this is SO MUCH EASIER than answering questions individually, so here it is, in it's completely pathetic and undignified glory, in detail: an explanation of just what the heck exactly has been happening to me in the last two days.
yesterday morning I got up at 9:40AM, feeling kind of better, not nearly as awful as the night before. I thought, hey, maybe I don't need to go to the doctor! and then I stood up.
and promptly fell right back down.
fast forward 20 minutes, and I wake up on my bedroom floor. I had no idea what happened, then I realized, oh my god, something is seriously wrong. I pulled myself up, walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and grabbed the thermometer. 102. Not as bad as the night before, but I didn't look okay. no color, my pupils were all weird, and I was VISIBLY shaking. I grabbed the dayquil as I stumbled back into bed, took a giant swig, and faded in and out for an hour or so until I felt okay enough to throw clothes on. then I did something so stupid that I am still in shock it didn't end in my (or someone else's) death, but that may have been the only reason I didn't die yesterday.
I got behind the wheel of my car and drove to the urgent care center.
I could barely walk in, but I managed to sign in and pay and sit back down. then, all my muscles seized up, I felt like I was going to pass out, and I started to get really, really scared. I'd never felt that bad before. I prayed and waited and hoped that they'd just call my name already, please, GOD, call my name already, I don't know how much longer I can sit upright.
when they finally did, I used what tiny amount of strength I had left to stumble back into the nurses station so they could do my vitals. I almost fell off the scale. NOTE: for those of you who haven't been paying attention, I'm heading into treatment for my eating disorder and I'm currently not aware of how much I weigh. however, since the last time I visited this doctor's office I'd apparently had a serious weight drop, because the nurse immediately asked me if I'd been eating, scribbled something on my chart, and the next thing I knew I was in a chair with a blood pressure cuff on.
people in the office were starting to look nervously at me, but I was so out of it I couldn't really hear what they were saying. she took my pulse and my blood oxygen saturation level and ushered me into a room where she helped me lay down while I waited for the doctor. then, a few seconds later, she was back, visibly upset, and asking if she could check my pulse and oxygen sats again. apparently, my pulse was 136 and my oxygen levels had dipped below 90%, and she thought she'd made a mistake, so she came to check again. I told her that actually made sense given how I was feeling, so she MANUALLY took my pulse, flipped out, and dragged a doctor into the room (side note: normal resting rate for adults is from 60-100, and mine is normally about 83. at 136 and rising, I was technically considered in tachycardia. blood oxygen sats are ideally near 100, with 85 being low. mine was at a constant falling rate, which explained my heart beat. I was getting WAY too little oxygen).
after examining me pretty freaking thoroughly, she asked if I'd been eating. I explained my situation to her, but honestly, in the last 7 days I've eaten more normally than I have in months. I told her I'd had a bad cough for about a month, and she sent in a nurse to do a blood draw and test for the flu. while they ran my bloodwork I talked to my mom (briefly) and a few other people, as well as posting on facebook that I might be thrown into an ambulance pretty soon. the doctor came back in and put me in a new room with a bed, pillow, and blankets, grabbed my other arm, and placed an IV. the nurse hung a bag of emergency fluids. I didn't even care what was going on anymore, I just wanted to not feel like I was dying. I couldn't lift my arms at this point and I was having trouble focusing my eyes or taking deep breaths. by the time I'd finished that bag, they'd analyzed my blood and cultures. no flu, normal-ish white counts, SERIOUSLY MESSED UP CO2 LEVELS, and some other screwed up levels. they sent me to the bathroom with a cup, then put me back in bed and started a second bag on the drip. at this point the doctor came in and explained that the cough, combined with the fact that I usually go to the bathroom every 10-15 minutes (which is annoying and not normal, but it's been my life for awhile) my body had lost water much faster than I could replace it, so combined with excessive food restriction, my vital organs had started shutting down. it explained why my hands and feet had been tingling, why I'd had no energy, why I'd been feverish, why I'd passed out, and that if I hadn't come in she honestly did not think I'd have been okay. if they hadn't put me on fluids, she said, she thinks I might've ended up doing a lengthy stay at the hospital. when they got back the urinalysis, she said I had ketones extremely present in my urine (which means my body had ceased to have any glucose to use for energy and had started breaking down fat, which screwed up my liver and meant my brain wasn't getting any glucose for energy OR any fat, because it can't cross the blood-brain barrier... if you've ever had an eating disorder or known someone with one, this is dangerous. EXTREMELY dangerous. it normally calls for hospitalization) and protein was present, meaning my kidneys were on the verge of failing.
I was kind of in shock. I'd been eating, I'd been drinking. yeah, I'd had a cough, and yes, my eating disorder had been worse in the past few months than it had been probably since my junior year of high school. but for the last week I'd been eating. I was getting ready to leave for treatment. this wasn't supposed to happen now.
she explained that I was to eat, the end. no restricting, no being stupid, no worrying about being thin. looking at me, she said, most people wouldn't guess that I had been starving myself, but if you looked at my charts from earlier in the semester, it would be clear that I'd had a significant weight drop. combined with bulimia and a pretty serious upper respiratory infection that my body had no immune system to fight off, I'd nearly killed myself. the two bags of fluid got my heartrate down to 93, which is STILL not ideal for someone my age, height, and weight, but at this point since she knew what was going on, she gave me a prescription for some heavy-duty antibiotics, an inhaler to help in the mean time, and then, before I could leave, I would be getting two shots. the first was a steroid, the second was to boost my counts and help fight off infection until the meds could kick in.
after twenty minutes had passed (the shots can cause allergic reactions they have to monitor, plus, she didn't really want me driving at all) they reluctantly let me go. I drove to the pharmacy, got the prescriptions, and came home, collapsing into bed and bawling my eyes out. ten years of putting myself at risk had finally caught up with me. so close to my admittance into treatment, too. I knew I was incredibly blessed it hadn't happened before now, and incredibly blessed that my doctor had the forethought to give me fluids.
more than anything, though, I was blessed that my incredible stupidity and normal stubbornness about doctors hadn't killed me. I texted a few people and caught them up, ate dinner (which was terrifying, but at this point it didn't matter, food was fuel) and collapsed into bed, crashing early and sleeping fitfully until this morning.
I don't feel a whole lot better, but I'm drinking lots of water and gatorade and pedialyte, taking medicine, eating every few hours, and sitting here wondering what on earth had compelled me to do this to myself for so long.
talk about a wakeup call.
I'm alright, I'm going to be okay, and thank God I'll be in treatment soon. I still can't believe it happened, but it did, and oh my god, I get it now. I get it. I have to eat.
