Maybe there’s someone out there that can change my mind about the whole thing, but I can’t bring myself to like urgent care clinics.
My first experience with one was in college. I was down in Texas and I went in feeling like I was getting the flu. The doctor felt me up, told me it was all in my head and then prescribed me Vicodin. Seriously. I didn’t fill the prescription and that night I suffered through The Phantom of the Opera (the movie) running a super-high fever with my friend Erin, and a then-healthy Courtney. Poor Courtney. She got a germ sandwich.
Guess what? It was the flu.
I avoided urgent care clinics like the plague after that.
A few weeks ago, the night of B’s birthday party, I was super tired. Todd went to get us some late-night burgers. I got about halfway through and I got too full. I fell asleep pretty quickly after that. A few minutes after midnight, I started hurting in my chest/upper stomach. I got up, thinking it was heartburn and tried to take care of it myself. The pain escalated to the point that I seriously considered going to the ER, but I didn’t think we had insurance. Todd fell asleep and I spent about an hour in the shower, thinking to myself, “Well, if I’m going to die, I at least want to be clean.”
The next morning I felt fine and I attributed it to a freak heartburn experience. I asked around and talked about it to some ladies I trust and I began to suspect it was a gallbladder issue.
Wednesday morning, it started again. This time, the pain was even more severe. I didn’t know where I needed to go, so I called the urgent care clinic in my town and asked if I believed I was having a gallbladder attack – should I go there? Or should I go somewhere else? She assured me that the urgent care clinic was where I needed to go.
I could barely fill out the necessary forms.
I walked in and immediately burst into tears. The nurse on duty thought that maybe I should go to the ER. She asked the doctor about it and he thought I should stay. A blood test and x-rays, lots of tears and vomiting, and a few minutes later, the doctor came in and said, “We are going to call it gastroenteritis. Here is an antibiotic.” The man never touched me. He never spent more than 2 minutes in my presence.
I really don’t want to pay this bill. The least he could have done is check me for the issue I suspected.
I have several more of these attacks in the last few weeks and yesterday I went to a doctor. I don’t have a regular doctor – I’ve never been really sick before – and my last doctor was down in Texas. I was so glad to finally have a listening ear! She listened to me, and essentially confirmed my suspicions.
She said, “We look for the 4 “F”s with gallbladders. Female, fertile, fat and forty.”
Well, crap. I have 3 out of the 4! Ha!
I have an ultrasound today to confirm, but we think this is what the issue is. Please, if you like to pray, pray that the ultrasound shows something. If it doesn’t I have to do this nasty scan that will trigger another attack, and I’d rather eat paste.
I am not afraid of it being a gallbladder issue. I just want to get the surgery or whatever and make it stop. I don’t want to have one of these and Todd not be home. I’m hoping maybe it’ll let me drop a few more pounds. I just want to know what it is that’s making me feel this way. Seriously, these attacks have been worse than labor. At least you get a baby out of that!
So, that’s what’s been going on lately. It’s really not a big deal once the mystery’s been taken out of it, and I know it’s almost a little funny to think that I thought I was dying, but when you have a child – mortality’s not so funny anymore.Pin It