My Spa Included Six TV Channels, All The Infomercials I Could Watch, And Styrofoam Cups Of Ice Water With Bendy Straws

Where were we?

You know, before I decided to take a little vacation from the blog?

I’d like to say that I spent my time away from y’all sitting in a little European coffeehouse, sipping chai tea laced with milk and sugar and catching up on all the reading I can’t do with a toddler in the house, but that would include an AIRPLANE RIDE.

And if you give Mama an airplane ride, you’re gonna want to take along a heavy-duty barf bag…

Instead of traveling, I just checked myself into a spa here in Small Town, USA and did some intravenous drugs.

That sort of thing.

I think we left off with the sinus infection that leaked into my eye and caused a lovely eye infection, the likes of which makes folks cringe and say, “Good holy mother of Neptune!  What happened to your face?!”  As it turned out, my eye didn’t respond to the four shots of antibiotics in my rump, because OF COURSE IT DIDN’T.

So on Thursday, I walked into our hospital’s ER, where a couple of nice nurses slammed an IV into my arm.

And then I almost passed out cold, because what I really like to do is work myself into a frenzy about how awful GETTING the IV is going to be, so that, when it’s finally in and I actually take my first breath in ten minutes, the room goes all dark and starts to spin while my ears ring with the sound of music.

This sends nurses into a frenzy of GET A COLD WASHCLOTH!! and HEAR, DEAR!  LET’S JUST LIE YOU DOWN FLAT!  When the nurses finally looked at Hubs to see if this is typical behavior for the woman he married, he just shrugged and said, “Every time.”

And that is how I came to find myself on an EVERY SIX HOURS visitation schedule to the emergency room.  Every six hours, come daylight and sunshine, or the very darkest part of the night, I went into the ER, sat on a bed, and drained a $450 bag of antibiotics.

(No one ever claimed that intravenous drug use is cheap, people.)

Hubs and I met all kinds of fun nurses; I’m not even kidding you.  As the mother of a toddler whose daily dose of dialogue includes, “Did you poop?  Why did you poop now?  We’re just about to leave the house!” and “Who crushed these crackers on the sofa?  Was it you?  Did you crumble crackers all over Mama’s sofa?”, I was plum thrilled to have real adults to talk to.

We met a nurse named John who had been in the military for a sweet forever, evacuating the injured out of places like Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan and Iraq.  He was full of stories about holding arms in place that were nearly severed, while he started an IV, to throwing water bottles across fences to children who were dying of thirst in a country that didn’t have enough clean water for them to drink.

We met a nurse who announced that her two-year-old son could give Thing 2 a run for his money in OH, MY!  HE’S KIND OF ACTIVE, ISN’T HE?  She told us how she’d worked the night shift last week, and when she came home, her husband simply said, “Don’t ask about it.  I did the best I could.”  She said that every bath towel, hand towel, dish towel, and bed sheet they owned was heaped into a sopping wet pile on the kitchen floor.  She’d had a pot soaking in the kitchen sink while she was away at work.  Their two-year-old had pushed a chair over to the sink and turned on the faucet.  The pan was preventing water from draining, so the sink filled up.  Her husband and two-year-old had gone outside to check their horses for a while… leaving the house without the dad being any wiser to what Mayhem was doing in the kitchen.  When they came back, they needed a canoe to cross the kitchen floor.

Hubs and I laughed with all those nurses and had a lovely time, if you don’t count the small fact that I was spending four figures on antibiotics and blowing out my vein.

We even encountered a couple in the ER’s waiting room at 9:00 one evening, who were dressed like they were heading to a showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and who were arguing back and forth in a frenzy.  The girl finally shouted out for all of the world to hear, “And then she slapped my brand new tattoo, just like a jerk!!”

The nerve!

Hubs and I looked at one another, and, people… we couldn’t help it… we burst out laughing.  Because slapping someone’s BRAND NEW TATTOO?  That’s like… THE WORST!  It may be worse than unfriending her on Facebook!  Hubs mumbled, “If she walks over in this direction, I’m going to slap her old tattoos, too!”

Bless his heart.

At my 3 AM dose of antibiotics on Friday morning, I was running a low-grade temperature, which set things on fire at 7:00 that morning.  My doctor had just discovered the fever while she read my overnight report, and she was CONCERNED!  VERY CONCERNED!  WICKEDLY AWFUL VERY MUCH HORRIBLY CONCERNED that maybe I had an abscess in my eye!

An!  Abscess!  IN MY EYE!!!

She told me not to eat or drink anything, because she was almost certain she’d be doing surgery on me, and LET’S GET A CT SCAN RIGHT NOW, PEOPLE!

As Hubs and I understood by the frenzy I caused, an abscess behind your eye is nothing to laugh at.

My IV was filled with Benadryl and iodine, and I was put into the tube.  And IV Benadryl?  My word, but that will cause you some serious driving issues!  I laid in the CT machine and whispered, “Um… I’m not feeling very well.”

The technician said, “Yes.  That Benadryl is a doozy, isn’t it?  Now listen.  Here comes the iodine, and you might actually feel like you’ve wet your pants, but I promise you… you won’t have.”

Blam!

Suddenly I wasn’t feeling very well, and my pants were wet.

Only they weren’t wet.

Or were they wet?

I couldn’t tell, so all I could do was take the man’s word for it.  But you can bet your very last penny that the first thing I did when I got out of the machine was to check things out before I left the privacy of the radiology department.

The CT scan came back normal.  I wouldn’t be having emergency surgery.  My middle-of-the-night fever remains a mystery.

And that’s when my eye decided to just UP AND GET BETTER!  Over a period of four hours, the face that looked like it had been beaten in a back alley shrunk down to normal.  Intravenous drugs can do fancy things, people.

Especially when you have enough antibiotics, Benadryl, iodine and saline flushes in your blood system to make you physically glow like a yellow glow stick at a block party.

(I may need one of those signs to hang around my neck that reads NUCLEAR TREATMENT FACILITY.)

(Or maybe just a T-shirt that reads I HAVING A GLOWING PERSONALITY.)

(I’m here all night, folks.)

And that was pretty much our long weekend.  A nice nurse yanked my IV out at 10:00 last night, when I was done with my last bag of antibiotics, and I was given the green light to go ahead and shower without Saran Wrap coating my arm.  So I went through a drive-thru… ICE CREAM FOR EVERYONE!

And by everyone, I meant just me and Hubs, because both of our boys were already sound asleep BY 10:00 last night.  Hubs and I watched Laverne and Shirley reruns and ate ice cream together on our sofa.  We reminisced about how YES, A LANDSCAPED BACKYARD WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE, BUT SOMETIMES IT’S JUST EXPLOSIVE FUN TO SPEND ALL OF YOUR MONEY ON ANTIBIOTICS INSTEAD OF A SPRINKLER SYSTEM AND SOD.

And now?  Well, I’m pretty much back to normal.  I probably won’t be getting any special treatment for a horribly swollen eye, because I don’t even have a horribly swollen eye any longer.

Thank you, Jesus.

Y’all carry on, and we’ll try to get things on a more normal schedule here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated now.

1 thought on “My Spa Included Six TV Channels, All The Infomercials I Could Watch, And Styrofoam Cups Of Ice Water With Bendy Straws

  1. Yikes, it sounds like you really dodged a bullet! I’m so glad the antibiotics worked and you are feeling better. I’ve never heard of going to the ER every four hours for IV drugs. Some new kind of treatment for people who have no hospital insurance? I’m pretty sure from previous posts that you do have hospital insurance. Just curious as to the new treatment protocol…if I’m not being too inquisitive into something that’s none of my business. Stay well, Linda

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