I spent 6.5 hours in the ER today. It was as fun as it sounds. I have a prescription for another week of antibiotics.
I’ll perhaps add to this post later, but not now. Now I sleep.
I spent 6.5 hours in the ER today. It was as fun as it sounds. I have a prescription for another week of antibiotics.
I’ll perhaps add to this post later, but not now. Now I sleep.
Today, getting blood work done to follow-up on some issues with my MOKI1Month of Kidney Infection, I am sitting at the lab, in the blood-giving chair, with my arm resting on the blood-giving tray. The tech shows up and is very pleasant and professional. She places some vials on the tray next to my arm. More than one or two vials. I count six.
I ask if she is going to fill all of them. She enthusiastically tells me yes, then says not to worry, I’ve got plenty of blood. I would like to know if my expression changed at all when she said yes. I think it might have, but just barely enough to notice before flipping back to whatever it had been before.
To her credit, she got all six vials filled quickly and painlessly. And I remembered to hydrate and eat before, so I didn’t pass out and slide awkwardly onto the floor.
Such is my life these days. But soon: Maybe I’ll post about other things, not related to my body or the fluids contained within!1
And now, a sproinging cat:
I did not expect 2025 to begin this way.
On Thursday, January 9th, I was administered antibiotics for an infection that was originally thought to be in the prostate, then the bladder, but in the meantime actually moved to one of my kidneys. Every day since then I have gone back for another daily round of IV therapy, the first five at Burnaby Hospital, the last six at Royal Columbian, which is literally a five-minute walk from home, so that part was at least convenient.
On Day 5 they removed the IV from my left arm, because the apparatus had bent, and switched to my right arm. This was better since I’m left-handed. But it still meant doing a lot of things was cumbersome and awkward, and I had to be careful not to damage the IV while sleeping and whatnot. A shower or bath was weird and vaguely unpleasant.
But now both arms are free and treatment has ended. I wait to see what happens next. Did the infection sneak into my prostate, and will I start showing symptoms in a week? I don’t know. I am not a pessimist (I swear), but am resigned to a 50/50 chance of more infection to come. But that also means I think it’s possible I’ll be good.
I’ll wait a few more days, then start thinking about running (not on a sidewalk) again.
Here’s hoping the rest of 2025 is kind of dull and boring for me. If there’s excitement, I request that it be of a pleasant variety, without any Twilight Zone-style twists.
I started my IV therapy at Royal Columbian Hospital on Tuesday, so today was my fourth day (I double-checked the math, I think I got it right). On each of the three previous days, every other person getting an IV had a foot issue. Usually the left foot. Left feet seem kind of unlucky.
But today was a new dawn: Someone in the chair ahead of me was getting an IV for the first time (I both did and didn’t want to look) and lo, he had two regular feet. His therapy ended first and as he left, he turned and waved at me, as if we were brothers-in-arms feet. The guy that came in as I was leaving also seemed to have two ordinary feet. Seeing these guys made me feel less odd.
I have had nine (technically 10) treatments, with two more to go. The desire for everything to be OK after that is something I cannot yet put into words.
And now, straight from Discord, a cat reacting to a foot:
Not his month, anyway. I’ts like my brain refuses to focus long enough to get out more than a few sentences.
But perhaps I will bloviate again and at length soon.
Also, the IV has been making my right arm itchy the last few days and I can’t scratch it. I must use sheer force of will to convince myself it does not itch.
Three more days and I am hopefully done on this particular journey.
Cat:
And I love lists! So here’s a list highlighting various random things on my Health Adventure 2025 (which technically began in 2024):
This story begins with an upset tummy, which does not seem particularly ominous.
The sore stomach began three days ago. I was puzzled when it struck partway through the night, disrupting my sleep. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I had an inkling in the back of my mind that took the form of the word: Infection.
And here we rewind to early December, or possibly even late November, when in true guy fashion1Spoiler: Guys can be kinda dumb, I began to feel something (an abdominal ache) that I knew from previous experience was likely to be something specific (a bacteria infection centred around my plumbing) and did nothing about it. “I’ll just wait a bit and if it goes away, it’s nothing!” (And if it doesn’t, I’ve given the infection time to grow and spread. You can probably guess how this played out.) By the end of the first week of December, I began experiencing symptoms that were bad and could not be ignored:
I saw my doctor and he ordered blood work. This is where the story takes its next dumb turn. DO NOT BE LIKE ME. HEED MY WARNING.
I dragged my feet on the blood test because the last two times I’d had blood taken, the experience was awful. The second was especially bad, with the tech approaching my arm like it was a dart board, and she was on her fifth beer. So I kept trying to steel myself to just go in. What are the odds I’d have three terrible experiences in a row, years apart?
My doctor prescribed me the “best guess” antibiotics in the meantime, for a prostate infection. At first, the drugs worked. Yay drugs! But over the two-week dosage, the effectiveness waned, until at the end they just plain stopped and all the aforementioned symptoms came back, as strong as ever. Just prior to this, I did muster up the nerve to get the blood work done. And it was fine. Painless, really.
