My Story

In the heavyweight wrestling match of Keltie vs. Reality, Keltie was struck down by her opponent, and struck down hard.

****

See, it all started on Saturday, really. Geoff and I were supposed to have a quiet night in. Then he got a new computer, which any female can tell you, replaces the girlfriend for at least 48 hours. So Christine called, and we decided to get some Christmas shopping out of the way, and enjoy a bottle of wine in the evening. Christine came over and we went Christmas shopping. While out, Holly called, distraught. “Well, come on over tonight” I insisted, “We’ll have a drink or two.” “Oh, it will be more then a drink or two” Holly responded. Ever heard of obvious foreshadowing? Well, had this been a movie, cue the ominous thunderclap right about there.

Fast forward several hours. Geoff is tinkering way at his computer while the girls are sitting in our room drinking, talking, and wrapping gifts. Geoff was happily sitting in the living room, nursing a beer. Meanwhile, Holly is drinking several coolers. What are Keltie and Christine doing? Drinking Cyclone and Diet Pepsi. Doubles, short. I’m sure everyone else can see where this is heading.

Fast forward several more hours still. We all start doing shots. Pornstars.

Fast forward a half and hour. Only the girls are doing shots.

Fast forward fifteen minuets. Only Keltie and Holly are doing shots, and these shots are ‘two and a half’. Yeah.

Scene missing. Scene missing.

Keltie pukes her brains out. All over the place. Violently.

Fast forward to morning. Everyone mocks the mortified Keltie, who spent the next 18) hours (and $17.00 in coins) washing sheets, comforters, pillowcases, comforter covers. Keltie understandably feels like shit, as she has not only humiliated herself, but also managed to throw her neck out in a pretty embarrassing way. So she keeps this fact quiet.

Hilarious, right? Yeah. I wish the story ended there. Let me tell you what comes next. Its not so hilarious.
****
Well, my neck was seriously hurting all Sunday, which everyone attributed to throwing up and sleeping in the drunken fetal position. I don’t recall sleeping like that, but clearly my memory is not the one to rely on in this situation.

All Monday is spent popping ibuprofen and exceeding the maximum dosage. By this point, I realize that I must have really pulled out my neck muscles, but chalk it up to a bizarre drunken story. I go to work ignoring the dull throbbing ache. Godda make a living, right?

Monday night is seriously uncomfortable. My restlessness is met with minor irritation from Geoff, as he is being kept awake by the aftermath of my painful drunken binge. An awkward and sleepless night for us both. I once again exceed the maximum dosage of Ibuprofen. Twice.


Tuesday I’m cranky and the dull throb in my neck in now accompanied by a sharp stabbing pain every so often. All evening Geoff and I discuss the possibility of a pinched nerve and possible slow healing muscle from Saturday night. I am now impervious to the effects of ibuprofen and sleep with a magic bag to ease the throbbing.

Wednesday morning at 3.00am. My neck pain wakes me up. Something is seriously wrong.
****
I begin to panic as I take inventory of my symptoms. Massively painful neck. Not only painful but stiffness. The skin at the back of my skull feels as though it has a million small shards of glass embedded in it, and every movement is agony. Strangely, my ear is aching in a pretty painful way, and it’s dark, but I feel as though I was only wearing a contact lens in my left eye. I woke Geoff, trying to remain calm, and asked him to re-heat my magic bag and get me some painkillers. He’s worried, and we discuss the possibility of him driving out to a 24 hour shoppers and getting some extra strength back meds. Its -27 with a windchill, and it’s likely just a pinched nerve.

It’s during this conversation that I realize the right side of my tongue is numb. I vocalize my Meningitis concern, and he points out that if that were the case, he would have gotten sick by then. He asks if I want him to drive me to the ER anyway. I feel foolish for jumping to this absurd conclusion, and decide to just get some rest.

Wednesday around 8.00am, Geoff makes himself late for work as he goes out and gets me some pain medicine. I take it gratefully and hope it works. At this point I feel as though the pains are getting worse, but I ignore them and go to sleep.

Around noon the extreme sensitivity to light and sound kicked in . I realized that I am not improving, decided to seek medical attention. Medicenter. After this proves foolish, I do what every scared young adult does. I called my mother.

After seeking decent medical attention from people who aren’t idiots (Capital Health Link), I am informed that I am in fact a moron and should have gone to the ER at 3.00am when the pain started. Get there in the next hour. This is not something to mess with.

Okay then.


****
Mum picks me up and drives me to the ER. At this point I am nearly positive that I am suffering from a migraine. I needed her to lead me into the wing, as I could not open either of my eyes to the glaring whiteness of the snow.

The ER is packed with people. And I mean packed. There were people groaning in pain, people twisting and writhing on the floor, and one woman in handcuffs who verbally assaulted everyone in her vicinity while dripping blood from a head wound and ignoring the exasperated looking cops who tried to shut her up. Awesome.

I resister, and get told that there is an expected 9 ½ hour wait. Thanks, Alberta. This is awesome. My pain is getting worse, and I just want to go home.

Surprisingly, the triage nurse saw me rather quickly. She assessed me, and quickly sent me off to the actual registration for my little wrist band. It occurred to me that things seemed to me moving rather fast, but am in too much pain to care.

