Since Jude was born, I’ve suffered from stomach pain off and on. A few times it would wake me up from a dead sleep and finally, late last year, it drove me to a doctor. I was told it was acid reflux and was prescribed Prilosec and sent on my merry way.
At the time, I accepted the diagnosis because, well, I don’t have a PhD nor an MD after my name. Still, something nagged at me that this was more than stomach acid gone amok, but life goes on…
Until last Tuesday when I started vomiting my medication and water along with level 8 pain, so I scurried off to an emergency room after finding someone to care for Jude — my husband was at work. After a SEVEN hour wait, an ultrasound, and a Norco for pain, the diagnosis was pancreatitis.
No, I’m not an alcoholic. The theory of the cause is either an autoimmune issue or my gallbladder is releasing stones too small to see on an ultrasound — my money is on the latter. The treatment is to starve a person (not a huge deal considering you’re in too much pain to really eat anyway) and to fill you up on fluids. A lot of fluids. This meant a two day stay in the hospital and an IV machine, that constantly nagged about one thing or another, hooked up to me for the duration of my stay. (Pay no attention to the Wikipedia article about treatment. That was neither true or what my doctor even recommended about such a lengthy stay.) I have never been happier to come home in my life! I’m also convinced that sleep is not achievable in a hospital without drugs to induce it.
So, what’s next? Some appointments with a gastroenterologist and then maybe they’ll take my gallbladder out and this nightmare will end. Hopefully. I’m a little bit scared about how much damage has been done to my pancreas over two years of suffering with this crap, but only time will tell if any of that has occurred. Finger are definitely crossed for a positive outcome.