Don’t let the smile fool you. It was probably the lingering drugs getting me giddy.
On Monday, I went back to St. Francis for surgical implantation of a permacath for plasmapheresis to treat my CIDP. I wasn’t knocked out; instead, I got a cocktail of sedatives that left me awake but in a weird twilight. The procedure went well, and I was soon in recovery drinking some much needed water and graham crackers. It was a short stay because I was quickly walked up to the infusion room for a two hour round of plasmapheresis.
Once that was over, things went way downhill. On the way out the hospital, I faiinted in a hallway not too far from the front entrance. That word, “fainted”, sounds so romantic. The actual act is far from it. I was both sweating and chilled, and my head kept lolling back and forth. My eyes were wide open but everything was dimmed. I wasn’t scared because I couldn’t muster the emotion to be. A hospital staff member quickly appeared with a wheel chair, and K wheeled a dazed me (with Zoe on my lap) out to our car. On the tedously long hour drive back home, I wound up throwing up on myself and on the side of the road on the Parkway around exit one thirty something. I had another blackout getting out the car, and spent the rest of the evening in bed.
I don’t know what went wrong. Since I’ve had plasmapheresis before with very little problems, I’m not sure it was that. It might’ve helped drop my blood pressure, though. My money is on that sedative cocktail, especially because I threw up.
On Tuesday, it was IVIG. Starting next week, I can have IG ran through the permacath, so at least no pricking for a bit. The bandage tape is breaking me out in a rash, so as the stabbing pain subsides, the itchiness increases.
I’ll be honest. I’m beyond over this. I remember reoccuring sinus infections use to piss me off in college. I’d almost scream, “I’m sick of being sick!”. Yeah, well, I’m that times a million. But there’s no point in screaming because I don’t have a voice box great enough to put out the constant frustration I feel while experiencing chronic illness. It’s like, most of the time, I have bad days, intermittent worse days, and a sprinkling of tolerable. When the bar is set so low and I still can’t clear it, I just want to yell. Or curse. Or cry. But I’m beyond all that today, too, so I’ll just “Humph”.
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