While waiting in line at the registry, the lady in front of me is rushed in via ambulance with severe chest pain. I let her go in front of me, which for some reason earns glares from all the nurses that seem to be watching me. I mentally tell them all to go fuck themselves and pull Geoff’s toque back over my eyes.

I get to registry. The lady takes all my info, and tells me that I have a high triage number and that they are currently trying to find me a bed. Mum tries to lead me away, but I am still trying to process this through my pain fuzz. I know something is up, and am going to find out, come hell or high water. I go back to the window.

“Um, excuse me. You said I have a high triage number, Out of curiosity, what is it?”
“Well…she assessed you at a two.”
“Oh. Out of what?”
“Six”
“That’s not high!”
“Um….S.T.A.R.S Ambulance rates a one. That lady in front of you with chest pains? She’s a three.”
“Oh. Fuck.”
“Yeah. Go sit down.”

I waited a mere two and a half hours to receive my ‘immediate’ emergency care. But, I didn’t have to wait 9 ½ hours, and they got me onto a stretcher. I was just grateful to be able to out of the waiting room and somewhere quiet where I could lie down. They even turned out some of the lights for me.

I saw a million nurses and described my symptoms a thousand times. I eventually got to see a doctor.

She checked me out pretty thoroughly. It was at this point that I realized that my entire right side, from my forehead to my chest, was completely paralyzed. Spooky.


The diagnosis? Sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t actually remember what it’s called, nor can I recall a lot about this point. I was passing in and out of consciousness. She told me what I had. The pain was getting more and more intense, and I was fed up with doctors and mumbo jumbo. I looked at her and poignantly inquired, “What the fuck is that?” (which earned me a smack from my mother). Luckily she was young and not quitet jaded yet, because she laughed, pulled the curtain, and told us what I had in layman’s’ terms. I can recall two quotes from this conversation.

“Its midway between a very severe migraine and a stroke. And its only cause is stress.”
“We’re not supposed to swear in here. But I can tell you it hurts like hell.”

She told me I had to stay for observation overnight, which caused me to have a cow. She saw that I was quite upset by this information, and agreed to treat me first, then see if I had to stay.

The treatment seemed innocuous enough. But it wasn’t. It was pure hell. First of all, the inept nurse messed up getting the iv needle in, causing blood to spray all over the iv stand, my blankets, the curtain, her and myself. She got frustrated and, obviously having worked only with cadavers, just started shoving. I began to cry (hey, it really hurt. It was in my wrist) and she went to fetch another nurse. This one was less of a moron, and when she came in the first thing I said was “I’m a registered blood donor, and this is the vein you will be using.” She looked at me and said “Okay. Breathe deep. Poke!”

It was in, and the crap was running through my veins. Suddenly, I wigged right out. Seriously, I went from emotionally fine to just freaking out, all Poltergeist style. I don’t recall this part at all, but apparently I was yelling at everyone, screaming at the nurse who mangled my arm when she walked by, yelling at my poor mother, crying about the iv and how I just wanted to go home, and trying to yank the iv out of my arm. Apparently I returned to sanity long enough to get two words out to my mother.

“Hot. Itchy.”

She (correctly) assumed that I was having a bad reaction to the meds, and ran to find the doc. I freaked out, writhed, and had to be held down by two nurses till the doc came back in and administered some sort of sedative. I calmed right down, looked around, and inquired as to why everyone was staring at me like I was the devil. The doc told me that one out of every fifty adults are allergic to the pain medication she had administered, and I was that lucky person. I laughed and told her that I felt stoned, and I wasn’t as sensitive to light anymore, so I was okay with it. I even apologized to Nurse Ratchet the next time she scurried by. She was still scared of me.

Anyway, everything past that is a stoned blur. It felt awful, I drifted in and out of sleep, which is tough to do when you have to keep your arm perfectly straight. At this point, I was so exhausted that it didn’t matter. All I know is that I got to come home, and that the pain had eased.

****


So here I am. I’m still in pain, but it gets better each day. I still have lingering pain in the right side if my neck that flares up whenever I get stressed out about something, and light still kinda bugs me. But I’ve made a few decisions.

I have to chill out. To have a nervous breakdown at age 22 is disgusting, and its obviously a pretty big sign that I need a life change.
I’m quitting my job. Yes, it is just a retail job, but I am getting rid of all the extra stressors that I can. I will live off my student line of credit and get myself mentally healthy.
I am going to start using an outlet of some sort. I’ll write or take yoga or do something that isn’t just ignoring it like I have been. I’ve been taking on all the recent stress in my life (you guys know what I’m talking about) and assuming that I can handle it.
I’m going to stop ignoring the warning signs. The grey hair, the hand tremor, the nightmares, and even that one night of binge drinking. Its time to get real and get healthy.
I have to stop living in my head and taking on other people’s burdens. I love my friends and family, but being too involved took its toll, and I am not willing to do that again.
I will realize and practice the fact that school is not life. Its just school. A few bad grades does not mean that my life is over. Its just a bad grade.

Anyway, that is my story. If nothing else I hope that you, the reader, learns from my mistakes. Life really is too short to get so stressed out.

K.