So I sent an email to my people, and I went. Having learned my lesson with the charity hospital in Dallas County when Middlest had kidney stones last fall, and a much better experience earlier this month with the local ER, and knowing that the charity hospital in Tarrant County (where Fourthborn lives) would quite possibly be harder to navigate than Parkland, I took her to the hospital closest to her apartment.
(If this post is less coherent than you've come to expect, it's because I got to bed at 3:00a.m.)
It took five hours to get taken aside for blood work, during which Fourthborn wore a trail to the loo and back. She hates to barf. Barfing and sweating are her two least favorite things to do. By the time the phlebotomist fetched her, she was so dehydrated that they had to go in through the back of her hands, and it took three stabs to get (barely) enough to run the tests. The phlebotomist was very kind, very good, and very apologetic.
Once we were settled in an examining room, and the excellent nurse was in charge, I took myself to the cafeteria and had a sandwich, a bag of pretzels, and a fruit cup, washed down with one of those marvelous mango smoothies that Naked makes. Which reminds me, there's half of a fruit cup still in my knitting bag, and I should probably retire it. And there's a bag with another bag of pretzels that I bought for Fourthborn, and a slice of cherry pie which she can't eat. Why? I'm glad you asked.
In a competition that neither of them thought they were engaged in, Fourthborn is currently ahead. Or behind, depending on how you look at it. Yes, the sonogram and CT scans revealed a very small kidney stone, which will pass on its own. They also revealed a significantly larger gall stone. We are now in the process of filling out paperwork to get the latter taken care of at the charity hospital in Fort Worth. Meanwhile, she has pain meds and Flomax to help ease out the kidney stone, and she is camped out in our living room.
The dietary restrictions are different for kidney stones and gall stones. Thankfully, I remember what needs to be done. I wasn't blogging in 2001, but I have several pages in a scrapbook devoted to The Gall Bladder That Ate July. Fourthborn is currently enjoying (ha!) three-fourths of the BRAT diet: no bananas, haven't cooked the rice yet, applesauce reluctantly, and lots of dry toasted English muffins. We (including Middlest) are presently eating something new I brought home from Costco: seasoned sweet potato bites that are maybe a little over-seasoned, but extremely low fat and mostly delicious.
Knit happened. A lot of knit happened. About an inch on Avery's sweater, at approximately twenty rows per inch. I would give you a visual, but Fourthborn's cot is set up behind me in the theoretically open space here in the living room, and stepping around it to take a picture is currently not in my skill set. And my kids are both awake and fighting battles in their video games while making commentary and flinging out bits of pop tunes.
Needless to say, I didn't make it to PT yesterday morning. I took my evening meds five hours late, and three hours of sleep was insufficient to clear the muscle relaxer out of my system, so I left them a message and went back to bed for another three hours. I didn't make it to work either. I spent the day running (loosely speaking) to the pharmacy, buying four cases of bottled water and two ginormous bottles of applesauce, going back to the pharmacy for an emergency refill of Middlest's pain meds, and eating when I remembered. I went to bed at 5:00, set the alarm for 10:00 for evening meds, fired up the white noise machine because the kids were visiting quietly in the living room, slept until 11:00 because the white noise machine also masked the alarm.
It is now after midnight on Saturday morning, and I've eaten maybe half of my sweet potato bites, and there is a slice of cherry pie that I bought for Fourthborn which she can't eat, which is probably still safe to eat, and my beloved kids are talking (and talking and talking), so I'm going to put my food in the fridge and pour another cup of buttermilk and fish out my debit card and order a wig for Adela, because I've adulted beyond all reasonable expectations, and I deserve a treat that will not jack with my blood sugar (I'll save the pie for another waking period).
And then I'm going to go hide in my blanket fort, because I am worded out and peopled out. We are not going anywhere today. I will take a stab at my PT homework, and I may knit a little, and I
Calgon, take me away.