I feel feisty, so it's story time...

Let's be honest, for me, being pregnant has not been fun. I don't foresee it being fun - is that bad? I am a little feisty this evening, so I thought I would take it out on my blog instead of accidentally lashing out at Michael (poor guy).

So, I've mentioned that I've had a migraine since Sunday, 9/20. It's in the base of my skull and my left temple. I also mentioned that I received a narcotic - hydrocodone, also known as vicodin - to help "crack" the migraine. My OB was super nice, and said, we'll get this taken care of (I heart him so much).

You also know that I called the doctor on Friday, and that I never heard back from them. I was more than a little pissed about it, but there wasn't really much I was able to do about it - what am I going to do, track my OB/nurse down at home? Anyway, Saturday was horrible, even with the meds they provided, so I called the nurse on duty.

First of all, she was rude. Dear miss thang, it's not my fault that your job requires you to be on call all weekend. It's the nature of your damn job, get used to it. Secondly, when I try to calmly (yes, calmly - I know that getting upset on the phone with someone isn't going to get you anywhere) explain my situation, don't sigh like I am the one putting a dent in your life. It's 11 a.m. - it's not like I woke you from your damn slumber. And, irritably saying, "Well, just go to the ER" doesn't help me either. So thank you, Miss-I-have-helped-zero-percent, you have officially made yourself look like a dumbass.

And, on a side note - one of the reason for rising health care costs is telling people "Well, just go to the ER" when they obviously just need some advice on how to get from one day until the next until they can talk to the damn doctor. What, have you never heard of an urgent/quick care? Thanks for playing.

So, I hang up with Miss Thang, and I am just...upset. I have had this pain for almost a week at this point, I feel like everyone at the OB office (besides my fantastic OB) finds pregnant women to be annoying (seriously?), and I would like to go back to the four days that I felt fantastic. Where did those days go? I've just got a lot of emotions goin' on, so I just promptly burst into tears, because I don't know what else to do. Then, my amazing dog Roxie, who was sleeping on the couch, comes up, puts her head under my chin, and just cuddles with me. It made me feel better, because I was by myself since Michael works weekends now.

I cried for a little while, then told myself to buck up because crying wasn't helping the damn situation. I called our insurance tele-nurse, and asked if I could get the same care at Urgent Care than I would at the ER. She said yes, but at this point it was 6 p.m., and I didn't want to deal with the damn Urgent Care, so I just ended up going to bed.

Sunday morning rolls around, and I wake up about 10 a.m. - apparently, I needed some sleep. and I decide to not take the pain meds to see if I was just working myself up in a tizzy for no reason (I have a complex that maybe I'm just making things worse, so I sometimes try to figure out how bad is it really, and can I really wait). I left the house at 11 a.m. to go to Urgent Care, and let's be honest, I really shouldn't have been driving. The sun was BRIGHT (one of the rare days I was praying for some cloud cover), and I had the patience of a June Bug (I don't know how much patience they really have, but it was the first thing that came to my mind), so the drive sucked.

I get in there, and I should have really stayed home. It was super busy and everyone had those flu masks on. Immediately I say to myself, is it bad enough to sit in here for however many hours it's going to take? The answer was a def. yes, because I was surprised how quickly my headache went from bad to worse.

I walk up to the front desk, and here is a heavier woman, mid-thirties, who obviously doesn't want to be there (Who can blame her? Everyone's wearing FLU MASKS). I obviously walk up to where the line starts, and she's still just chatting away with the female security guard that is reading a magazine behind the desk. Way to secure the place, lady.

Anywho, they keep talking, and I'm just standing there. I have to keep telling myself that this is not the time or place to pick a fight, and to keep my hormones in check. So she finally says, with disdain and a sigh, I might add, "Can I help you?" I walk up, and before I can finish saying "I need to see a doctor" I get a short "Well, I need an insurance card and picture ID." I get my stuff out, wanting to be a smart ass, but keeping it together.

