Losing Control

Hokay.  So.  This week.  It started out pretty great.  Then tanked in the middle.  Now we are in recovery mode.

I pride myself as someone who is usually in control of herself.  I do not get drunk (cannot even remember the last time I was drunk versus tipsy).  I do not put myself in situations in which I may lose control, aside from my outdoor adventures, etc.  I prefer to be the one driving (rather than a passenger).  Well.  Wednesday definitely tested my “in control” mantra.

There I was.  Doing chores before going in to work.  Weeding.  Chatting with a neighbor.  Then my stomach felt queasy and nausea took over.  I thought it was odd.  And so I laid on the couch for about 2h until the feeling passed.  Well.  It did not pass.  At all.  It got worse.  I let my coworker know I may be late since I was battling vomiting.  And then it happened.  Vomit.  At first I made myself do it simply to get the gross feeling out of me.  Usually that method works.  It did not.  Sitting on the potty with trash can between my legs, spewing forth from both ends is not how I want to spend my time.  At all.  You tend to forget how miserable vomiting is until you do it uncontrolled.  Holy hell.  Covered in a sweaty sheen.  Heaving and hoing.  Groaning.  Moaning.  Ugh.  All manner of misery.  I’d double bag my detritus and toss it out the front door to not make my place stink.  It was reaching the 90sF outside and I could not move to close my windows and turn on the AC.  I could not talk.  Any manner of movement caused more spewing.

This went on for a few hours.  It was not getting better.  It was utter misery.  Then I felt it.  Oh no.  I felt IT.  The sense that my blood sugar was tanking.  Badly.  Fuck me backwards Nelly.  This was not good.  I had nothing I could consume that would make it go up.  Not to mention, I could not keep anything down.  I texted a friend asking her to bring me powerade.  She was on her way.  And then it happened.  Shit got real.  For realz.  In the bad sense of the word.  I tried to make it to the bathroom.  I failed.  Completely.  And that was when I knew it.  I had to give up control.  I was losing that battle and if I continued to try to win, it would end me.  I told my coworker to send medics.  I was past the point of no return of my sense of control.  I still had a sense of pride and crawled to the bathroom to try to clean myself up before my coworkers arrived to help.  I got a towel and covered the mess and changed my clothes.  Then I crawled into the fetal position around my trusty trash can and waited in pure misery.

And all at once, everyone arrived.  My park manager.  My powerade friend.  My coworker.  The fire department.  The ambulance.  Fuck me.  My pride was shot to hell.  I apologized to my FD brethren for increasing their insurance rates.  I meant it.  Calling for help and then paying for it was a serious contender in my delay in asking for help as well.  I contemplating not riding in the ambulance simply because it would be another bill I could not afford to pay.  In the end, away in the ambulance I went (vomiting forth for all I was worth).  And to the ER I stayed for many hours.  Oh how my massive debt was increasing.  Oh how I will never be debt free.  Oh the stress of being an adult.

It took them hours to get my nausea under control.  The ambulance medics got me an IV to get my blood sugar up and help with nausea.  I simply kept my eyes closed and hoped I would feel better.  My coworker and powerade friend stayed at the hospital with me.  I was mortified.  They saw me at my worst.  I called for help.  I lost control.  They eventually released me.  My blood work came back normal.  I just had some bad GI bug.  Yeah.  Bad.  That’s one way of putting it mildly.  But now, everyone at work knew I was at the hospital.  That medics came.  That I lost control.  How goddamned embarrassing.

I am ashamed at work.  People ask me how I am.  I don’t want to be asked.  Let’s pretend nothing happened.  It was a bad dream.  I do not want to be reminded how I lost control.  I know they are genuine and care and am glad I am alive.  But somehow, going to the ER for a gastrointestinal bug that caused me 24h of suffering seems weak.  How dare I give in.  And dammit, I pride myself on never needing help because of my diabetes.  This is the first time since I was diagnosed 18 years ago that I have gone to the hospital due to diabetes complicating shit.  Fuckety fuck.  I’m pissed at myself.  I lost control.  Fuck.

I cannot wait to get that medical bill.  It’ll probably make me briefly homicidal or suicidal.  But that’s life in modern day America- living one bill to the next, unable to pay them.  I now live on credit cards.  Yes.  I do.  Why?  Because I cannot stay afloat any more.  I am wallowing in debt and trying to pay bills and maintain my (almost 800) credit score.  I envy people that are debt free.  That have multiple incomes.  That have a job that pays them enough to survive.  Too bad I love my job so much I do not want to give it up, even if I cannot survive on it.

Blah.  Well aren’t I the bright spot of sunshinetoday?  I blame it on the fact that I am on day 3 of not eating a real meal and all I want is pizza and my Dutch Bros coffee (almond milk latte with a flavor of hazelnut, light on the ice).  But no.  I forgot to wake up last night to take my anti-nausea meds, so this morning was not very pleasant to me.  I am good now.  But still, no coffee.  No pizza.  Poop….in the toilet.  Tehehehehe!  *inside joke for myself*  So here I am.  Drinking my watered down Gatorade, eating saltines and applesauce cups.  Hopefully tomorrow will be better.