Welcome to the Planet ... Welcome to Existence ... (Ayden's Great Escape from the Womb)!

After 9 months and 2 weeks my life was changed within minutes.

On Tuesday June 30, 2020 at 2:26 p.m. I became the Momma of a healthy 8 lbs 5 oz baby boy. His name is Ayden Clement Marta and he's the best thing I've ever done and have ever had in my life. Of course there's always a great story to tell in this adventure I call life, and here is his.

I went in for my 38 week doctor's appointment on June 30 at 9 a.m. I wasn't feeling well that morning, in fact, I had been feeling extremely lousy the day before as well. I was nauseous and had radiating back pain from the top to bottom. I wasn't able to sleep anymore and I was hardly able to walk due to some harsh pelvic pain. I woke up with my head in the toilet that Tuesday morning before my doctor's appointment and ended up throwing my hair up in a bun and driving myself to the doctor's office five minutes before my appointment. The nurse came out to call me back and checked my vitals. My blood pressure was 161/103 and my nurse looked at me concerned and said, "Hun, I think you may be having this baby before next Tuesday!" July 7th was the day the doctor had planned my c-section so when my nurse told me this I thought to myself, "okay, maybe she'll want to deliver him tomorrow or in the next couple of days."

I went to the exam room and my doctor walked in and said, "Well, your blood pressure is as impressive as your baby's weight!" (At the time Ayden was weighing in at 10 lbs 8 oz in my womb). I said, "are we thinking these are signs of preeclampsia?" My doctor replied, "I'm afraid so.
How do you feel about having a baby today?" I can only imagine what my face looked like after she said that. All I could sputter out was, "um, today?" She said, "yes, I highly recommend we deliver him today. I do not want to wait and put him at risk of getting ill and put you at more risk." I said, "okay, lets do this." After that she instructed me to go home and get what I needed and get back to the hospital as quickly as possible.

As left the hospital I called Luis and told him, "Babe, we are having a baby today!" He responded, "What! Do I need to get home?" I said, "Yes, as soon as you can!" After I hung up with Luis I called my mom, who went into freak-out mode with me. She asked, "What do you want us to do?" This is where my heart broke a little because I then remembered my birth to Ayden wasn't going to be a normal one. My family wasn't going to be able to come to the hospital and wait to meet him or see me after my c-section. They were going to have to wait a couple of days after he was born to be able to meet him because of COVID-19. I told my mom, "There's nothing I need for you guys to do. We will keep you updated throughout the entire process." She said, "Okay, I will call your dad, Damian and the rest of the family."

I got home and all I could think about was what a mess the house was because I didn't get the chance to pick up the day before because I was feeling so sick. I needed to take a shower and pack up the last minute stuff for the hospital but all I wanted to get done was to wash the pile of dishes in my kitchen sink. I knew if I left them dirty I was going to stress about that while I was in the hospital. (I know, I'm a nut!) A few minutes after I got home Luis walked in and one of the first things I told him was, "babe, could you do me a favor and get these dishes washed while I take a shower?" He gave me an odd look and I said "I'll stress about them not being washed if it doesn't get done before we go to the hospital." He laughed and said, "okay, babe." So Luis washed the dishes, I got showered, we loaded up our suitcase and headed to the hospital.

We got to the Children's Hospital around noon and right when we walked in it was like a whirlwind of events that left me spinning and a baby in my arms in the end. We checked in and the nurses started wiring me up with an IV and monitors. I wasn't too sure what time my doctor was planning on performing my c-section so I asked the nurses and they told me, "we have to do a COVID-19 test on you and we get the results back, in about an hour, we will be ready to go." They shoved two long swab sticks way up my nose (which is not a pleasant feeling at all and will automatically make you cry), sent them off to be tested and an hour later the results came back negative.

I facetimed my mom at some point right before my anesthesiologist came in. We were both in tears because all we both wanted at that moment was for her to be in that hospital room with Luis and I. I had to say goodbye as the anesthesiologist came in to give me his spiel on what to expect from him during my c-section. After he was done I was led to operating room where I was given a spinal, which was probably the most painful part of the whole procedure ... he had to puncture into my spine twice because he didn't get it right the first time. After that my whole lower body was numb, they laid me down and Luis was let into the operating room.

