A few years ago, I learned a very valuable lesson —basically, I can’t take drugs.
Now before you get all bent out of shape, let me explain. I was going about my business that faithful day when I started to feel rough. My sinuses were killing me and to make matters worse, this sinus infection that I suddenly developed, made my teeth hurt. All of them.
I took some allergy medicine and went about my business. The pain got worse with each passing hour; not so much the sinuses but my teeth were killing me. Around 4pm that day, I couldn’t take it. Something was wrong. So, we went to the closest walk in clinic we could find. Being in the pharmacy field for a while I knew that something was wrong, and I needed an antibiotic. I told the doctor there what was going on and explained the pain I was in, I told her I needed some type of antibiotic.
She apparently didn’t believe me, and I walked out without an antibiotic. I went home and told my husband I was going to try to sleep it off. I couldn’t. It hurt so bad I wanted to cry but I knew if I did, it would make it hurt more. Around 1am I woke my husband up.
Nudging him in the dark I whispered, “Hey, I can’t take this. I think we need to go to the ER. The pain is getting worse.”
He roused quickly, “Okay.”
I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark while he got dressed, wishing the pain would go away. To be honest, I was beginning to get very worried. What in the world could be wrong with me? It was then my husband flipped the light on. As his eyes adjusted and he took me in, he froze. The look on his face was terrifying.
“Oh my—”
Well, that helps. Now I’m panicked.
“What? What is it?” I asked startled.
“Nothing,” He’s a terrible liar, “You’re fine.”
I didn’t like where this was going, at all. He started motioning me to get up and get dressed. He was rushing around grabbing my stuff.
“What’s wrong?” I asked again, this time more urgently.
“Nothing,” he said turning on the lights to the rest of the house, “We’re just going to get you to the ER.”
“Why?”
I was passing by the mirror in confusion, when I caught a glimpse of myself. The left side of my face was so swollen it looked like I had a baseball inside my cheek.
I don’t do well under pressure or emergency situations. I’ll just leave that right here.
I screamed and cried all the way to the car. Then I got in the car and screamed and cried all the way to the hospital. I was crying when I went inside; I was crying when I filled out paperwork. It also didn’t help that EVERY person I met had the same alarmed expression on their face, which they quickly hid away with a fake smile. Not appreciated.
When they got me into the back they discovered through x-rays and MRI’s that I had an abscessed tooth. It was so swollen
(the worst they had seen, what can I say, I’m an over achiever) that it was now cutting off my airways.
I spent the night there, with my husband by my side. I had an IV of high-powered antibiotics and an IV of morphine. It was 4mg’s of morphine, diluted. Remember that part please. To give you an idea of how painful this abscess was, I still hurt after the morphine was in my system. I just didn’t care. Then came dawn and they took the IV’s out and started the paperwork to release me. I was told that once the infection was gone, I would have to have the tooth pulled. Yay me.
Oh, but boys and girls, the fun was just beginning. I hadn’t peed all night. So, when I got off the bed I told my husband that before we left, I HAD to use the bathroom.
He walked me to the ER bathroom there by the nurse’s station and waited for me outside the door. Once inside, I sat down to do what nature intended. Thank goodness I had finished my business before I started shaking. I’m not talking about shaking because I was cold or nervous, it was the type of shaking everyone avoids. I was about to pass out. I could feel it. No matter how hard I tried, I was headed for the tile floor-face first if I didn’t do something quickly. It was then, I noticed a chain on the wall beside me and was labeled emergency. Welp, this was it.
I yanked on it with everything I had in me while still holding myself on the toilet. My husband peeked in the door confused.
“Are you okay?”
“No, come here.” I managed.
He shut the door behind him and pulled me up quickly. Annnnd—I passed out. Standing there in all my glory, in this small-cold ER bathroom, limp and lifeless, I dangled there in my husband’s arms. It wasn’t until my husband spoke that I came out of it. (All you newlyweds, here’s a glimpse into your future.)
“What are we doing?” He asked confused. He told me later he thought I just wanted a hug, so he hugged me.
When he helped me walk back to the gurney, the nurse caught sight of me and I heard her say, “Oh no, get her back down.”
As I was laying there trying to suck down a small carton of apple juice, the nurse checked my vitals.
“Sometimes,” the nurse explained, “Morphine can make you pass out.”