I give her my stuff, and she asks what I'm there for. I say, short and sweet (because I know she doesn't give a crap what I'm there for, she just needs to know if for the triage nurse), "I'm 14 weeks pregnant. I've had a migraine since last Sunday. I'm on narcotics to crack the migraine. It's not going away. I need help." Pretty simple, right? The woman looks at me and says, with a little smirk on her face,

"Well, I don't know what else we can do for you"

?!?!?!?!?!!!!????!??????????????!?!?! !! $*#&@(*#&($&(&@(&!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear lady who hates her job, how long were you in med school? Where did you do your residency? Dunkin' Donuts? Last time I checked, you need to take my information down and pass it along to those who can actually help me. I don't need advice from Dumb Ass, MD in the front, THANKS.

Of course, that's what I thought, and no, I didn't actually say that - although I wish I did. I just said "Well, they told me to go to the ER, but I didn't want to waste my time there". Dunkin' Donuts behind the counter grunted and gave me my wrist band.

I sit down for about 20 minutes, and get called into triage by the nicest nurse, and she takes all my info. My blood pressure was a bit high (141/90), but she attributed that to the pain. On my way out, she gives me a flu mask. I ask how long it's going to take - she says, eehhhhhhh, about 2 1/2 hours.

I died a little on the inside.

I felt like crying, but said thank you and sat my happy butt back down and put on my mask. Then I felt like I was suffocating, so I took the damn thing off. But, really, what is a mask going to do? Come to find out they had lots of flu patients in the past week, so if I get the flu, we know where it came from.

By this point, I've had no meds, and I was not going to sit another 2 1/2 hours without them and practically in tears. I took some meds, and started to wait.

About 1 hour into waiting, a family who didn't speak english came in with this super cute little girl who was just screaming her head off. I felt so sorry for her, but I didn't want her to sit next to me - she was screaming SO LOUD. What happens? They sit next to me, screaming and all.

At this point, there is really no where else to sit, so I just start praying for strength because I feel like I could lay on the floor and die, and it would be ok. It was that bad. Finally, FINALLY they come get me.

I go to the room, and wait for 20 minutes. I am fine with this, because I am away from the screaming cute girl (I still heard her in the waiting room, and still felt super sorry for her). The nurse practitioner comes in, checks all my stuff for mobility, asks me questions, blah blah blah. I told her what my OB gave me to crack the migraine, and she rolled her eyes. I ignored it, because once again I wanted to go into the "You're not a doctor" shpeel, but whatever.

She said, well, we can give you this, this, or this (all take home meds). I thought, sweet, they are just going to send me home with some prescriptions and we can be done with this mess. But, then she said she had to look something up.

She comes back, and said, oh, we can't give you that stuff because you're pregnant. I had a resounding DUH in my head - why do you think the OB won't give it to me, pea brain? I said, oh, then what can you do?

They give a pregnant woman morphine through an IV, that's what they do! WHAT?! At that point, I didn't care, but they are awfully liberal with the narcotics when pregnant. I was like, whatever, so I waited for 25 minutes for a nurse to come do the IV - when I went to the restroom, the nurses were just standing around talking. Funny, my patience was through the roof on Sunday - that's pretty good for me.

Anyway, I had to call Michael from work to come pick me up, and I felt bad, but it's not like I could drive. After I called him, Big Mamma Nurse comes in with all of her needles and devices of torture. Again, I didn't care, just make it go away. Now, none of you know this, but I have what nurses call "Collapsing Veins". Once the needle goes in, they hide. They hide for stupid people, that's my philosophy.

So, Big Mamma Nurse tries my right arm, where the veins are bad, in my opinion. I tell her that, and she ignores me. I just close my eyes and wait for it. She sticks the needle in once, and digs. I mean totally digging for the damn vein. She comes back out, sticks it in again, and digs again. Can't get it. I tell her, again, that the right hand almost always works the first time. What does Big Mamma do? Goes to the damn left hand. Ok, whatever. She sticks - twice, and still digs. At this point, I'm in tears, and trying to talk through it. I usually pass out, but the head pains are apparently keeping me in the here and now.

