Where have I been of late? Sick. Not the sniffles, mind you--sick. The real deal. Actually, as I write this, a full 17 days since the initial onset of the headache, a full 16 days since I left school early, because I couldn't push myself to finish the day, I am still running low fevers at night and I am still weak and dizzy when I stand. Monday, come Hell or high water, I will go back to work for a couple of reasons. Firstly, Monday is Cinco de Mayo, and my folklorico dancers will be performing four shows--two of which will require me to drive them to the venue in a nearby town. Secondly, my students have been without a real teacher for too long and I hate the thought of them falling behind because of me. Thirdly, I am going insane. For more than two weeks my main function in life has been keeping my bed from levitating. At least, though I can finally sit up for long periods of time and look at the computer screen without getting a debilitating headache, so I'm back to the blog!
Now, the last time I was really, really completely unable to function sick, I was in Peru and got some sort of viral food poisoning while visiting Machu Picchu. I won't share all the details of what was running out of me from both ends, but let's just say--you don't want to know the details.
Once it was clear that I was not going to be shaking this thing, a doctor was summoned to our hotel. She actually made two trips to see me at the hotel and then I was put into a wheelchair and taken by the doctor, her assistant and one of my traveling companions down the steep, winding pedestrian streets to a little two-bed hospital. I was hooked up to IVs, tested and analyzed and monitored the whole day by the actual doctor. I was only left "alone" with the assistant while the doctor went on another hotel visit for another patient.
There was nothing fancy at this hospital, let me tell you. But I was cared for and monitored. My vitals were taken many times throughout the day. No one was rushing me out. At the end of the day, all the travelers in my group (including my students, because I was "leading" a tour), were heading back to Cusco by train. I was given the option of going back with them or staying the night in the hospital and going back the next morning. By then, I was much better, though my body ached from so much retching earlier in the process. I was still very weak. If I wanted to go back to Cusco, how could I even get to the train? There weren't even any cars--much less an ambulance. No problem. I was wheeled/carried in the chair all the way to the train. The bill--including my Gatorades to go? $138.
The next day, I missed the white water rafting. I needed to rest. And I got a massage to get rid of the aches. And I was fine.
Let's contrast that with my current situation. I knew I had been burning the candle at both ends--teaching, the ballet folklorico and its Spring Show, political involvement, not enough sleep--so when I woke up on Thursday, the 16th with a headache, I figured, I had it coming. I took some Ibuprofen and headed into school. The headache improved, but never went away and whenever I leaned down to pick something up, the pressure was incredible. I dragged myself back in on Friday, but soon it was clear, I was not going to make it. Along with the headache were pains in my neck, joints and leg muscles. I went home early. By Sunday, I was in really bad shape. The pain was worse; I was covered in a rash and my fever was up. The urgent care center sent me to the Emergency Room at the local hospital, Seton Northwest, with possible meningitis.
A CAT scan and a spinal tap later, meningitis was ruled out. What a relief. I knew it was so contagious and I thought about the pregnant girl in one of my ESOL classes and how horrible I would have felt if she'd gotten sick. My blood pressure was very low--not too bad if I was lying down, but sitting up or walking, forget about it. Eventually, they got two reasonable readings in a row--they didn't try walking me again--and I was sent home with a prescription for some heavy-duty pain meds. The plus side of the hospital, I got some pain medication via the IV. A few hours of relative bliss.
Then the post-lumbar puncture headache set in on top of all the other pain. Light hurt. I couldn't read. Even reading the medicine bottles hurt. I could barely sit up. Nausea set in--leading to the vomiting of the pain medication. By Tuesday, the pain was even worse. At my regular doctor, I could not make it back to the exam room without a wheelchair. He diagnosed the post-lumbar puncture headache and gave me some anti-nausea medication. Underlying all this, he thought, was just a nasty virus. If I didn't feel better by Wednesday, I was to go back to the emergency room and get a blood patch. Okay. I went home.
By Wednesday, if it was possible, I was actually worse. Not only could I not hold down the pain medication, I was throwing up the anti-nausea drug, so I had no pain medication in my system, at all. Now, I could not even get to the car to go to the hospital. My husband called an ambulance. Back on the IV. Back on the IV pain meds for a brief time. Apparently, sometimes when spinal taps are performed, you loose too much spinal fluid and you loose pressure in your spinal column and around your brain, leading to the extra bad headache I'd been experiencing since my Sunday trip to the hospital. They took blood from my arm and injected it back into the area where they had removed the spinal fluid. This time they didn't even try to get the top number of my blood pressure over 90. It hit 87 once and they sent me home. I wasn't even sitting up.
And, I was told I should drink lots of fluids. Of course, in the hospital, they put a toilet next to my bed, realizing I couldn't walk to the restroom. Somehow, when I got home, I would magically be able to get myself down the hall to the bathroom again and again--after all, I was drinking my fluids.
Once I had been home for half an hour, all the IV meds were out of my system and I was back to Hell. I told myself that either I would die or I would start to get better, because I couldn't take any more pain. The doctor who had performed the blood patch had told my husband to call if he felt I was not doing better or if there were any problems. He called the hospital and was transfered to countless departments and treated like he was bothering people.
Finally, sometime in the middle of the night--or early morning--I started to take a turn for the better. That was not last Wednesday, that was two Wednesdays ago and last night, I was still running a low fever. I've been back to the doctor. I am supposed to go back in two weeks for more blood work. We'll see.
Now I know that in Peru there are millions of desperately poor people who cannot afford health care. I know that the little two-bed hospital I was in didn't have a CAT-scan machine. I know that. But, I was cared for. I wasn't rushed out. My pain was taken into account and mitigated as best as was possible given what was available. Here, in the United States of America, I was rushed through, spit out and made to suffer needlessly. I don't know if my insurance wouldn't have covered any more care. I don't know if they needed my room in ER, but then no one even asked me if I was willing to pay out of pocket for a few more hours on IV pain medication--and trust me, I would have gladly laid in the hallway or a broom closet, for that matter, with the IV in my arm.
No one knows yet, what exactly was initially wrong with me. Best guess, some mysterious virus that attacked my joints and muscles. But, I can't help but feel that I would have gotten over whatever it was faster, if my body was not put through the additional agony and distress of unneeded pain.
How often do we hear stories of people cut loose from care--even mentally ill discharged earlier than would be recommended-- because insurance has run out or doesn't pay for hospitalizations for certain maladies? Everything is so expensive, partly because of the layers of bureaucracy associated with our over-complicated, ever more expensive insurance. But more than that, our system makes you feel like no one cares if you hurt. I know that during this ordeal, there were a few people who did care, but they had very limited contact with me. There was one person to do my blood work, another for the IV, another one pushed my wheel chair. The people with the warm smiles, all disappeared in moments and those on the end of the phone who didn't want to be bothered with my husband's pleas for help replaced them .
It is a sad commentary, when illness in the United States, makes you nastolgic for food poisoning in Peru.
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