Hello, little circle of readers.
I'd like to say that I feel great, and that I'm back to normal. I'd like to say that for the past 5 days I've been running around like normal, and with even more energy than normal.
But I'd be lying to you.
Instead, I've been lying on the couch. I've been propped up on pillows and popping Rx strength ibuprofen. I've been applying ice packs. I've been wearing long sleeves and hiding my hands to keep others from being grossed out by the blown veins in my arms from where they tried to give me an IV. I've been hating sitting upright and moving at school and work. I've stopped carrying some of my books to school. In short, I've been a sad sack of whine and pain.
I've done what I'm supposed to. I called my PCP and told the receptionist about the issue. I told her about the ER visit and the fact that they wanted me to follow up. The soonest they could see me was December 7th. After some cajoling, the receptionist connected me to the medical assistant, who evidently knows about the super secret appointment times that aren't filled. I left her a message. This was Monday at 9am, and she still hasn't called me back.
I went to the student clinic, where a very nice nurse complimented my outfit. Evidently they see a lot of undergrads without jobs. And then the doctor came in and listened to my heart and lungs. And then he started pressing on my ribs. Hard. Repeatedly. "Does this hurt? Does it hurt now, when I press harder?" Hint: when I cry, yes, it hurts.
So, I'm not dying. I don't have a blood clot or a heart or lung problem. I just have chest wall inflammation. Which hurts. All the time. And which is exhausting, because being in pain is exhausting.
I've been told not to work out for at least a week, and not limit my lifting. To "take it easy." I suppose there will be more couch time for me in the near future.
State of the Human Address.
6 months ago