The anesthesiologist told me that once we began the procedure my blood pressure would probably drop and I would feel nauseous and light headed. He said I could let him know if I was feeling sick and he would pump in meds to make me feel better. He said he already had two other women throw up while on the operating table and he was hoping I would be his first of the day to hold my cookies in ... sadly, I didn't make it out of the operating room without vomiting. I asked how long the c-section would take and he told me about an hour from open to close and said, "but you'll have your baby here in about 2 minutes or so." I thought he was being sarcastic, but by the time I knew it I started feeling some pressure on the lower part of my body and then I heard the most wonderful crying screams! I looked at Luis and asked, "he's already out?!" Luis was looking over the curtain covering my body and taking photos with his phone and said, "Yes! He is!"

After that a nurse took Ayden to a table not to far from where I was laying and saw him for the first time ... so tiny and beautiful and loud ... I've never believed in love at first sight, but at that moment I knew it was real. Luis held his little hand as they cleaned him off and the nurse took picture of them. She then brought him to me and laid him on my chest and we both locked eyes and a sense of peace and joy seemed to fall upon us. No one else in that room existed except for him, Luis and I. I was in complete awe of this little human being I had wrapped in my arms. I couldn't believe that after nine months we made this precious little boy and he was ours to cherish and love for the rest of our lives. I was so in love with him, and in that moment I had never loved Luis more than I ever have.

The doctors were about done with closing me up when I started to feel lightheaded and nauseous and before we could tell the anesthesiologist I puked my guts out and apologized to him for not being his one out of three that day. My blood pressure rose and instead of taking us to our hospital room I was told we'd have to stay in the recovery room for 24 hours so I could be monitored every hour and given magnesium to help prevent possible seizures due to my preeclampsia. After we were settled into the recovery room I facetimed my mom and introduced her to her first grandchild. We were so happy and excited to finally have him with us.

The rest of our stay at the hospital was exhausting, to say the least, and there were times where I had a couple of breakdowns. One in particular, that we can laugh at now, happened our second night at
the hospital. We were running on very little sleep from the night before due to nurses coming in and out every hour to check on Ayden and I. Ayden had started to cry around midnight so I got up to check him and realized that his diaper was half off his booty and he had pooped everywhere and on everything. I had to wake up Luis to help me get him cleaned up. The look on Luis face was one of, "I can't believe that I am doing this baby-stuff again after 12 years." (For all of you who aren't aware Luis has two other children who are 12 and 11). My heart broke for him because I could see how exhausted he was and what possibly could be going on through his mind at that moment. We got Ayden cleaned up and Luis went back to sleep and I got back in my hospital bed with Ayden in my arms and started to cry and I whispered to Ayden, "Your dad is going to leave us. But we'll be okay." I was a mess at that moment and extremely emotional ... Luis isn't going to leave me ... I hope, lol.

We were discharged Thursday afternoon. It was so great to be home and so weird to be home with a brand new infant. I showered and then I napped on our recliner chair in the living room. As I napped I heard Luis on the phone with who sounded like my mom and I heard her say, "I have some bad news ..." I instantly woke up and asked what's going on? My mom let us know that Damian had called her to let her know that he had just found out he was exposed to COVID-19 by an employee at his job. We were devastated. Our happy day had turned into one of anxiety. It hit me then that our precious little one had been born into such an unhealthy world, and how the hell was I going to protect him now that he was out of the safety of my womb? Damian called me a little after we got off the phone with my mom. I asked him if he was okay and he responded, "I was until I heard your voice." We both cried over the phone and I reassured him that he would be okay, that he needed to go get tested so we would know for sure if were dealing with anything and then go from there. He told me that he would keep his distance from us in order to keep Ayden safe and I thanked him.

Lauren, Damian's girlfriend, showed up to bring us Roxie's dog food (she did us the favor of dog-sitting while we were in the hospital). She was the first to meet Ayden. I told her to tell Damian when he got home from work he could come by and meet Ayden through our front glass

 door. A half hour later Damian was knocking at our front door to meet his newborn nephew. I put on the bravest face I could and kept it together while Damian looked at Ayden from the other side of our glass door. Damian later told me he cried all the way home and told Lauren, "I didn't want the first time I met him to be behind a glass door." Damian went and got tested the next day and was negative for COVID-19. He still did not want to come meet Ayden, just to be on the safe side, but I told him since he tested negative we were okay with him coming to meet him in person. He offered to wear a mask and wash his hands before they met.

