…that I must confess.
Last week, I spent a night in the hospital. (cue the dramatic music!)
The most dramatic part of it was honestly the odyssey of them trying to get an IV in me that was large enough to handle the contrast needed to give me a CT to check my lungs for an embollism. Many tried. My arms are butchered. All failed and I had a nuclear medicine test instead that means I was festively radioactive of something for a few days.
All tests? Clear. My heart and lungs are behaving admirably but I still have sometimes very intense chest pains and shortness of breath.
I think I’m possessed by a demon. That sounds logical, right? Totally sane.
Only it’s more likely I have something as “dumb” as a hiatal hernia courtesy of carrying a 9lbs 2oz and 6ft long monster of a baby three years ago. Now, my son is beautiful and delightful. He was the bestest newborn ever (no bias, right?) and wonderfully well cooked… but he was practically up my nose as I carried him. I could feel his feet well up into my rib cage. I could feel my stomach being knocked around during his delivery. I would not be surprised to discover this all to be the source of my intense discomfort.
Or the aforementioned demon. Or some other House-worthy diagnosis.
So while I’m trying to be full boogie tilt on fundraising, I’m back and forth with low energy and frustrating pain. I have an appointment tomorrow that I hope will yield answers but until then I am sticking with calling this a case of gestating a baby with massive feet messing up my insides forever.
That’s something for the “what to expect” books: Semi-permanent to permanent remodelling of your innards may occur. Be warned.
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