42 degrees temp & pts(d)

What I thought was the flu and feeling bit ‘off’, turned out to be tonsillitis.

‘But I’ve had tonsillitis before and it wasn’t like this’, was my lame, slightly munted retort.

I remember the eyes on the ambulance lady .. she looked a little confused with a touch of sympathy in there. LOL.

‘And how long has this been going on?’ she asked politely. I’m waving my hands around like an octopus, snot coming out of my nose along with some water, trying hard to swallow and answer like a ‘normal’ person.

‘Since yesterday, but she didn’t want to go to the doctors’ says partner.

I tried squinting at him … you know that … wait till I’m all together and I’ll jab you, squint. But I think I ended up looking more delirious than threatening.

I kept trying to ‘sign’ to him … P T S D … meaning, tell them that’s who they’re dealing with … and give me a fucking sedative, like, NOW. But he squinted in return. He finally told them when my temperature had hit 42 and my heart was struggling, and they gave me 3 choices … stay and die … go in the ambulance and get treated at the hospital … go with the partner to the hospital and get treated. Hmmmmm. I wonder ….

Once they realised though that they were dealing with a delicate human being of great proportions, they changed their tactic. And it worked. I took my own sedative on their recommendation and we were off.

A nice lady named Meg (I think, sorry if I got that completely wrong, I blame it on the hot flush I was experiencing ;) ), sat with me in the back of the ambulance. She didn’t talk too much. Or panic. Or touch me too much. Or fuss. She was calm. But I could see her concern.

Thank fuck for the sedative, it calmed the farm slightly and made the ambulance bearable.

Now I don’t know anyone that likes ambulances or the hospital … except for maybe the freak back in the day who was always trying to top herself, but not quite cos she never took enough cough mixture … duh … she enjoyed the attention, but she said she enjoyed the company!?? I thought maybe it would have been easier if she just joined a club or something … she joined a church instead, go figure!

Anywho, besides her, I don’t think anyone likes either of those things. Both mean ‘fatality’. Eeeekkk.

For me, it sits in the grey area, the unknowns. The waiting. It’s distorted smells, sounds, lights, people … its buzzing and beeping … poking and prodding. It’s all the things I detest, times 100!

Strangely enough though, when I was deep-frying in my own bacteria, I did’t notice a lot of those things LOL. I knew, with the sensible part of my spider senses, that this was the place I absolutely needed to be. It had gone beyond a lemon drink and an extra shot of vitamin C … waaayyyy beyond.

So, they poked and prodded and took blood and hooked me up to fluids and a penicillin drip thingy. They were impressed with my breathing ;) Point to me for all that deep breathing shit I’ve been doing over the last year … knew it’d pay off somewhere!

Usually A&E is a 10 plus hour wait, but I think they’d packed me off to the ward within a couple of hours. Cheers guys :) And as much as I hate to admit, the hospital gods were smiling on me that day. I had the nicest doctors and nurses I think I’ve ever come across … ever. Not one of them was a sour puss! I couldn’t have dealt with a sour puss! They have renewed my faith in medical peeps. (I’m still a skeptic … but with slightly renewed faith ;) ).

The first 24 hours in there were a tidy blur. A lot of poking and prodding and changing drips and pain killers and shit. The only thing I remember clearly is trying to apologise, but not being able to speak properly, for not having a shower before I got sick … ‘I stink’, was all I kept saying LOL.

Ahhh the priorities of PTSD ay.

I got to shower the next day when I could stand properly. My partner helped me but I don’t think it’s an occasion he’ll remember fondly somehow. He kept looking at my legs, going, ‘when did you last shave those bastards?’. Me … ‘its winter cover, fuck up and wash my ass’ … in a grunty not quite coherent voice. He got the gist though.

I thought I’d get to go home that day but apparently my tonsils were still ‘angry’ so I got to book in for another night … yah. They wanted me to drink more .. a little hard when every swallow felt like I was gargling glass! But I persisted.

I was in a room with 5 beds. Not exactly a great place for relaxing therapeutic wholistic repair … but oh well. The first day I didn’t notice and didn’t care really. By the second day though, I could hear all the chattering. And as I sort of came round, I discovered it wasn’t coming from our room … it was the old guys from next door!! Who ever said women gossip never heard these dudes! They had an opinion on everything and anything … they started talking at 430am and didn’t stop til 1230pm! Oh My Fuck! Who has that much to say??? Them, apparently!

By 1130 the 2nd night I started having a panic attack. Not really what I needed … and the more I tried to calm down the more I thought about being stuck somewhere I didn’t want to be and I couldn’t leave and there was nowhere to go and I couldn’t walk properly and I couldn’t get out …. On and On it went ….

The lady in the bed next to me, with the broken foot in two places … Ouch … turned out to be an old school nurse. She could hear me freaking out and breathing erratically. She knew my name, (she’d be listening lol), and told me to breath deeply. She said to me … ‘Now breath deep and slow. You have something you can take for that don’t you. Do you know where it is? Get one out, take it, and breath’. She had overheard my partner telling the doctor about the PTSD and that if it got bad to give me a sedative otherwise I’d end up having a panic attack and crawling for the nearest exit. God bless her flappy ears! It was enough to settle me slightly, get me focused on taking the sedative and calming the fuck down. I ended up taking 2 sedatives just to block out all the noises and lights and panic. It worked.

Next day I felt heaps better and wanted to get the fuck out of there! Tonsils were still a little angry but would come right according to the lovely doc. I packed my shit and was ready to go by 930am. Unfortunately my not so organised partner took 3 hours to pick me up! Grrrrr. I was annoyed but pleased to be ‘leaving’ … yippie!

I came home to what the partner considered a ‘clean house’, he looked pretty pleased with himself. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it looked like shit … smiled and said thank you instead. I sat outside for an hour listening to the ocean :)

A couplely days on and my throat is still recovering, but is nowhere near as sore as it was. Drugs are flowing freely through my veins at present and I’m all good with that. I’ve been kind of anti antibiotic / chemical drugs / pharmaceuticals for so long now … but over the last week, I am finally appreciative of what they can do when the need arises. I still prefer the natural stuff if I can, but I think this whole experience has brought a little bit of balance back into the equation.

So here I am. I have survived tonsillitis on top of PTSD and have lived to regale the tale. It’s not something I want to do again in a hurry, but I am no worse off. Besides, I had a few spare days to kill ;)


kpm ©


 

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