Brian was in Arizona this weekend for PJ’s bachelor party (Rachel’s soon to be husband…two more months!!). I had plans to do absolutely nothing all weekend but catch up on trashy television, read, take long baths and host book club at my house. All went according to plan on Friday. I had a fun lunch with Brian’s mama Zina, then I spent the afternoon reading on the balcony before making a big salad for dinner and turning in early. Saturday morning I slept in, then ran around buying stuff for book club (more on that in a later post). After a seriously fun afternoon hanging with the ladies I was beat and turned in early again. The evening took a turn for the worse when I was awoken by the most excruciating pain at two am. It was the worst I’ve ever experienced…it radiated through my back, stomach and chest. It was so intense that I literally couldn’t breath or see straight. I writhed around my bed trying to find a position that gave me some relief. There was no relief. Why was this happening when Brian was out-of-town?? Did I throw my back-out? Is this my appendix? Ectopic Pregnancy? Cyst on my ovaries? What is happening to me?
I stupidly kept thinking maybe it would pass and I could avoid a dramatic evening the hospital if I just waited it out. I also didn’t want to worry anybody in the middle of the night so I kept rolling around in bed and praying for it to end. But after an hour the pain had only intensified and I was now shaking and sobbing from it, so I grabbed my phone. First I called Brian (although I’m not sure what I expected him to do from Arizona? I think calling him first is just habit now), then Rachel & Taline (my two best-girlfriends. They also didn’t pick up…understandably though because who keeps their phone on in the middle of the night?) I thought about driving myself to the ER but quickly realized that was NOT an option considering I couldn’t see straight. Maybe I should call the ambulance, I thought? But I couldn’t bare the idea of being wheeled out of my building on a gurney. So embarrassing.
So I made the call.
Five minutes later my mom was standing at my door. How was it humanly possible to get from Santa Monica to Marina Del Rey in five minutes?? “How the hell did you get here so fast?”, I asked through pathetic tears. She proudly said she ran through every red light. Don’t mess with a parent. I was still on the fence about going to the hospital. Have I mentioned I hate hospitals? HATE. So I tried to stop crying and stand up straight in the hopes I could convince my mother that we should wait it out a bit longer. But there was no changing Lynn’s mind…we were going to the hospital. She handed me clothes in the dark and soon we were speeding down the street en route for the hospital and I was dressed in mix-matched pajamas that weren’t even buttoned correctly, a super fancy leather jacket and worn slippers.
Ten minutes later I was lying on a gurney at UCLA hospital with an IV in my arm. Two minutes after that I was in a cloudy haze telling my mom over and over again…”I think, I’m high” while giggling. The next few hours were a bit of a fog. There was an ultrasound (totally not an enjoyable experience with the pain), more drugs, a funny and drunk (or crazy) man next door to me trying to convince the doctor that “people” stole his medicine and a sweet nurse who made me laugh. By 9am they diagnosed me with gallbladder stones. Am I eighty now? The good news is, I feel much better today- just achy, sore & tired. The bad news is that once you get gallbladder stones you are prone to getting them again. UGH. Hence why people usually opt to get their gallbladder removed. I’m going to meet with a specialist later this week to talk about options.
Has anybody ever experienced these before??