She got right in front of me, trying to make me make eye contact with her. I tried to get myself together, but I just couldn't. I'd never been so out of it in my life. The next thing I knew, I was agreeing with her that we needed to go to the ER, and she was loading me in her Jeep.
I vaguely remembered talking to Peter on the way out. He was concerned, but Kate assured him that she didn't mind going with me. I told the ER doctor about my UTI, and how I'd been prescribed Penicillin, which seemed to be doing more harm than good. They made me do a CT scan of my belly because of the intense nausea and tightness, but it came back normal. The doctor said it was normal to have "GI discomfort" from Penicillin. He switched me to Amoxicillin and lowered my dosage to 250mg instead of 500. I was thankful for the change since I'd already decided penicillin didn't agree with my body.
The trip to the ER took about six hours, and I left there feeling slightly more alert than I was before I came. Kate stayed with me the whole time, and when it was all over, she brought me home and asked if there was anything else she could do. I refused and told her I'd send Lexi and Andy to the corner drugstore to pick up my new prescription.
She gave me her number and made me promise to call if I needed anything. I assured her that the Amoxicillin would be a game changer for me and I'd be fine by morning.
I wasn't fine the next morning. The symptoms were back with a vengeance. I hated hospitals, and wanted with all my heart to avoid going back there, but I truly felt like I was dying. My insides, from my throat to my gut were synched up in a tight knot. I could feel and see throbbing in my stomach. It was my heartbeat, but I'd never felt or seen it in my stomach before. Adrenaline coursed through my body in hot waves making me feel sick and restless. Something was really wrong, and I knew it.
By that afternoon, I made Lexi drive me to the hospital for the second day in a row. I explained the whole situation to the doctor and told him I thought maybe I was having a reaction to the drugs and needed to get on something else to treat my UTI. I told him my heart was beating out of my chest and I could see the pulse in my stomach. I distinctly remember him looking at me like I was crazy when I said that.
They gave me a bag full of IV fluids, which seemed to calm my body slightly. "Nausea is underrated," he said somewhat sympathetically. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well. But you had a scan yesterday and it was fine. Your vitals and blood work look fine. Your white blood cell count is slightly off, but that's consistent with your infection. You need to stay on the antibiotic you've been given," he said. "If we give you another one now that you've already started that one, there's gonna be issues with resistance."
I didn't understand any of that, but it seemed like he knew what he was talking about. I made sure he knew I felt sick as a dog—completely out of it.
"Sometimes it takes a little while for your system to adjust to the medicine," he said. "It's quite common for people to experience GI issues with them, especially at first."
For the next week, I took the Amoxicillin I'd been given. It was bad, but it wasn't as bad as the first few days. I could feel my UTI going away, so I knew it was doing its job in spite of the other symptoms.
I managed to go to my few scheduled shifts at the restaurant, but it was just too much for me to try to go to Peter's on top of that. I told him my body didn't agree with the antibiotics I was on, and I'd be back the following week once I finished taking them. He didn't seem to mind. It wasn't like me to call in sick, but I just couldn't function past the antibiotics.
I counted down the pills to the last one in the bottle, and felt an overwhelming sense of excitement when I took the final one. I clearly remember thinking my life was about to get back to normal as I put the last one into my mouth.
I'd never been more wrong about anything.
Three days after my last dose of Amoxicillin, I was back in the hospital. I explained to them that I hadn't been right since day one of taking those things. I told them my symptoms, which included nausea, cold sweats, anxiety, and ringing ears.
They monitored my heart, which I felt was going to beat out of my chest, and told me it was fine. They gave me a bag of fluid and a prescription for stomach ulcers, which they said had likely been caused by the antibiotics. They told me to follow-up with a GI doctor if the symptoms persisted.
To say the symptoms persisted would be the understatement of the century. I had barely been functioning during the week I took the drugs, but starting the week after, I couldn’t function at all. My symptoms were utterly debilitating. Going to work wasn't an option. Leaving the bed wasn't an option.
Lexi continued to work shifts at Miller's, and I couldn’t even muster up the strength to worry about her. It was all I could do to remain conscious. I was desperate for an explanation, so I called the GI doctor that the hospital recommended. He told me that Amoxicillin was the same as Penicillin and he couldn’t understand why they kept me on it if it made me sick. He said I was probably allergic to it, and would likely be sick for the next week or so while it worked it's way out of my system.
I kept a calendar and counted down the minutes till "next week" when I'd feel better. That week came and went, and I was still sick as a dog.
I'm not being dramatic when I refer to the next six weeks of my life as a living hell. I went to the hospital three more times and saw four different types of specialists trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I had blood drawn more than five times, and only one of those times did the nurse not leave a huge bruise behind when she took it.
One of the doctors told me I had a yeast infection and put me on an extended anti-fungal treatment. That seemed to help a bit for a day or two, but my symptoms quickly started again, maybe even with more intensity than before. I'd looked into the symptoms of having a yeast overgrowth, and a lot of things I was experiencing seemed to correspond with what I saw.
