The hot water and soap doesn’t seem to be enough to pull this glue and tape residue from my skin.

I smell like hospital and I’m showering and showering to make the stink go away. 5 days of needles. 5 days of injections. 5 days of IV lines collapsing and x-rays and cat scans and scopes and doctors.

If I can just make the water hotter or the washcloth a bit more rough maybe I can scrub these circular lines where the cardiac monitors went off of my chest and stomach.

The kids don’t need to see these lines. Or the bandages or the bruises. My 4 and 6-year olds clung to their father, more than tentative, when they entered my hospital room for the first time. Petrified of what they saw. My youngest couldn’t…wouldn’t…leave her Dad’s lap. Afraid to kiss and hug her own mother.

So I’m scrubbing these in the shower with all I have.

Monday is when my body fell apart. It had enough of my “waiting” for help. Monday, the day before I was supposed to start testing for my symptoms, my body revolted.

My brother drove me to the ER after hours of vomiting and bleeding and a horrible headache. Perhaps a rash decision on my part, but I could tell I was dehydrated and things were not getting better.

After taking down my symptoms and history, it was clear the ER doc wasn’t going to let me go home. And thus began 5 days in Henry Mayo Newhall Memorial and every test imaginable.

All those scopes I was going to blog about? We did them. They hurt and I wasn’t knocked out enough, but we did them. I drank a gallon of some horrible liquid and pooped for the entire night beforehand. Then I was “sedated” lightly and put on my side where I bit down on a block. They shoved a hose with a camera through that block and I gagged. I gagged like crazy. They pulled that hose out and shoved another up my ass. This didn’t hurt until they rolled me onto my back and started pressing my stomach. I yelled. I cried. Then I woke up in a recovery room.

They also did an ultrasound. A cat scan. And an x-ray test that went for 3 hours and involved me drinking some horrible milkshake type liquid.

I was told I have: diverticulosis, gall stones, gastritis, hiatal hernia, severe reflux, inflammation, hemorrhoids, oh…and a migraine.

Every single test they did at the hospital found…something.

They scheduled surgery to remove my gall bladder for Friday. But after most tests decided to reschedule for Saturday. They were sure the gall stones were causing my nausea. Maybe.

As I moved to a third hospital room, and mentally prepared for the next day’s surgery, the doctor arrived.

He had that look on his face that I knew would send my eyebrows up. We’ve delt with this doctor for 5 days now and he was getting used to our questions and our demand for service, answers, etc. I even gave him questions from my twitter friends. He was amused and annoyed by me all at once.

With a slight grin he told me they were canceling surgery for Saturday. The latest test needed further study. They didn’t want to remove my gall bladder and still have me sick or worse yet…they didn’t want to go back in a few weeks later to surgically repair my reflux.

…and since I was medicated, and the new tests were at another facility, I could go home and wait.

Go home? What?

Here I was scheduled for surgery in the morning and suddenly I’m packing my things? They had been injecting me with morphine, dilaudid, and every other pain med and …wham…time to go home?

The doctor gave me a small pharmacy, strict orders to rest, and said they would schedule my studies for next week. Then we’ll talk surgery. Probably a one time laparoscopy that would take out my gall bladder and repair my reflux all at once.

I can’t believe after months upon months of puking and bleeding…it comes down to a gall bladder and some reflux. I can’t decide if I am relieved or embarrassed. If I am annoyed, upset, happy?

The radiologist did say it was the worst case of adult reflux he’s ever seen. That made me feel warm and fuzzy. And when asked how many gall stones we were told “OMG a ton.”

The worst reflux ever and a ton of gall stones. Yeah, that explains all the dinners I’ve thrown up and the mornings where breakfast didn’t exactly make it to my stomach. And coupled with everything else it found, it also explains 5 days in the hospital. My body had given up. Despite the tests I had scheduled, it was DONE. Pissed off and ready for relief.

And relief came by way of large doses of medication and many needles. Not the way I should have taken care of myself, and I’m still playing catch up.

I did, as is me, make some friends during my stay. There is a weird little community in a hospital that took me a few days to crack, but was fun once I did. The guys in radiology and the transporters rock. By the end of my stay they were teasing me with chili cheese fries and sneaking me my phones. They even let the kids in to one of my tests to watch on the screen as my insides were lit up for the doctor.

I spent time showing some nurses BlogHer and talked health care while they worked. We watched Twitter go by as the US Journalists were freed from North Korea and we hugged. They snuck me the good food trays and complained about other patients to me. The ones that come back weekly.

But here, at home, at least I can sit on the couch and watch the kids play. I remain medicated and uncomfortable, but at least I’m no longer tethered to a line while the kids watch in horror.

A new hospital will be conquered next week, but only for a test. Then the rescheduling of a surgery which will entail…well, we shall see. My Mom has flown in from Florida to help as I take off yet more work and arrange for yet more child care. And hopefully put back together this ailing body that I neglected for way too long.

If anything good has come of this entire ordeal, it’s that other people have started talking health care and their own health related issues. Make sure to go read:

Momocrats

Red Stapler

Francine Hardaway

MoeArt

Erin Kotecki Vest also blogs at Queen of Spain blog