Later that Thursday night my mom, dad and two step-kids got to town. My excitement of my parents meeting their first grandchild was probably on the same level of me becoming a mom. They were overjoyed and overwhelmed when their eyes fell upon Ayden. They came in and never let him go. We spent the rest of the weekend obsessing over our newest family member and enjoying his first new days together. We learned those first few days Ayden loves to be sung to and likes noises and being around his loud family. He loves to be outside and feel the warmth of the summer days. He had the cutest little cry when he was days old, I called it his little velociraptor-cry.

Ayden is three weeks old now, and it feels like just yesterday that we brought him home into our lives. To be honest it's been very stressful becoming a mom during these uncertain times and I've struggled on not over-stressing on how I can keep Ayden as safe as possible from this virus in our world. I've also struggled with the fact that I can't let him meet all of his new family and friends all at once, in order to keep him safe and healthy, and that's been the most difficult part. I pray over Ayden each night, and its the same prayer each night, that God will protect us and keep us healthy and that He helps us keep our faith and trust in Him. I am sure God has an amazing plan to heal our world and bring us health and peace soon. Until then we will be here loving, protecting and watching our newborn grow.

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Like Getting Hit by a Bull ...

Within a split-second my brain shut down all thoughts running through my head and I heard a little voice inside start to say “We’re going to hit, and hard. It’s going to hurt.”

My arms stiffened up and my hands tightened around the steering wheel as the rest of my body pushed itself back against the driver’s seat and my left foot slammed down on the brake pedal. I knew I wasn’t going to stop in time when they hit their brakes out of nowhere and I was driving too close behind. I rear-ended my Jeep Renegade into a blue Ford F-150 at about 35-40 mph.

The back of that pickup came in so fast and when I hit I blacked out from taking a punch to the face from the airbag that deployed. When I came to, two guys had opened the Jeep’s passenger door and they were asking me if I was okay. I couldn’t respond because at that moment I felt the excruciating pain running through my chest, and my lungs were burning from trying to catch air to fill them back up. I looked out the crushed windshield and saw nothing but road in front of me, which left me bewildered on what happened to the truck I just slammed into with some incredible force. Another guy came up to my Jeep and said, “They just took off! I’m going after them!” He ran off got in his car and drove off heading north on the Lovington Highway towards the Joe Harvey Boulevard intersection.

I felt hot tears rolling down my cheeks and I was finally able to tell the guys I was “okay, but in a lot of pain.” A young cop showed up on my driver’s side door and opened it and started asking me tons of questions. “Are you okay ma’am? Do I need to call the paramedics? Did you see who you hit? Did the driver of the other vehicle get off and check if you were okay?” My head was spinning trying to answer all of his questions. I told him I was hurting and no, the other driver didn’t check on me and left the scene. I asked if I could get out of my Jeep to get some air and make sure I could walk. The officer helped me out of the Jeep and I walked to the front where the impact happened and my heart sank. The Jeep was completely crushed in. It made me hurt more seeing how hard I had hit that Ford pickup.

The guys who were kind enough to help me asked if there was anyone they could call for me but I told them I could make the call. I knew my mom would freak if she got a call from someone other than me telling her I was in an accident. I pulled it together enough to make the call to her and told her what happened and that I needed her to come get me, I broke down and told her, “I’ve totaled the Jeep.” She asked if I was okay and I said yes. She said “I’m on my way.” I hung up the phone and called Luis and just sat there in my crushed up Renegade and cried over the phone to him. He reminded me that me being okay is what mattered the most.

I overheard the guys who helped me telling the officer they weren’t able to get the other driver’s plate number because it was crushed in along with its tailgate. I prayed that they were okay and not injured. My mom and paramedics showed up. The paramedics checked me out — I already had bruises across my chest and on my the lower part of my right ribs. I also had a bump and a couple of cuts on my head. The paramedics told me to go to the hospital. I asked if I could go to Nor-Lea in Lovington instead of Lea Regional and they said that was fine, but I’m sure they thought I was trying to get out of going. They said, “we highly recommend you to go get checked out at the hospital.” I told them, “I will. Trust me, that lady out there is not going to let me go home until I go to the hospital.”

I walk into the ER and I’m sure I looked like a mad woman, limping in with an obvious banged up head and uncontrollable tears falling down my face. I go up to the front desk and tell the lady sitting there, “I’ve been in a car accident and I need to make sure I’m okay.” The look on her face was priceless and it seemed liked she was waiting for me to tell her I was kidding. I’m sure the ER’s are used to getting their vehicle accident patients via ambulance and not having them check themselves in. After a few seconds she said “I’m so sorry!” And started typing in my information quickly.