The work revealed that this was more likely a bladder infection, so a week of new antibiotics were prescribed. Again, as if my magicke, the drugs worked. Yay drugs again!
Everything seemed good. I felt normal, healthy. I even went on my first run in four weeks, which may have been an omen, in retrospect. After a week, my hands were healing nicely from my spectacular trip on the sidewalk, but I was otherwise still OK.
We catch up now to three night ago, when midway through my sleep I awoke with a stomach ache, or at least what I took to be a stomach ache (this was almost certainly incorrect, but I’m no anatomy expert). I thought it couldn’t be the infection, because it feels different. Then the smart guy in the back of my brain said, “But what if the infection has spread and moved? It might feel different as it settles into a fresh, new organ.” I made a doctor appointment on Wednesday. Wednesday was bad. My doctor confirmed the infection might have spread. He ordered more blood work, then to see him on Friday.
Thursday (yesterday) felt like an extended and unpleasant dream. Per my Garmin Forerunner 255, I walked 190 steps. All of them to and from the bed. I ate about 500 calories of food, most of it soup. I burned, then froze, then sometimes did both at the same time, which is both unique and maddening. I felt horrible. I no longer wanted to feel horrible. I had met my quota, I felt.
My partner had been insisting I go to the ER instead of the lab for the blood work. My doctor also said I should go to the ER if the symptoms got worse. So we did, after I peeled myself out of the (unsexy) sweat-soaked sheets this morning.
We went to Burnaby Hospital, rather than Royal Columbian, which is literally next door to us. I did not know this in advance, so I felt a bit like I was kidnapped. But apparently RC is a trauma hospital and prioritzes people who are, like dying, so you can wait a very long time if you are not facing imminent death (the very long waits have been true for me in the past).
The visit took about four hours, but it was actually more efficient than it sounds, because a lot of that time was waiting for test results.
They took two vials of blood. It was pain-free again. They made me pee into a bottle. They had me lay on a bed and periodically someone would come by and inform me of various steps and things. I was feeling a little less gray, but very thirsty. They would not let me drink yet.
I had my first CT scan. It wasn’t as intimidating as I thought. A male robotic voice would tell me to breathe in, then hold my breath and exhale. The bed slid me under the scanner about three times. It took a few minutes. The one freaky part–which they warned about in advance–is when they inject dye into your IV. This makes your entire body go weirdly warm for a few seconds, and also makes it feel like you’ve just loosed your bladder big time (this does not actually happen).
Oh, I should mention–they started to administer antibiotics by IV before the CT scan. Because the handy machine attached to the IV drip had not reached INFUSION COMPLETE yet, they chose to have me wheel the whole thing down the hall for the CT scan. Also, I had to put on a gown, with the IV attached. It took three of us to get it on without having IV medicine spray everywhere.
Fun fact: The doctor who attended me called me James, which happens a lot. All of my names are interchangeable, and I guess James is the most popular.
After the scan, the IV concluded, but wait, there was a second bag. I’d never had an IV before, but the experience was not horrible as I’d expected, even when they turned on the pump to get the drip moving along.
I have four more daily treatments of this. The best part (?) is they keep the IV in, so you don’t have to get newly-stabbed each time. Problem: The bandaging to keep the IV safe and cozy is a tad bulky. I’m also left-handed.
I may see if they can switch to my right arm, even if it means an additional stabbing. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll become ambidextrous as a result, and a whole new world will open up for me.
During these four hours of fluid removal and insertion, I got the results: the infection had moved up the urinary tract and cozied itself in one of my kidneys. This is not good. The five daily IV treatments are the usual, but they will reassess during the process, so I might need more. At this point I am willing to learn to love country music if it makes me healthy again.
And that was my Thursday morning. Tonight, as I type this, the fever is gone, my tummy feels normal and I have a bit of a residual pressure headache. I’m sure my watch will read my stress as off the charts, but I feel significantly improved from 24 hours ago. I don’t expect to sleep well tonight, but I do expect to sleep decently.
FINAL WARNING TO GUYS (and really, everyone): If your body show signs of something wrong, go to the doctor right away. Do not wait. Do not make excuses. Do not be macho. Do not be me (not that I am macho).
I am healing up!
The abrasion on my left elbow is nearly gone, the scrape on my right knee looks more like a playground boo-boo, and my hands have gone from covered in gauze and tape to regular bandages. The left hand will likely go bandage-free in the next day, with the right to follow not long after.
The left upper thigh has gone from feeling like it was punched by an angry gorilla (repeatedly) to just a bit sore.
The right wrist is still the worst off. While it is much better, there is still a bit of pain when I move it in certain ways, or more specifically, when I am holding something and move it in specific ways. The argument against the bones being sprained/broken are:
I still reserve the right to get an X-ray, but I think the wrist is OK. Probably. Mostly, I know that if I go to the ER to have it checked out, I will be there for long, agonizing hours and that actually seems slightly worse than a bone fracture.
