The yellow brick road.

 We got engaged on top of a mountain in Banff. I knew we were going to get married, heck we'd been planning our wedding before we even got engaged because we just knew it would happen. F proposed to me super spontaneously at a lookout that was on a bike path and I was tripping out because we were parked in a bike path and F was taking so long to "take a selfie" but low and behold we was proposing to me. The moment was spontaneous like we are and beautiful but started with a "are you kidding me?". Even though I knew it would come it still caught me by surprise. I love this man. We felt like we were flying high again finally and able to just enjoy our little family and start building memories amidst a pandemic where our families couldn't hold or touch our new baby, couldn't bond with her or us in that time. It was hard for us, but it was hard for the whole world so who were we to complain. 

July hit and I decided I had been healed for a few weeks I want to get back on the gym train for my mental health, and overall health. I dove in, and definitely over-did it. I tried to do my usual 65 mins on the bike and I think I made it about 35 mins in before I was like I can't do this. I got sick, kept riding but eventually pulled off just about 13kms. I felt so proud. The next day we went out to his parents acreage and I immediately felt so sick. I kept thinking maybe I over-did it, maybe I pulled some muscles because the pain started radiating all on my right side and seemingly into my abdominal and back. I decided to wait a day to see how it'd improve. I woke up in bad pain. Took some meds, sat in the washroom thinking maybe it's just that, did lots of walking and pacing around to get my stomach moving. Next day- More pain.. Time to go back to Emerg. That entire week was a gong show. Everyday I went to Emerg. Every single day. Unfortunately to the same place (which was my downfall). They said my labs weren't showing anything except a slightly elevated level of inflammation but nothing alarming. After the morphine, it looked like my pain had subsided but they believed I had an intestinal blockage so they made me drink 4L of CoLyte. Every single day that I returned same thing. They did CT Scans, and MRI's, and nothing. still believed it was intestinal so they gave me a bunch of medication for my intestines (300$ worth by the end of that week-all of it taken once because of my repeated trips to the ER). By the end of the week I had drank 10L of CoLyte. When I say my body was cleared out it was an understatement. I told them the colour and all of it. Yellow (enjoy those graphics). I woke up in such debilitating pain one of the mornings F and his Mom called an ambulance. I couldn't stand, sit, anything I was pacing around like a lunatic because the pain was so bad. Hyperventilating in between constant throwing up. EMS came so fast I couldn't believe it. More morphine, and lots of please breathe. I felt like I was dying. The morphine leveled out my symptoms and I was calm. The dr comes by the stretcher in admission and says "I've seen this girl so many times I don't even know what to do with her anymore" ummm are you kidding me? That's not my job to figure out I whispered to the paramedic who fully agreed with me. Same thing again, They discharged me a few hours later. I sat on a bench half naked because I was rushed by ambulance in the sun waiting for F to come get me bawling. The hardest I've cried this whole year a "WTF IS HAPPENING TO ME AND WHY DOESN'T ANYYONE HEAR ME. AM I GOING CRAZY?" I genuinely thought I was going nuts because my body felt like I was dying but I kept being told I was fine. They recommended I see my GP because only they can refer me to a specialist- so I booked the appointment. Fast forward to the morning and my gut was telling me something was seriously wrong with me. I couldn't even sleep or anything through the pain. We went with one last ditch effort to another Hospital. They knew what was wrong with me within 15-20 mins. They said they used my CT scans and the labs they had drawn. Which made me go hmmm... 

Due to the fact that I had been put on so many intestinal meds I was being covid Isolated from my symptoms which were purely gastro but they had to take all precautions to take care of that (understandable). The things our relationship has been tested through is so hard to explain to anyone. F has had to see the ugliest sides of me, he has had to bathe me, help pack my wounds, be with me when I use the washroom like things that people don't have to do with their partner til they're old typically but it's sure shown me what our relationship can weather and how this guy isn't going anywhere, and thank goodness for that because given all I was about to go through I needed my people. 