I was called in for a CT scan for my head and chest and X-rays on my spine and pelvic bone. Thank God, everything came out fine and I just had to deal with some major bruises and body pain. When I got home I examined the damage left on my body and it wasn't pretty. I was also annoyed that the scars on my forehead did not form a lightening bolt shape so I could look like Harry Potter.

I climbed into bed gingerly, and let my beat up body relax. I laid there and thanked God for allowing me to feel like I had just gotten hit by a bull, instead of ending up worst after that accident. It blows my mind how quick something like that can happen and how we never know when it might all end for us. I got lucky. I could of hit my head even harder and stayed unconscious. I could have not walked away from that accident with just bumps and bruises. I’m so thankful that I’m okay and that no one was seriously injured.

I’ve always told myself that there has to be at least one second before you die to get good with God, but the reality is sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes we are taken unexpectedly and we don’t have the chance to even treasure our last breath. Life is not a guarantee and it can all end when you least expect it. I know that after this experience I’m appreciating having another day and loving my loved ones a little harder and cherishing them more. And I will pray every night for all my family and friends to never have to be involved in an accident.

Be safe out there ya’ll! Life is to precious to be living it carelessly.

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Why I've decided not to Race around the World ...

It's been a bit of a crazy time since August. August was when I was accepted into a missionary organization called The World Race. The plan was to do this mission trip for 11 months in 11 different countries starting August 2018. I was excited when I stumbled on the advertisement on my Facebook feed and even more excited after I applied, interviewed and was accepted to join one of the teams.

Then the fun part began.

For the next few months I started the process of fundraising for The World Race. In order to do this mission trip I had to raise $18,100 by August 2018. I am a very blessed and lucky individual because when I told my family and friends about my plans they were more than supportive and jumped at every fundraising opportunity with me. In the past six months we were able to raise around $2,800 to go towards The World Race. 

Recently, it has come to my attention of a couple of things that made me question my decision of going and participating in The World Race for 11 months. Foremost, I would like to clarify that I have nothing against The World Race and believe wholeheartedly that this organization is doing some great things around the world, and I have deep respect for those who serve. My decision of not participating comes from a very personal level where I have prayed, sought counsel and contemplated whether sacrificing 11 months of my life is the best thing for me to do at this time. 

I know in my heart and soul that I can do a mission trip for a year and have the strength to be away from home and my loved ones that long, but when I asked myself if I truly wanted to leave for 11months, the answer, 'yes' did not immediately come to mind and my heart felt crushed just thinking of leaving. My life is in a really great place right now. I started a new job that is going incredibly well and I love the fact that I get to help children and their families. Graduate school is great, I love what I am studying and am looking forward to the chance of becoming a mental health counselor. My mental state is also so good. And leaving all of this behind in six months was going to be very difficult to do. 

It has also been brought to my attention how un-Catholic the World Race is, and how difficult it would be to serve with other Christians from other religions. My decision to not do The World Race has nothing to do with the missionary organization not being Catholic. To be completely honest the fact that a bunch of Christians from different faiths coming together to travel the world and help others in need in the name of God and sharing the love of Jesus is half the reason I wanted to join. I liked the idea of different Christians working together for a year and having the opportunity to share their faith with each other. Yes, it would be 1,000 times easier to join a Catholic-based missionary organization, but I wasn't planning on doing a mission trip in the first place, The World Race just kind of fell on my lap one day. 

So to make a long story short, at the end of the day my heart is not at peace in doing The World Race and with that said I have to stop my fundraising efforts. To those of you who have graciously donated funds to me I would like to first off apologize for wasting your time and thank you for supporting me in this endeavor. The $2,800 that I have raised will stay with The World Race and I have no doubt that those funds will be used for nothing more than something good and will glorify God in some way. 

If you would like any of the money back that you have donated to me, please let me know and I will more than gladly and willingly return it to you. I have decided that I will donate $2,800 of my own funds in honor of you, my supporters, to someone who is need locally or to an organization that needs financial support. That way I know and you all know that we definitely have helped someone. I will keep you all informed of where that money goes to and who it helps or supports.

I truly feel called to serve others and I know God will use me for his glory. My new job offers ample opportunities to help many children in need and I am currently getting involved in youth ministry at my local church. As the great Mother Teresa once said, "Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love." 

I hope that I have not disappointed any of you too much with my decision not to go on The World Race. If I have I am truly sorry and pray that you find it in your hearts to forgive me. Thank you all for the incredible support you have all shown me. It is so good to know that I have such amazing people in my life. Please keep me in your prayers, as I will keep all of you in mine. 

