In which I once again tell you way more about the inner workings of my body than you ever cared to know

This has been a busy week here at Chez Bitchy. My new boss and her family got a chance to use her mother-in-law's time share in Hawaii for 10 days, so they flew out of the country last Wednesday, leaving the magazine in my oh-so-capable hands. Which basically means that anytime someone tries to email them, they get a response that says, "Sorry dudes - gettin' baked on Maui right now. If it's a major issue, email Megan." Like I know what to do. So I got people asking me where their money is, asking how much money they owe the magazine, asking what we will give them if they donate something for our monthly contest, asking if I want my penis enlarged. Stuff like that. Boss lady also left me with a bunch of articles to edit, with instructions such as, "This is completely wrong and not what I wanted at all. See what you can do." These were all written at, like, 2 a.m. the night before their flight left.

On Thursday, my youngest daughter turned back into the demon I have described here before, and it made for a very stressful day. I wasn't surprised when I went to bed with an upset stomach, considering all the anger and frustration I had managed to choke down into the pit of my belly all day.

Usually a night's sleep is enough to banish whatever mild ailment I go to bed with, but it was still there in the morning, slightly worse. But I kept going about my day: did my work, took a 30 minute walk, put the baby to bed for her nap in the afternoon. And something happened when she woke up and I went upstairs to get her. She wanted me to sit on the floor with her, and the act of sitting on a hard surface sent the most horrible shooting pains through my gut, and I suddenly realized I was getting a fever.

By the time I got up to go to the bedroom/office where my husband works when he works from home, my belly had swelled up and I was in severe pain. He agreed to stop work early and take care of the girls and I shut off all the lights, shed my clothes, and crawled into bed.

The next few hours were miserable. The pain in my belly ran across the top of my abdomen, down the left side, and across the lower part of my stomach. It was intense, stabbing, horrid pain. There was no position that gave any amount of comfort; in fact every position made one area feel a hundred times worse. Every time I moved I broke into a sweat and when I lay still I got the shivers.

I suppose a sane person would have gone to the emergency room at this point, but twice in my life - once when I was 14, and again when I was in my twenties - I went to the emergency room with what I thought was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life, surely a pain greater than any human had ever suffered in the history of the planet...only to be told that I had gas. Gas. Like I had eaten a big burrito or something and should have taken a Tums. So, belly pain does not send me to the ER anymore.

I wanted desperately to sleep but there was just no way, so I did the next best thing and caught up on Battlestar Galactica in preparation for the series finale (big letdown, waaaay too sentimental and pat and wrapped up for my taste). I finally crawled out of bed sometime in the night and took a dose of Nyquil which, thankfully, put me to sleep for about 6 hours.

When I awoke, I realized that the U-shaped pain in my gut had kind of coalesced into one spot - one spot of searing, stabbing pain which was also tender to the touch, like something inside was inflamed and very, very angry. And it was in the exact same spot where I had thought an ovarian cyst had blown open earlier this year.

The rest of the weekend was spent recuperating. The fever was gone by Saturday afternoon, but I was wracked with cramps for 2 days, and the spot on my left side continued to be tender and sore. I feel almost normal today - I can eat and drink without doubling over in pain - but the sore spot remains, gradually shrinking in size and severity, just as before.

So, needless to say, I haven't done a stitch of quilting this week. I will be seeing a gastroenterologist in a month (it was the soonest I could get an appointment with the best GI doc in town and I was lucky to get that) but I have a sneaking suspicion that she will probably just tell me I'm fat and gassy.

Since I have no pretty fabric or quilting pictures to offer today, I give you a picture of my youngest in her non-demon form, being adorable:



You're welcome.