So the doctor informed me that I had a stone that had gotten through my bile duct. It was causing the bile to back up into my body and I needed and emergency ERCP to remove it and possibly my gallbladder. If I had waited 2 more days I wouldn't have been alive. That one stunned me. Thank goodness I trusted myself to not do what the previous Dr's advice was. I ended up being admitted but without anyone to visit because of the isolation. I got placed in an old wing in a room with nothing, my body felt like it was dying from the inside out. I could feel my organs failing me. My procedure was being held until my covid results came back and each hour we waited things were getting worse. I threw up constantly, I was NPO for so long I started to feel delusional because even when they took me off of it I didn't get food not that I wanted it. Then would come more morphine, and then the gravol, and then the morphine again. I was so sick. My body started turning yellow and I was fully jaundice. At one point the surgeon came and told me we still believe that you could be dying. We believe you may have pancreatitis and if so unfortunately there isn't much we can do. I bawled. Dreams with F&S were diminishing by the day and everything felt hopeless and I was so so alone.

After the ERCP I felt so much better. I could eat again, I could breathe again it felt like, and I was able to go without morphine for a bit. I finally had gotten moved from isolation but placed in a room that I didn't know would trigger even more mental health issues for me. I was placed in a room with 3 other patients that all had bad mental health issues. One was a man in his 50's who was in a hockey accident and didn't remember what year it was anymore so he kept thinking it was the past. He was sad and yelled that out often. Talked to himself quite frequently. A woman who was prob in her 70-80's who clearly had some kind of dimentia or something but she was unable to speak much english except "foooood' or "help me" all the time. Then beside me was an Arabic man in his 60's who would scream out lebanese phrases constantly all night long. I felt like I was in an insane asylum. Many times I texted F to say I'm just going to go home. I don't need this operation i'm done. I wept and wept. I hated how lonely I felt, I missed my baby, I just wanted to be with my family and know that I wasn't going to die. The PTSD of all of this I have is stupid and am in therapy probably for years from it all. 

I ended up having many other stones, and they needed to take my gallbladder out. I had that procedure done and off I went. 

In amongst all of this F was going through so much bad mental health woes and career stuff that he was so overwhelmed. We were both just gutted over the happenings of our life but on top of all of this my wound had  flared up again and I kept mentioning it but no one wanted to investigate. It was one of those we've got bigger fish to fry situations.

 After I got released of course it took a while to heal from major operations and get myself better but I was coming up his parents driveway one morning and I could barely catch my breath, I was starting to be faint- I shook that off. The next day while out and about pushing myself hard again cuz it's what I do I ended up being in so much pain I had to sit. We got home and F looked at my wound and just said Oh no! Another trip to Emerg after talking to the health line. We got there and it became more than we imagined yet again...

 

 

 

 Turns out my hemoglobin had tanked from post op. It was 120 post op but it was at 73 in Emerg. They started to do a transfusion and then did a scope to check for bleeding. There was no bleeding my body was just having a hard time regenerating. They looked at my wound thought it was nothing and sent me on my way. The next day my home nurse was pissed! She couldn't believe how they let me go without doing much for me. My iron and levels were all super low and to top it off the infection was back in my incision. Great. She let me know if I felt faint, dizzy, anything to go in which happened that evening. I was dizzy so back we went again. Iron transfusion treated but nothing for my incision. I had to set up appointments with my GP for my incision and that finally got treated and then I was on the mend....It took days and days, I would nearly faint going up stairs, or trying to move something or pick up my daughter.  I felt awful but eventually it all got better and I started feeling pretty good again, I was able to walk and stand for a bit without pain and see my people in amongst a very crazy move and a slow one that we're still unpacking from because of all these health issues. 

Then a couple of weeks ago F gets side swiped by a car at work in his truck and gets a concussion and is off and was just about to head back to work when I came down...with Covid :( 

What a year so far.