Anyway, I am generally on the mend and feeling much better with a week of recovery behind me, and no more (hopefully) bladder infection. December was a hell month. I am hoping January will at most be a heck month.
My hands, one week later (spoilers again, but they don’t look bad at all):
Last night the antibiotics I have been taking for two weeks just plain stopped working and the infection they’d been holding at bay came roaring back, with attendant fever, body aches and other fun stuff.
I also began taking new (and better-targeted) antibiotics late yesterday, but when I went to bed, I was blazing hot and had yet another terrible night of sleep, as I have had for most of December. I do not recommend this.
On my Garmin Forerunner 255 I have a 212-day streak for walking at least 10,000 steps per day. That’s about seven months, which is pretty good.
This morning, I got up, had breakfast, then went back to bed. I stayed in bed until about 2 p.m. and slept fitfully, as I still had a residual headache. Fortunately, the new antibiotics had begun working by morning and the fever, chills, etc. had passed. I was still very tired and with only 3,000 steps as of 9 p.m. faced a question: Did I want to walk on the treadmill long enough to get 7,000 more steps? It would probably take close to an hour.
I decided it was better to just accept the streak was over, and my immediate health and well-being was more important. It still kind of bugs me that the streak is ending, but sometimes you just have to accept that the best choice is not always the one you want to make.
Although I wasn’t exactly keen on getting on the treadmill for an hour, either. I believe I mentioned I am very tired.
And this concludes Christmas Eve 2024. Enjoy this pixelated snow scene. It’s the best kind of snow–make-believe!
I’d like one, please.
It doesn’t have to be stronger, faster and all that, just something that works reliably.
I’m pretty confident that the person who came up with the expression never fully understood the subtle interplay between the pain and discomfort of, say, a prostate infection, and the creation of art. In my sample1ew of one, suffering does not lead to art, it leads to wanting the suffering to stop. I could draw a big happy face right now, then splatter it with Jackson Pollock-style blobs of colour, and it would not make my prostate infection go away.
If it could make my prostate infection go away, I’d be up to my pits in art as I typed this. I’d be typing from on top of my giant pile of art.
Instead, I’ve been taking antibiotics and resting. Neither of these produces art, but they ease my suffering.
When the suffering ends, I will draw a Gum Gum Person.
Although it feels like hundreds of years, it was probably a couple of weeks ago I noticed mild discomfort on one side of my abdomen. I’ve felt this before and it’s turned out to be that “men of a certain age” thing known as a prostate infection. After I got the first one in 2008, the doctor at the medical clinic reassured me there would be more to come.
He was correct. He’s probably old enough to be getting them himself now.
I ignored it for a few days, because it was very mild and I wasn’t sure if it was just my body being weird or whatever. This was dumb. I then made a doctor appointment and went in last Wednesday. The doctor poked my abdomen. It was unpleasant. He agreed it might be an infection and gave me some blood work to get done at a local lab.
This reminded me that the last two times I went to a local lab to get blood taken (the area is filled with them, since I live next to a hospital), the person conducting the procedure was apparently green and had difficulty finding a vein. In the second instance, the person (different each time) actually left the needle in my arm while seeking help from more experienced staff. This is like stabbing someone and leaving the knife in. I can’t properly describe how extremely unpleasant it felt.
Anyway, I delayed on getting the blood work done for a day because I got up and had breakfast. My doctor later told me I didn’t need to fast for these tests. Oops.
We now move to Friday of last week. I still need to get the blood work done, and I vow I’ll do it, very soon! Probably. I go for a walk on the river trail. On the way back, my entire body starts to ache.
I later develop a huge pressure headache, a fever, and that slight pain in the abdomen increases.
The weekend is a fugue of pain and delirium. Come Monday–yesterday–the pain in the abdomen, which I’d mostly only noticed if I was laying down, is now ever-present regardless of position, and much, much worse. I feel like there is nothing I can do to help make myself feel more comfortable. I want to leave my body, for a little while, and hop back in when it’s better.
My doctor agrees to prescribe antibiotics, even before the test results. By mid-evening, having taken the first pill, I am at least experiencing a placebo effect of feeling very slightly better, though the pain is still there. I am also very, very tired.
Today, the good news is my sleep score, which fell to a low of 31 when I felt hot enough (not in a sexy way) to set the bed on fire, rose to a mediocre, but much better 69. I feel a little more human. I am hoping I’m not allergic to the antibiotics, but if they work, I may still accept the trade-off.
Kids, the lesson here is: When you feel that weird little pain, get it checked right away. Don’t be macho and dumb and negligent like me! I can only imagine how much worse it would have gotten if the medication had come even just a few days later.
Anyway, that was yesterday. And I never liked the song much, either, so there.
Also, I already had a tag for INFECTIONS, which shows you how often this has happened.