I had to go to the ER this morning.
Actually, I didn't need to go. But Joey made an executive decision and booted my ass out the door and into the car.
Luckily, this ER experience was nothing like the one I had in October. We went to a different hospital. I got a bed (in a private room!) right away. But not everything was different from October.
It was another rupture. This time is was a follicle . . . on my RIGHT ovary.
Yes. That nurse practitioner from my gynecologist's office? The one who swore I needed to be tested for IC, a BLADDER condition? She gets the Darwin award, and she also got a nice voicemail message when I was released from the hospital earlier this afternoon. (No, really. I was nice, considering the circumstances.)
I'm supposed to hear back from the doctor tomorrow about switching my treatment plan, since this one is obviously not working. He was out today. I'll stay with him for now, mostly because I don't want to see a seventh doctor in three years about my lady parts, but I made perfectly clear in my call to that office that I expect an apology AND better treatment next time I come to them in pain.
I managed to laugh a lot today - despite everything - but I'd be lying if I told you I felt good inside. I don't.
At the beginning of the year, I was so depressed. I didn't think I could get any lower. But I don't think I've felt as low as I do in this moment. No one understands. I have no friends to talk to. It feels like I'm going to slip under the waves at any second and sink to the bottom.
HOW can I fight this and still manage to stay afloat?