the cavity of the torso, and abdominal discomfort tells you next to nothing about the location and severity of the trouble. This blood was red, which indicates freshness - trouble with the rectum, or the small intestine. Maroon blood suggests trouble higher up; black blood, higher still. It's the one conceivable clue that scares me enough to seek medical help immediately, instead of waiting to see if it heals on its own. Substantial internal bleeding.
I don't have any insurance. I thought I did; I certainly pay quite a bit for it. I even read all the quarterly statements. A paperwork error, the same kind of thing that makes my ID card give someone else's social security number, no matter how many times I call to correct. A bill was sent to the wrong address, even after change-of-address forms sent to the insurance company, the post office, and our old apartment. Fortunately, Patrick is a dyed-in-the-wool stage hand, and he keeps good records. He might be able to fix it.
Might.
After thorough digital examination and the drawing of more blood I can't really spare, the doctor declares that I have an anal fissure, (which, although I suspected as much to begin with, is a relief. I won't have to go to the hospital.) A cut. A deep cut which splits my sphincter. The doctor is puzzled that I don't know how or when it happened. It should have hurt. Perhaps unbearably. Even now, I can't feel it, but I have a very high pain threshold. So high that I don't notice things. It's the reason I complain a lot about minor discomfort; if I don't constantly remind myself that I'm hurt, it won't occur to me to slow down and let myself heal. I'll get distracted and forget the warning signs. I take a lot of "sick days," just in case. Just for the times when it's something big and I can't tell the difference.
I'm anemic, from the blood loss, which makes me tired. The doctor can't give me iron supplements, because they might make me constipated and worsen the fissure. Instead, I have to take laxatives and lose even more fluid. And I'm not allowed to wipe my ass. Otherwise, the cut won't heal.
So after a rousing and drawn-out day of waiting at the doctor's office, I have spent the evening sitting on my floor, surrounded by pillows so that I can't fall far and will be cushioned if I do, dizzy and exhausted and swimming in the smell of my own shit and blood.
I'm so camera.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-23 03:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-23 08:18 pm (UTC)(And hopefully that made you laugh as the purpose was to have some reason to crack a smile. If not I'll present my hand for slapping later, or give Patrick the first choice of gun for the duel he challenges me to.)
Also, more than ever, I am convinced you are an alter-ego of my older brother, J.R., because right before I read this I was informed of his having to sit on pillows while he bitched because he just got a hemorhoid (sp?) lanced. Is in much the same mood.
Much Love, babe. I hope you get better soon.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-24 03:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-25 03:27 am (UTC)