No kidding.
Now before you get all bent out of shape, let me explain. I was going about my business that faithful day when I started to feel rough. My sinuses were killing me and to make matters worse, this sinus infection that I suddenly developed, made my teeth hurt. All of them.
I took some allergy medicine and went about my business. The pain got worse with each passing hour; not so much the sinuses but my teeth were killing me. Around 4pm that day, I couldn’t take it. Something was wrong. So, we went to the closest walk in clinic we could find. Being in the pharmacy field for a while I knew that something was wrong, and I needed an antibiotic. I told the doctor there what was going on and explained the pain I was in, I told her I needed some type of antibiotic.
She apparently didn’t believe me, and I walked out without an antibiotic. I went home and told my husband I was going to try to sleep it off. I couldn’t. It hurt so bad I wanted to cry but I knew if I did, it would make it hurt more. Around 1am I woke my husband up.
Nudging him in the dark I whispered, “Hey, I can’t take this. I think we need to go to the ER. The pain is getting worse.”
He roused quickly, “Okay.”
I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark while he got dressed, wishing the pain would go away. To be honest, I was beginning to get very worried. What in the world could be wrong with me? It was then my husband flipped the light on. As his eyes adjusted and he took me in, he froze. The look on his face was terrifying.
“Oh my—”
Well, that helps. Now I’m panicked.
“What? What is it?” I asked startled.
“Nothing,” He’s a terrible liar, “You’re fine.”
I didn’t like where this was going, at all. He started motioning me to get up and get dressed. He was rushing around grabbing my stuff.
“What’s wrong?” I asked again, this time more urgently.
“Nothing,” he said turning on the lights to the rest of the house, “We’re just going to get you to the ER.”
“Why?”
I was passing by the mirror in confusion, when I caught a glimpse of myself. The left side of my face was so swollen it looked like I had a baseball inside my cheek.
I don’t do well under pressure or emergency situations. I’ll just leave that right here.
I screamed and cried all the way to the car. Then I got in the car and screamed and cried all the way to the hospital. I was crying when I went inside; I was crying when I filled out paperwork. It also didn’t help that EVERY person I met had the same alarmed expression on their face, which they quickly hid away with a fake smile. Not appreciated.
When they got me into the back they discovered through x-rays and MRI’s that I had an abscessed tooth. It was so swollen
(the worst they had seen, what can I say, I’m an over achiever) that it was now cutting off my airways.
I spent the night there, with my husband by my side. I had an IV of high-powered antibiotics and an IV of morphine. It was 4mg’s of morphine, diluted. Remember that part please. To give you an idea of how painful this abscess was, I still hurt after the morphine was in my system. I just didn’t care. Then came dawn and they took the IV’s out and started the paperwork to release me. I was told that once the infection was gone, I would have to have the tooth pulled. Yay me.
Oh, but boys and girls, the fun was just beginning. I hadn’t peed all night. So, when I got off the bed I told my husband that before we left, I HAD to use the bathroom.
He walked me to the ER bathroom there by the nurse’s station and waited for me outside the door. Once inside, I sat down to do what nature intended. Thank goodness I had finished my business before I started shaking. I’m not talking about shaking because I was cold or nervous, it was the type of shaking everyone avoids. I was about to pass out. I could feel it. No matter how hard I tried, I was headed for the tile floor-face first if I didn’t do something quickly. It was then, I noticed a chain on the wall beside me and was labeled emergency. Welp, this was it.
I yanked on it with everything I had in me while still holding myself on the toilet. My husband peeked in the door confused.
“Are you okay?”
“No, come here.” I managed.
He shut the door behind him and pulled me up quickly. Annnnd—I passed out. Standing there in all my glory, in this small-cold ER bathroom, limp and lifeless, I dangled there in my husband’s arms. It wasn’t until my husband spoke that I came out of it. (All you newlyweds, here’s a glimpse into your future.)
“What are we doing?” He asked confused. He told me later he thought I just wanted a hug, so he hugged me.
When he helped me walk back to the gurney, the nurse caught sight of me and I heard her say, “Oh no, get her back down.”
As I was laying there trying to suck down a small carton of apple juice, the nurse checked my vitals.
“Sometimes,” the nurse explained, “Morphine can make you pass out.”
No kidding.
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