My symptoms were so severe and debilitating that I was convinced I had this rare type of yeast infection that got into your bloodstream. I mentioned that to one of the doctors I saw and they told me that was a ridiculous notion and I was probably just having anxiety.
Two different doctors gave me Xanax for my anxiousness even though I explained that the anxiety I was feeling was more like electrical zaps of adrenaline and was only a result of the medicine I'd taken.
The GI doctor told me I probably had IBS on top of some ulcerations and gave me a prescription for that as well.
Any medicine I took only made my symptoms worse. I couldn’t even take a supplement or a mulit-vitamin without my system going completely haywire.
It had been two months since I started the antibiotics, and my body had been in utter chaos since then. None of the doctors seemed to believe or understand that I could simply be sick from taking antibiotics. They all just treated me like I was overreacting to some discomfort and threw more prescriptions at me.
I honestly felt like I was losing my mind, and it wasn't just a result of no one being able to help me. My mind literally didn't work right. My cognitive skills were terrible, and I had trouble forming a chain of thoughts.
Lexi continued to go to work. She picked up extra shifts to help out with the dwindling funds. I was paranoid about everything. I was paranoid about running out of money, and I was paranoid about Lexi going to and from work alone. I was desperate to get better so I could get back to my responsibilities but was physically incapable of doing anything about it.
I checked in with Peter from time to time promising him that I would come back to the studio as soon as I could. He seemed content with me taking as long as I needed.
The symptoms came in waves, and while I was totally out of it most of the time, I had moments where my brain seemed to work okay. It was during one of those good waves that I walked to the store to get Lexi something for her 18th birthday.
I couldn’t believe the end of July had come already, but there she was, turning 18. She went out to dinner to celebrate with some friends from the restaurant, but I was still too sick to
go. She had brought a few of her new friends by the apartment during the last couple of months, but I usually just stayed holed up in the bedroom while they hung out.
I was desperately sick of being sick. I was at my wits end and literally crying one morning when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize.
Chapter 10
Lexi was working a lunch shift, so I was home alone when the phone rang that morning. I almost didn't answer it, but decided to go ahead just in case it was a doctor's office saying they found the missing link and they knew what was wrong with me.
"Hello?" I said, trying to compose myself.
"Is this Laney?" a woman asked.
"Yes it is."
"Laney, this is Kate Martin from Our Savior's Church, remember me?"
My heart sank with disappointment. She was a really nice lady and everything, but I didn't feel much like making small talk.
"Yes ma'am, how are you?" I asked, trying my best to act cheerful and upbeat.
"I was about to ask you the same question," she said. "Peter Craig came by the church yesterday to check on the windows and I asked him about you. He said you'd still been sick."
"Yes ma'am," I said, feeling like I wanted to cry.
"You're not still sick from a few months ago, are you?"
"Yes, actually."
"You're kidding!"
"I wish I was," I said, deflated.
"Listen, baby, I have some errands to run over by your neighborhood in a little while. Do you mind if I come by to bring some food and maybe pray for you."
"Oh, no, you don't need to do that," I insisted.
I'd prayed to God relentlessly during the last two months. If He hadn't heard me by now, I didn't see how it could help for her to come try again.
"Why don't you let me do it?" she asked. "It would make me feel good." She paused, but continued before I could deny her again. "I'll pick up a Honeybaked Ham to keep in the fridge for sandwiches and some of those sides they make… you know mac and cheese and mashed potatoes and stuff. Does that sound okay?"
I really hated for her to do that, and hated more for her to come pray for me since she'd probably expect a miracle and I likely wasn't getting one, but the menu was enticing. I also knew Lexi would love to come home to a big ham in the fridge.
"I don't want you to have to do that," I said, even though I was slightly more open to it.
"I want to," she said. "I won't stay and visit very long if you're not up to having company. I'll just swing by and drop off some lunch."
I paused, thinking about how nice it would be to have food delivered. "If you're sure you don't mind," I said.
"I want to," she repeated. "I'll be there between noon and one. Is that okay?"
"It's great, thank you so much."
It was 12:30 when I heard Kate Martin's footsteps coming up the iron stairway that led to our apartment. I opened the door before she knocked. She had a bundle in her arms that was at least the size of a baby and two grocery bags were hanging from her arm.
"Oh my goodness, let me help you with some of this," I said, taking the ham out of her arms.
"All of it goes in the fridge," she said. "You can heat it as needed. The instructions are written on the packaging."
"Thank you so much for bringing all this," I said.
She followed me to the fridge, and after we put everything up, she followed me to the couch.
"I can't believe you're still sick," she said, cutting to the chase. "Was it the UTI?"
"No, that went away with the antibiotics. I'm really not sure why I'm sick. I thought it was a yeast infection for a while, but I think it was the antibiotics themselves that did it."
"Well you knew they were making you sick that day in the hospital, but I assumed it got better when they changed your prescription."