So Big Mamma gives up and says, I have to go get another nurse. She patches me up, and leaves me for another 20 minutes. In the meantime, Michael gets there. Dunkin' Donuts from the front desk brings him back to the room - ugh.

Michael looks at me and says, Dear Lord! I have blood on my hand and arm, and I just know there is going to be all kinds of bruising at the site of Vein Assult '09.

Another nurse comes in, and we'll call her Crabby. She obviously hates her life - mid 40's in a gross flower patterned scrub uniform. At least she looks like she has done this more times than Big Mamma. She finds the veins on my right hand (finally), and sticks. And digs. I pull just slightly, and she yells "DON'T MOVE!!" I don't quite remember the next part, because I was in tears and she was yelling at me that my micro-movement almost stuck her BLAH BLAH BLAH. WHATEVER. It was an accident. If Big Mamma didn't dig so much, I wouldn't have flinched, thanks, Crabby! She then tries to make some small talk by asking me about morning sickness.

Don't get me started, lady. I told her that I had to be on medications and it was awful, so she goes into a story about how soda and crackers before opening her eyes in the morning helped. Dear Crabby, do you think I didn't try that, and everything else in the book? Thanks for FREAKING PLAYING!!!

I was just really irritated with Crabby, and immediately wanted Big Mamma Nurse back. Crabby then asked what I was there for, and I told her the abbreviated story. She looks at me and said, you know that you'll have migraines for 9 months, I don't know what we can do for you. Then goes into detail about how it was awful for her, but she got through it.

I almost threw her from the room. I was so mad. Whatever, she left after that, and I was polite and said thank you and sorry for almost poking her (which I don't think that I did), and she rolled her eyes and said "Yeah" and left the room.

The morphine kicked in, and I felt great. The pain level went to about a 2, which was awsome, they have me on fluids, the nurse practitioner comes back in, says awesome, and we're outta there. I felt weird afterword, but we went to the car, and I was STARVING - I'd been there for 5 hours, and the dumb pregnant lady didn't bring any snacks because she wasn't thinking. And she promptly threw up all of the fluids and meds they gave her at Urgent Care on the way home. It was amazing. I really hope it happens again.

Anyway, I get home, and slept, unfitfully (finally) for a couple of hours. You know what woke me up? The headache. It was back, full force. I was PISSED. So I just sit there, with a rag on my head, tried some claritin that the Nurse Practitioner suggested (which didn't work), and just watched Amazing Race, followed by a fitful night sleep. Yay.

This morning, I wake up, head raging, and I knew that I totally could NOT work in my office, with it's florecent lighting and noises up and down the hallway, so I worked half the day from home, in my nice, dimly lit home.

I called my OB AT 8 a.m., and requested to speak to the nurse. I go through the short version of the weekend's events, and mention that no one called me back Friday. The nurse was super nice, and said that it was her fault - she thought that the message was the old one from the previous Wednesday and threw it out. It was an accident, and accidents happen, so I was like, "It's ok". She said that she would talk to my OB today, and give me a call back.

Hi, it's 8 p.m. PST, and NO PHONE CALL. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what do I have to do?!! I'm following protocol, processes, and procedures - could someone just call me back? Please?

So, I absolutely 100% have to be back at work tomorrow - I'm less than three weeks away from a major program that I am planning, and the fact that I've missed this much work already sucks. That's why I keep trying to work from home. That, and I'm going crazy.

So now of course I have Crabby Nurse in my head, saying "This will last alllll niiiinnneee moooonntthhss" and I want to smack her all over again. I really don't know what else the doctor is going to be able to do, but I at least need him to say "There is nothing else to do, suck it up". But I'm sure as hell not going to continue taking the narcotics - I've taken enough as it is. So, in the meantime, I'll just have to keep drinking all of my water, eating every 2 hours, and taking walks/exercising, and hope for the best.

Phew, the fiestiness seems to be leaving my body - lucky for Michael. :) And now Roxie is crawling all over me to get some sort of attention, so it must be time to go. And, here is her mark.... xsfffwwaffessasacscscscscsc.

Love her!