This decision was incredibly difficult to make, but I truly believe it is the best thing for me to do. And I feel complete peace in my heart and soul. 

"The Lord is my strength and my shield, in Him my heart trust and I am helped."
- Psalm 28:7

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What changed this month and what you hope will happen next month (PROMPT 29)

Let's see, the biggest change this month is I've been 29 for almost a month — do I feel any different or more mature, nah.

I've been keeping busy with friends and family, which had been a lot of fun. I've been seeing a counselor, which has been interesting and helpful for my mental health.

I'm pretty sure I messed up a potential relationship, but I'm not going to beat myself completely over it. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't of worked out in the end anyway. We both were on two different pages on what we wanted. So, yeah another one bites the dust.

I decided to apply for graduate school at the University of the Southwest. I am hoping to pursue my masters degree in Educational Science with a focus in Mental Health Counseling. Maybe my crazy can help someone one day.

I gained eight pounds ... thanks a lot June, with all the birthday parties.

Next month, I hope I will be starting online classes at USW. And hopefully mental health counseling is my calling.

I hope I am happier, and dealing better with my own mental health issues next month.

I hope for more fun times with my family and friends.

And to lose the eight pounds I gained.

Yup, those are my life goals for the next several weeks.

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PROMPT 28: The month I was happiest this year and why ...

The first month of this year is probably when I was the most happiest.

It put an end to a pretty crappy year, and it was a fresh start. Things were looking really good in January. I was happy and I hadn't been that happy in a very long time.

I started dating a new guy, that was fun, exciting and I really looked forward to see where that relationship would take me — I felt like I had finally got it right, finally found the one I'd been looking for.

January was just a month that held endless possibilities for what the year could bring. It was a blank slate ... it was a chance to heal and let go of all the baggage I was carrying from 2016.

And that's what I did. I left everything behind and came into the new year with hope, faith and the determination to have a better year in 2017.

January held lots of laughs and joy. It held a time where life was simple, pleasant and warm. It was a great way to start the new year.

Life doesn't always go the way we want ... Life isn't meant to be planned. You can't make life just be good all the time, things get hard, it gets messy and we still have to deal with it no matter what.

I'm just glad the year started off with a good month.

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Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Best Friend ... (PROMPT 27: Talk about your siblings)

Damian and I go way back ... well we go back to Sept. 16, 1993 — the day he was born.

I was five years old, and I was ecstatic that I was going to have a little brother or at least that's what I have been told by my parents.

I do remember asking my parents if we could name him Derek. Why? Well because there was a kid on Barney & Friends (yes, the big purple dinosaur) who I guess I liked.

Evidently, my parents went with the name Damian.

Damian came into my life at perfect timing, because at that point I was an only-child and a spoiled-rotten, bratty little girl. Damian came in like a hurricane, and he was so damn cute — this chubby, chunky little babe.

Growing up with a little brother I traded in my Barbies for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers, baseballs and go-karts.

We had a blast growing up together. Of course there were fights — lots and lots of fights. One time Damian tried to get me in trouble with my mom by pretending that I was picking on him and yelling from the living room, "Denise! Stop it! Stop being mean!" My mom was in the bathroom and she started yelling at me to leave Damian alone. I was in my room and told her, "Mom! I'm not even in the same room as him!"

There was the time right after one of his birthdays when
he was given a bunch of toy guns. One was this really cool crossbow that shot rubber bullets. This thing would shoot at like 30 miles per hour. Damian came into our room pulled out the crossbow and shot me in the face at point blank — let's just say it more than hurt. He had to collect all his new toy guns and throw them in the trash as punishment.

One time, I accidentally busted his head open with a baseball bat. Yes, I swear it was an accident. We were outside with our dad and I was up at bat. I was doing a couple of practice swings when Damian walked right behind me at the perfect moment when I let the bat swing behind me and DINK it smacked his little head. A fountain of blood started shooting out of his forehead. Damian stood there repeating "Oh my God!" over and over. I turned around, saw him and freaked out and started running around the entire yard. Dad didn't know who to take care of first — the bleeding kid or the psycho one running around like a maniac.

So yes, we've had our number of adventures and they have continued as we've grown up.

Damian has been my scary movie buddy, where we both end up being scared senseless and end up sleeping in the same bed, he's been the Luigi to my Mario, the Diddy Kong to my Donkey Kong, he's been my roller coaster and theme park bambino ... he's been my best friend since the day he escaped from the womb.

