Where were we?
Saturday: Head in toilet; sister-in-law in town with my nieces and her mother. Hi, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola!
Sunday: Head in toilet; guests still here, but they're spending their vacation by cleaning my house. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Monday: Head deeper in toilet; admitted to hospital; guests at my house babysitting my kids.
Tuesday: Still in hospital; guests still babysitting.
Wednesday: Still in hospital; guests heading home. Bye, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola! I love you! When you get home, don't forget to tell my brother hello and that I love him.
Thursday: Home from hospital, but have sore throat. Suddenly have developed a wicked pain in my butt (more on this later).
Friday: In bed all day sleeping, sick or in pain. Started running a fever so had to call oncologist. Back in hospital.
Saturday: In hospital
I'm home. You can't know how happy I am to be home. This level of happiness is matched only by the amount of pain I'm feeling in my bottom right now. This past week's hospital stays and pains and sickness will be reported, but first I give you the story of my butt and the things that have happened to it since I last posted.
(This is for you, Jeneil)...
It's Monday and I have eaten something I shouldn't have eaten (food) and I'm running to the bathroom about every 15 or so minutes. Tom was at work and Abby had taken the 4 kids out for ice cream and toys. It was just Lola and me in the house. The bathroom on my first floor where Lola and I were watching TV is near the living room, so I was opting to run upstairs every time I needed to go. If I just had diarrhea I would have used the downstairs bath, but since I was never sure if I was going to vomit - up I would go to my master bathroom. (I can't handle listening to anyone throw up, therefore I wasn't going to subject Lola to that either.)
Each jog upstairs had me feeling weaker and wobblier, so I was trying to make each trip count by staying as long as I could. Spike, my dog, followed me each trip. It is Spike's job in this house to keep people from breaking in and killing me. He is 7 pounds of pure Maltese terror. Spike was tired, too, from the up and down bathroom trips so while I was going to the restroom, he would nap. Spike hates the tile floors in the bathrooms, but still refuses to let me out of his sight. This day he found a work around for his tile issue.
One of my last trips up, I'm there sitting on the potty for an extended amount of time. By the time I go to stand it almost cost me my life. I was so weak and so exhausted, I hadn't realized that Spike had made his bed in my pajama bottoms between my feet. When I stood up I lost my balance. I almost fell face first onto the hard tile floor. I'm not sure how I kept myself from falling, I just remember hopping around and accidentally kicking the dog halfway across the bathroom. A child shouldn't have to tell people their mom died because she didn't notice the family dog nested in her pants while she sat on the toilet for half an hour.
It was after that trip to the restroom, I called my oncologist - begging for help. They said the best way they could help me was to go to the hospital - they'd have a room waiting for me. By Thursday what they finally managed to do was stop the vomiting, but not the diarrhea, which by the way, had caused my colon to finally surrender. A tiny little thing called a fissure had formed. That fissure is the thing that nightmares are made of.
Part 2 tomorrow.
(Yes, there was going to be so much more to this, but I am unable to think clearly enough to write. The fissure pain is truly severe and the pain meds I'm taking for it are powerful. I've great stories to tell, I'm just unable to get them written tonight. But I will! I promise!)