Friday the 6th brought a new day at home with optimism that the nightmare of pain was over.
BOY WAS I WRONG!!!!!!!!!
The nightmare was only beginning.
I represented to the hospital with severe pain on the other side of my abdomen. Same type of pain...other side. We never figured out what those pains truly were, but whatever the case, I believe that they saved my life because I was being monitored.
I was still under observation Sunday when Dad decided to go home. He flew home with a heavy heart, but needing to get back to his clinic. He called me when he got home to see how I was and I told him fine, but I had started spiking a fever. That evening, things took a turn for the worse when my pulse began racing and didn't slow down. It wasn't terribly high...110-125 give or take, but normal pulse should be 60-100 for me. Well, it kept creeping up.
By morning, the nurses were concerned, the PA that was seeing me was concerned and the decision was made to lifeflight me back to the hospital 2 1/2 hrs away. Lifeflight. Not a word that brings warm fuzzies. They took out my JP drain and away I flew.
The flight was uneventful. The ER admission showed my pulse to be still high, staying in the 120s-130s. About 3:00 in the afternoon, my dad and in-laws each started the 12-hour trek to get up here to be with me.
That night, I almost died.