However, I felt myself slowing down the first week of April. I knew I didn't feel right but couldn't put my finger on what was wrong. I didn't want to move. I couldn't make myself walk fast. Nothing hurt, but there was definite discomfort in my abdomen. I didn't want to bend or reach for anything if I didn't have to. It wasn't that I couldn't... again, I wasn't in any pain, but I just didn't want to.
Last Saturday night I finally realized I might have a UTI. I was supposed to meet friends for a pedicure and a boozy brunch on Sunday morning so I bent and reached to shave my legs and dressed in pants that could be pushed up above my knee. We weren't meeting until 10:00am, so after I was ready to go, I logged onto my medical app and looked at my care options for a Sunday. After a bit of clicking around, I called the 24/7 advice line and spoke with a nurse. She, in turn, spoke with a doctor, and they hatched a plan that was only slightly illogical. I was to go to the only urgent care center open in the area on Sunday, in Bellevue, where she had already put in an order for a urine analysis. Then I would return home and call the advice line in the afternoon to receive my results and most likely get a prescription for antibiotics, that I would have to drive back to Bellevue to pick up.
Grumbling about having to drive to Bellevue, probably twice in one day, I cancelled on my friends and asked my husband if he would come with me. It didn't seem necessary at the time, but I didn't want to have to go alone.
Upon arriving at the urgent care facility, I told the person at the front desk I already had a lab order put in by the advice nurse. She said, "I think we have to check you in for urgent care anyway." I was checked in but had to wait for triage before being allowed to use the restroom. It was an uncomfortable wait. I knew I was very grumpy, so I apologized to my husband for dragging him on this longer than expected excursion.
Something in my description of symptoms alarmed the doctor enough that I had blood drawn and was scheduled for a CT scan. But during my uncomfortable wait sitting in the waiting room, I had overheard the front desk being informed that there was no CT tech until 1:30, and if anyone came in with an order for a CT scan, they'd have to come back the next day. Luckily for me, they were able to refer me to the hospital across the street, and a nurse took me through the underground hallways in a wheelchair for my CT scan.
Having the scan done across the street was great because I didn't have to wait several hours. But having the scan done across the street meant my doctors had to wait for the other medical facility to read the scan and send them the results. In total I spent four hours in urgent care, climbing in and out of the hospital bed to use the restroom probably at half hour intervals, even though I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything.
Finally, the CT scan results came back, and I was diagnosed with infected diverticulitis - basically my intestine is infected. I asked the doctor if I should be looking at taking time off from work. He said I needed two days of complete rest and put me on two different antibiotics. As we waited for the release papers, I emailed my school and told my principal I wouldn't be in until Wednesday and that I'd write sub plans when I got home.
Leaving urgent care, I had a difficult time figuring out how to get into the car without extreme discomfort. I hadn't eaten all day but discovered I really didn't want to eat. I let out a squeak of discomfort when the car went over the curb to get into our driveway. My husband noted that he noticed a significant difference in how I climbed in and out of the hospital bed at the beginning of my stay in urgent care vs. the end. It turns out, I was in much worse shape than I even realized. It was a good thing I cancelled brunch with my friends in favor of seeking medical attention.
On Monday, coming down the stairs, on my butt because I didn't want to walk, had me in tears. Interestingly, I still wouldn't have called the sensations I was feeling pain. I was uncomfortable and didn't want to move, but it never was the sensation I think of as pain. There was no sharp twinge, no dull ache... just I sense of "I don't wanna!" But it was so prevalent that I was in tears.
Monday was the worst. My husband told me on Monday night, "There's no way you're going to work this week." Stubbornly, I still held out hope that I just needed to give the antibiotics one more day to work their magic and I'd be able to see my students on Wednesday. But on Tuesday morning, I sat on the couch and didn't eat for a long time because after getting downstairs, making tea and toast seemed too hard.
My husband was right, I needed the week off. On Wednesday I tackled what felt like the smallest task on my work to do list: ripping carnival tickets into sets of 20 for an event my students are hosting after their spring break, which is next week. I needed a two-hour nap after the work of ripping and folding tickets before reaching to set them on the table next to me. And I only got halfway through what I need for the event. So, I checked in with my medical team again. As can be expected from medical professionals who can't examine you in person, they recommended I head back to urgent care.
Thursday's trip to urgent care was only about three hours long. I had the same urine and blood tests done and waited around in a hospital bed. As I told the doctor how bad I had been on Monday, I said, "But I didn't come back because I figured I needed to give the antibiotics time to work." He said, "That's right." Small validation for how unwell I continued to feel. In any case, I was sent home without additional treatment, which could have ranged from antibiotics administered via IV, a procedure to drain something or other, or out and out surgery. Yesterday was a false alarm visit to urgent care - I was diagnosed with slow to respond, partially treated, infected diverticulitis.
Meanwhile, in my classroom, one of the friends I was supposed to have a pedicure and brunch with offered to teach my math class while I was out and the other one offered to make whatever copies were needed. They've both been texting me throughout the week to check on my well-being. When my absence stretched from two days to five, they sprang into action to find internal coverage for my class because two other teachers had already tried and failed to find a sub for Thursday. We were already covering them in-house, and in fact I was slotted to cover eighth grade homeroom on Thursday morning while my kids were in a specialist's class. I'm really not sure how the school managed with three absent teachers on Thursday and no subs. But they did. As far as I know, no one complained, everyone just jumped in to help where they could. Since I spent the bulk of Thursday in urgent care again, I was incredibly grateful that my classroom was not something I had to worry about. My school community is pretty amazing. I'm also grateful for the timing of my spring break, next week, so I have another week to relax where I don't have to worry about finding a sub or writing sub plans. I just hope my students aren't too traumatized by my two five-day absences almost within a month of each other.
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