"It did, at least a little. It was bearable while I finished the course of Amoxicillin, but the week after I finished them, I started going downhill again. I haven’t been to work in two months. During the bearable moments, I get outside to walk around and keep up with chores around here, but I never know when a wave of it will hit me, so there's just no way I could go to work."
She sighed. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she said, sincerely. "What are your symptoms?"
I started to tell her, but decided it'd be easier to let her read for herself. I went to the bedroom where I picked up two pieces of paper. One was a calendar listing my symptoms and intensity day by day for the past two months and the other was a list of my symptoms in no certain order.
The calendar was difficult to read since I'd scribbled notes in every millimeter of every square, so I handed her the list of symptoms instead.
I watched as she read it.
brain fog
numbness in limbs especially right arm
nausea
tight chest
itchy eyes
waking up multiple times a night with the feeling of being electrocuted
insomnia
confusion
tight/painful jaw and ears
ears clogged and ringing
constipation
heart racing
cold sweats
restlessness
nightmares
headaches
severe anxiety
uncontrollable adrenaline
She inspected the list for a long minute and then looked back at me with a stunned expression.
"Sweetheart, I can't believe this," she said.
"I know," I said with tears in my eyes.
"Have you shown this to a doctor?" she asked.
I laughed. "Three or four."
"And what did they say?"
"They want to help me with the symptoms that are in their realm," I said. "The GI gave me something for the nausea and some IBS medicine for the constipation. Another doctor gave me Xanax for the anxiety and some anti-fungal stuff in case it was a yeast infection. Most of them quit taking me seriously the second I say anxiety. This internist I saw told me all my symptoms were "vague" and can all result from anxiety." I paused staring straight ahead. "I don't think any of them have a clue how severe it is. I've had an extensive ultrasound and a CT scan of my whole torso along with tons of blood work. I've been hooked up to that thing that monitors your heart rate several times." I let out a frustrated sigh. "Everything shows up normal. I can't make sense of it."
"Has it gotten any better over time, or is it still as intense as it was."
"It's a little better, I guess," I said, thinking back to the time when I literally couldn’t get out of bed.
I'd been to the store several times during the last couple of weeks, and had gone outside to get fresh air nearly every day for a while now.
"I'm not capable of making the trip yet, but I'm thinking I'll have to take Lexi back to Washington when I can," I said sadly.
"Back to your family."
"I wouldn't really call it that," I said. "But it's a cheaper existence, and we just can't afford to be here if I'm not working. I don't have insurance and the medical bills haven't even started rolling in yet."
She put her hand on my arm. "I hate to hear this," she said.
"Me too," I said. Tears of fear and frustration fell onto my cheeks. "I wake up at night feeling like my finger is in an electrical socket, and just pray that God will have mercy and take me away from this life." I let out another helpless sigh. "I've never been like that. I'm usually strong, and hopeful, and love my life. It's just that I always had these notions about death and it sucks learning that they're not true. I always thought that dying would be easy since we lived in modern times. I thought there were two options. I could die fast like a car crash or gunshot or something, or if it was something that took a long time like sickness, then modern medicine would just take my pain away and make it easy." I took in and let out a long breath as more tears streamed. "I never dreamed my body could hurt this much and no one would do anything about it." I looked at her. "Not only do they do nothing about it, bu
t they act like I'm overreacting by being in the doctor's office in the first place. At least there's honor in dying of cancer. At least those people are considered brave. My body is quitting on me. It's in chaos, and doctors just treat me like I'm being anxious—like I can just calm my nerves and it'll all go away."
She reached out and took me into her arms and I went willingly. I was so tired of being sick that I'd begged for death on multiple occasions.
"I think it's gonna get better if you give it time, sweetheart," she said. "I thought you were so excited about moving here and trying to get started with stained glass."
"I was but that was back when my brain had the capacity to be creative." I used my pointer finger to tap my head a few times. "I can't think straight. I used to dream up window designs and sketch them out continually. I haven't even thought about glass for two months. I'm scared it did something permanent to my brain."
Her grip had loosened, but she still had an arm around me. She rubbed my shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I don't think that's true, sweetheart. I know it seems like a long time for you, but two months really isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. I don't want to see you give up everything. It could just be that it will take some time to get out of your system. God's with you through it all, sweetheart, and He loves you very much."
Another tear rolled down my cheek "God must have a crazy way of showing it," I said. "Because before this ever went down, I had other crappy stuff happen to me." I sighed, feeling helpless. "It's just too much to handle."
"What's the other thing?" she asked.
Before I knew what I was doing, I said, "My mother is a raging alcoholic, and I watched my little sister get raped at a truck stop on the way here."
She let out a little gasp and covered her mouth, but quickly composed herself. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry for you. For both of you."
I breathed a little humorless laugh. "It was my job to make sure she stays safe—to make sure that never happened again, and this craziness in my body is preventing me from doing that. It was the one thing I needed to do and I can't even do it. Now she's forced to go to work alone and I'm trapped in here so sick that sometimes I forget how worried I should be."
Something of a Storm (All in Good Time Book 1) Page 7