Now that we're both adults and we're both trying to figure out why we wanted to grow up so fast, Damian has become my biggest support system, my shoulder to cry on and my hero.

He has and I know will always have my back. Damian is one of the biggest reasons I still have faith that good men exist, because Damian has become a remarkable man. I've been very blessed by God to have been given a brother like Damian.

And I have been so lucky to have been able to live with Damian as my roommate in Lubbock for about a year and a half. Leaving him in Lubbock was so hard to do ... I miss him everyday. I miss his ridiculous jokes and I miss laying around on our couches quoting movie lines and cracking up at our inside jokes.

I can only hope and pray as the years go by we continue to be close. That we continue to have adventures and continue to be a blessing in each others lives. My constant prayer every day is for God to protect my little brother and make his dreams come true.

And if God has to take one of us from this earth I ask Him to take me first, because I can not imagine or live in a world where Damian does not exist.

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Mission Gallbladder Removal: My adventures of living in a hospital

Man oh man.

Okay. 

On May 1st I woke up in Albuquerque, got on the road back to Lovington after spending the weekend with my ABQ friends. The four hour drive was boring, and got home around 11 a.m. I took a nap, took a shower and started getting ready for work. I was working late that Monday so I didn't have to be at work until 1ish. 

I was dressed and ready to go when my mom walked in the house and I told her I was having really bad heartburn. I told her this as I pressed my hand against the upper part of my tummy. She laughed at me and said, "That's not heartburn if your tummy is hurting." I told her maybe it was indigestion, and I took some Tums. She left and about five minutes later an excruciating pain developed on the upper right side of my tummy, right under my rib cage. 

I have never felt so much pain before in my entire life. Now, I've never given birth but I'm sure contractions and delivering a baby can't hurt as much as my stomach hurt that day. I literally walked around my parents house screaming every curse word ever invented. I'm sure my dogs thought I was a lunatic as they followed me back and forth as I paced throughout each room of the house. I didn't know what to do to make the pain subside. I tried to walk it off, sit it off, lay it off — but nothing helped. I tried to take more Tums but once I put the tablet in my mouth I dashed off into the bathroom and puked. 

I figured after vomiting I'd feel better, but no the pain grew more intense and never faded. So I called my editor and told him that I couldn't come in (I'm sure he thought I was faking it since I had spent the weekend in Albuquerque). I forced myself to sleep and slept for a couple of hours until my mom got home from work. The pain was still there, not as intense as it was earlier that day, but still painful. I told my mom what was going on and she asked if I wanted to go to the clinic. I told her no, because I'm stubborn and very much dislike doctors and clinics. 

So I dealt with the pain for the rest of the evening, until around 9 p.m. when I just couldn't hack it anymore. I told my parents that I needed to go to the ER. We got to the ER at around 9 p.m. and of course sat there and waited for two hours until they saw me — at this point I had puked nonstop, which who knows how I was still puking since there was nothing in me left to puke, I couldn't keep anything down, I had a fever and the stomach pain was consistent. 

When the doctor and nurses finally took me in they put me on an IV and told me they were going to pump Tylenol in me to bring my fever down, and it would maybe help relieve some of my pain. The doctor came in took some blood, pressed down on my tummy and said, "You probably have gallstones." I said okay and he told me to come back tomorrow, talk to a surgeon to see about having my gallbladder removed. After that he left and the nurse started taking my IV out and I asked if I could have some pain medication? She said, "We gave you Tylenol." And I said, "Well, sure for my fever but I still have a lot pain." 

She left to talk with the doctor and came back with a prescription for nausea medication and gave me a pain killer, basically a high dose of ibuprofen. So I was sent back home pretty much in the same condition I showed up, except feeling much worst after being pricked and poked, and with a nausea medication prescription ... psshhh ... what the hell did I need those for?

That night there was no sleep. The pain kept me up and the only comfort I could find in short periods was sitting on my bed while hugging a pillow and resting my head on top of it. Around 4 a.m. I heard my dad get up to go to work and I' sure I looked like a complete psycho because he walked into my room and found me sitting on my bed facing my headboard with my arms wrapped around my tummy. 

The next morning we called the hospital and asked if we could see the surgeon who could take my gallbladder out. We were told I had to see a physician who would then refer me to a surgeon. So I saw Dr. M. who got on the ball and got shit done for me. 

