(This is a hard post to write because so much happened that day and I was in a bit of a haze from the fever. I may not have all the details 100% correct, but this is what I remember and at least represents how I feel.)
The doctor took a quick look at me and told me that I needed to go straight to the hospital. No going home first, no stops, straight there. Which scared the crap out of me in its urgency but also wasn't completely shocking. She thought I might be having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I was on. I've never been allergic to medicine before so that possibility never occurred to me. I had kept taking the pills, so maybe that's why my fever just kept getting worse.
We jumped in a cab and went to the hospital, preparing to wait forever to see a doctor, like every other time I've ever visited the ER. I wrote a quick message to the people I was working with, telling them I was en route to the hospital. At least now it would be clear that I was seriously ill and not faking it!
We got to the ER and shockingly, there was no wait. I was processed quickly and they brought me into a room. I was stunned that there was no one else around. Since I was freezing cold and shaking, I felt really lucky. They quickly hooked me up to an IV to get me some fluids.
They also attached some liquid antibiotics to the IV. They told me they were the strong ones so that it could help bring down my fever faster. I was relieved that something might finally help.
I fell in and out of sleep. I was so exhausted from the fever. However, at some point, I realized my hands were really itchy. I couldn't stop scratching my fingers and it woke me up. I realized my fingers and hands were all swollen with hives. I kept pressing the call button and trying to flag someone and they eventually came in. I showed them the allergic reaction and they cut off the antibiotics. Was I now allergic to even more antibiotics?
They kept me in the emergency room for awhile on the IV and the doctor checked in with me every so often. At one point after the allergic reaction, she mentioned I should try to take my rings off because my fingers were pretty swollen. If I couldn't get them off, she noted, they would have to cut them off. Cue: panic and crying fit. My wedding ring and engagement ring? On top of everything else going on, now my rings?! I knew they were just things but it pained me to think that they would be cut because of their sentimental value. I tried as hard as I could to get them off but my fingers were hard and swollen and larger than the rings. I was distraught over having to get the rings cut off. Nothing worked. It took hours but eventually I was resigned to the fact that I needed to do this. I could get them redone. As important as they were to me, they were just things. And I didn't want to lose my finger. I was thinking that if the rings cut off all the circulation to my finger, it might die and I would have to get the finger cut off. Oh, the things you think of in the hospital. Is that even possible, medical people?
I couldn't dwell on it that long. By late afternoon, they had moved me upstairs (being wheeled around felt weird) and officially admitted me to the hospital. My first hospitalization. Wheee. They gave me a private room because with the red rashes and fever they didn't know if I had something really contagious. I was in isolation. Yay quarantine. I was so cold that I spent most of my time under blankets and coats but not getting any warmer. Isolation was fine. I wasn't going anywhere.
We kept trying to get the rings off. Some people thought warm water would help (why?) so they soaked my hand in warm soapy water. Nope. Ice water. Nope. Lots of lotion. Nope. It's the simple law of size. A small circular ring will not fit over something larger which is rock solid and not the least bit malleable. They kept trying. I told them what the ER doctor said about cutting it off. They said they had to ask maintenance (why?). Then they said maintenance left. Then they needed a doctor to order it. Maybe I got the order all wrong but that's the general gist of what happened.
At some point dinner arrived.
Roasted chicken, mixed vegetables and pasta. Smelled good but it was all very bland and watery. There was also apple juice, a dinner roll, banana cake, milk and tea. Boring and not very tasty. Didn't really matter much though since I barely had any appetite and all I could think about was how cold I was. How much I was shivering.
My finger was still swollen at night and showed no sign of going down. A stayed with me for awhile, and we kept asking them to cut my rings off. But the rings stayed on. As the day wore on, my finger got more and more painful. It wouldn't bend. It was solid. The antibiotics I reacted to were probably leaving my system but the rings seemed to be blocking that from happening in this finger. I needed to get them off. I was distressed and shared my anxiety on facebook:
The shifts at the hospital must have changed and a new doctor came to see me at night. I relayed the entire story about the rings to him and told him the ER doctor told me it would be necessary if I couldn't get them off myself. This was the first doctor who actually seemed to care what I thought, who actually listened to me. He told me he would get them cut if I really wanted that to happen, and asked me what I wanted to do. I had clearly been thinking about it all day and was making an informed decision. I asked him to cut them off. It pained me to say it but I knew I had to do it.
Look how horribly swollen my fingers are! Obviously the rings needed to be cut. Hours passed before they finally showed up to cut off the rings. I felt awful because I had called A to come back to the hospital (luckily they agreed to let him in) so he could take the rings home with him, since I didn't want them unsecured in the hospital. He had to work the next day and it was really, really late and taking them forever to show up.
For some reason, I thought cutting off the rings would be easy. I thought it would be like a super strong clip or pair of scissors that would just snap off the rings. Mechanically I guess that isn't really possible since rings are made to be strong. Instead the ring cutting machine is more like a wheel that grinds down the metal until the rings split.
Probably not a surprise then that cutting off the rings was a process that took a really long time. They tried the electric (?) one but it was producing sparks and my finger burned from the heat. So they were stuck with the manual one. And they had to cut 2 rings which were really close together. There also wasn't much space since my finger was so swollen. So much pain. A even helped with one of the rings to make the process go more quickly.
Pretty clear by the end of it why the rings needed to be cut, right? My finger went through such trauma and even ended up scraped on the sides. But I was so relieved that the rings were finally off. A went back home. It was so late and I felt so guilty for keeping him awake. But I was really glad he was there. After 4:30 am, I was finally able to try to get some sleep, although, with how crappy I still felt, there really wasn't much sleeping happening.
What a day indeed.
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