He came in and started asking me all kinds of questions and when he found out that I was in the ER the night before and released he was livid. He asked how the doctor at the ER determined I had gallstones without performing any scans on me? I said I don't know. He asked if I was given pain meds and I said no. After I told him that he called the nurses and shot me up with the "good stuff" that numbed the pain. He ordered a CT Scan and an ultrasound and more blood work.  

That whole morning I had all those tests done and he sent me home and told me he would call me when he got the results back. I got home and was dying for a nap and once I was falling into that sleep zone my phone started ringing. It was Dr. M. and he said that my white blood counts were too high, my pancreas was inflamed, I had a stomach infection and there were signs of stones present in my gallbladder. He told me to go back to the ER as soon as possible and that I'd be admitted to the hospital for a few days. 

So back to the ER I went, it was about 1:30 p.m., they didn't see me until probably 3 p.m. got an IV put in and more blood taken, the nurse asked if I had a preference on which arm I wanted poked and I told her, "Does it matter? It already looks like I'm shooting up heroine." I had probably been poked by needles ten times in the last 24 hours. 

I waited another two hours for a room to become available, and as I waited a couple of doctors stopped by and read my charts. They were all disappointed that I was released from the ER the night before, and one said with my high white blood cell count I should have been admitted immediately. He said my body could have gone into shock and I could have ended up in a coma or have died. 

I was finally put into a hospital room, had more blood taken out and was given my first round of morphine, which was great because it knocked me out, but the pain was still there. The rest of that night was pretty much sleepless with nurses coming in and out almost every hour. I was still running a fever so they were trying to bring that down and at 5 a.m. they came in and took more blood. 

The doctor came in and said the game plan was to get all the inflammation to go down in my tummy — everything on the right side was swollen. So that meant no food or water until things settled in there. He also told me they needed to get my white blood count and enzyme levels to go down. My potassium level was also way too low so I needed to have potassium pumped into my system. 

Oh potassium, what a bitch!

Excuse my french, but there is no other word I can use to describe that liquid torture. The doctor informed my nurse that I needed potassium so she started prepping to put it in my IV. She told me, "This will probably burn a little." And I said okay. I can be a wimp, but I'm not that huge of a wimp and can handle a pretty fair amount of physical pain. But this potassium-crap was unbearable.

Once the liquid from that little bag trickled its way down the tubes into my vein, my arm was on fire. I just wanted to chop it off. It hurt so bad that the pain from the gallbladder was trumped. I literally curled up into a little ball on that hospital bed and cried my eyes out.

The nurse came in and asked if I was alright, and well by just taking a look at the state I was in she knew the answer. She asked if I wanted her to lower the drip and I said yes. She lowered it and later lowered it again to the point where it was barely dripping at all. It took five hours to get through that little bag of potassium — five hours of torturous pain.

Now, I know I sound very dramatic, but during this time I was crying through the pain, my blood pressure was skyrocketing to the point that the nurses were becoming concerned and started monitoring it, I had a fever, I was dehydrated — my lips started to chap and turn purple. And my skin was pale as death.

Because I couldn't stop crying, I guess my nurse thought I was having a mental breakdown and called in a counselor to talk with me. The counselor came in and he asked if I was okay and I told him the truth, that I was crying and freaking out because the potassium hurt like a Mutha Eff. But I told him, "I do have a lot I can talk to you about if you want," so he sat and listened to all the crazy stuff in my head and the nutty stuff going on in my life. He was very kind and asked if he could tell my doctor to refer me to him after I got out of the hospital, evidently my mental health needs a lot of work, which I already knew that. 

After exiting the doors of potassium hell, I asked the nurse if I could get something stronger for the pain from my gallbladder and she hooked me up with something a bit stronger than morphine. The rest of that evening went fine, had some fun visitors (my little cousins) who made my hospital stay entertaining with card games and their jokes. I told them about my potassium fiasco and one of my cousins asked, "Why didn't they just feed you bananas?"

I couldn't agree more. 

The next morning, Thursday, the doctor came in and told me he had good news, my counts and levels were all coming down, but my damn potassium level was still too low. When he told me that I started to cry, I literally prayed the night before that my potassium levels would go up because I never wanted to go through potassium torture again.

That day I had a different nurse and I waited as long as I could to let her start me on another round of five hours of potassium poison pumped into my system. She kind of looked at me funny and said there was no reason I should have been in that much pain the day before from the potassium.

So when she was setting me up she talked me through what she was doing. She said, "Here is your potassium line and here is your fluid line, I'm going to connect them in the middle and the fluid will dilute the potassium by the time it hits your vein. I'm going to start the drip at a high speed."

I gave her an "I hate you" look but said Okay. She said that it would be uncomfortable but I shouldn't be sitting in my bed crying in pain. So we started the potassium and a miracle occurred!

The potassium was flowing into my system pain-free, I mean there was some discomfort but nothing like the day before. I was confused. What the hell happened the day before. We got through the little bag of potassium in one hour! One glorious hour! Not five, but one!

As I laid there and watched the numbers go down of the milliliters of potassium being put into my body, I realized that the fluids being pumped into my system were being tracked too. The day before, only one side of my IV machine was on and counting the amount of drip going into my vein. So I figured out that the nurse did not dilute the potassium and gave it to me straight. That's why I was dehydrating and my blood pressure was sky-high and why I was in so much damn pain. 

On Thursday they also finally let me eat. Not only eat, but they stuffed me with so much food. I hadn't eaten since Sunday so that was already four days food and water free. All I really wanted was a glass of water — I would of killed for water at that point.

At first they gave me broth, iced tea, apple juice and jello. Then an hour and a half later they gave me a heartier broth, apple sauce and more iced tea. I couldn't eat all of it, given that was a lot of food and I started feeling nauseous. Then two hours later they gave me a grilled chicken breast, a chunk of tomato, mashed potatoes and sherbet. 

The point of feeding me was to allow my digestive system to start working again. The inflammation finally had gone down and the doctors wanted to see what I could hold down. Luckily, I held down everything they gave me but I still didn't get my glass of water.

As the evening went on, the night nurses came in for their shifts and I asked one of them if I could have some water. She said no because my charts still said I was not allowed any food or water. I told her "That's funny since they've been shoving foods and drinks down my throat all day." The day nurse was still there so I asked if there was a reason I couldn't have water, she said I could have whatever I wanted. So I told her the night nurses said no and she said she'd get everything cleared up for me. 

So an hour went by and the night nurse came back and I asked again for a glass of water, she looked annoyed and said, "I already told you no." At that point I just let it go, but picked up my phone and called my mom to sneak me in a bottle of water. By the time my mom got back to the hospital the nurses had gotten their crap together and one came in with a beautiful big cup full of iced water — heaven!

I still had some pain that night so I asked for some more pain meds. The meds worked wonders and kicked in fast. I think that night my pain wasn't as bad as the nights before so the drugs kicked in faster and didn't have a lot of pain to kill so the drugs started acting like a true narcotic. I started hallucinating about a raccoon, because one of my mom's friend's daughter, who visited me, gave me a stuffed raccoon bear. She placed it near me on my pillow and told me if I got scared he'd keep me safe. Well that raccoon chased me all night long. I was tripping out so bad that my breathing was irregular and the nurses had to start pumping oxygen in me. It was nuts! 

On Friday, I was finally discharged and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. The thing was, nothing had actually been done with my gallbladder. There were still stones in there and I was afraid I was going to have another attack. The catch though, was the doctors could not do any procedures on me while I was a patient in the hospital. I had to get out and then go back for outpatient procedures. 

The weekend went by and I watched what I ate and had no tequila, margs or Dos X on Cinco de Mayo.

On Monday, I was back at the hospital for a HIDA Scan procedure, which involved laying under a scanning machine for three hours. I was allowed to take a DVD to watch and pass the time so I took Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, but with my luck the DVD player wouldn't read it. So the doctor said there were a couple of DVDs that past patients left and one of them was The Wedding Singer — one of my favs. She popped that in and started the scanning. But every ten minutes the DVD would stop and then skip ten minutes of the movie so I watched The Wedding Singer under 30 minutes and watched it three times while my insides were being scanned. It sucked! 

The next day, I went back to the hospital for an endoscopy procedure — the doctors said there was a possibility of me having a hidden stone that caused my pancreas to inflame. They were going to go in and try to remove it. I was put under anesthesia, which was a first for me and I said a prayer and made good with God just in case I didn't wake up, the doctors did their thing and when I came to the doctor said she couldn't get into one of my gallbladder tubes and the procedure was pretty much pointless. Great! There went $200 for nothing and that's not even the entire cost for the procedure.

Now, almost 10 days later I'm still waiting to see the surgeon to remove my gallbladder — the true cause of the problem. I go back to the doctor tomorrow and hopefully we can get this problem fixed and I can go back to my normal, crazy life. 

Hospitals, doctors and me are obviously not a good mix, but it does make for some interesting stories. 

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