Pain Ridden, Fat and Scared

In the middle of the summer, as I have typically done for the last five years, I was too busy to eat anything other than my morning coffee and bagel.

So, when it was time to eat dinner, my hubby and I decided to eat out at one of our favorite spots.

As usual, my eyes are bigger than my stomach, and after a few bites of our delicious calamari, I simply ordered a cup of clam chowder.

That was the biggest meal I had on that particular summer day.

My short drive home replaced my earlier headache with a mixture of nausea and a sudden feeling of clamminess.  I felt feverish and doubled over in pain for most of the ten-minute drive home.

My husband attributed my ailments to food poisoning - but it didn't make sense.  We both ate the same dinner, and I much less than him.  And fortunately, my husband felt fine.

I immediately swelled and my stomach bloated before we got home.  To say I was uncomfortable is an understatement.

As soon as I got home, my stomach started convulsing, my body felt tender and hot to the touch, and I started shaking uncontrollably.  Coupled with a horrid pain in the middle of my ribcage, I ran to the bathroom to throw up my only meal of that day.  

That wasn't the only time I threw up that evening.

Not only did I use a hot water bag to try and subside my pain, I also took a healthy dosage of your typical (stomach-ache) over-the-counter medicine.  But try as I may, nothing stopped the pain.

The pain was so intense, I couldn't lay down or sit down.  And somehow in the middle of it all, I cried.

I cried alone.

I couldn't wake up my husband - he was going to work the following day; and I couldn't not go to sleep - I also had to work the following day.

So while he slept, I walked, tried to move, lay on the floor, sat in our guest room, and several times over, ended up in the bathroom - to throw up.

As horrible as that evening was, somehow, someway, I managed.  

The following day I called my local clinic to make an appointment sometime that morning.  They didn't seem to think it was urgent, and scheduled me for a late afternoon consult.

Upon my check-in, I listed all the issues I had the previous evening: nausea, throwing up, bloating, swelling, shaking, pain in my rib-cage...

I also added: this wasn't my first bout of nausia or vomiting - but it was the worst night ever.

I also listed my usual diet: a carb and coffee in the morning, a skipped lunch, and a sensible dinner. On the weekends I splurged, and yes, I drank wine.  

"Sometimes I also eat lunch," I mentioned to my doctor.   "But all in all, my diet was nothing that could cause so many issues," I added.

Or so I thought.

The doctor, maybe younger than me, seemed dismissive from the moment she walked in.  She placed a doubtful pause each time I answered her questions: "no, I don't eat fast food."  Or, "yes, it was only a cup of clam chowder."

My stomach, still swollen from the night before, was tender to the touch.  And while she felt it, she told me my symptoms were caused by "over eating."

Yes, "over eating."

That was her diagnosis as she was quick to wash her hands after touching me.  

"What do I do," I asked, as she held the door, "to make the pain go away?"

"Treat it like a tummy ache.  You know...just drink liquids, saltines, and stay away from fast food.  Just like, uh, when you over eat."

And that was it. That was my diagnosis in August of 2011: "stay away from fast food."  Something, that if you know me, know that I don't like or eat.

Needless to say, I went through what I thought was a common stomach ache twice a month since that fateful day.  The pain in my rib cage getting worse each time.

My constant bloating, I attributed to weight gain due to my lack of exercise, vacationing or the holidays.  

The nausea, I thought was due to the various medications I take. 

I tried most everything: taking medication with food, go to sleep hungry...anything, and I mean anything, to avoid feeling that horrible pain in my rib cage.

Very few people outside of my husband knew about my health issues.  Mostly because it's more believable to say I got fat by eating than attributing weightgain to some unknown ailment.  Add to that my diagnosed thyroid problem and my constant, and endless, health issues.

I am the fat woman most fat women love to hate.

Deep inside, I knew that most women were judging my growing girth and blaming it on my secret addiction to donuts (smirk).  

Truthfully, I wish it was that simple.

Except for one friend, most everyone thought I was, well, crazy and over indulging.  Some friends even reminded me about that "one time we went to dinner and had two rolls instead of one;" or the time that "I ate dinner and dessert."

Truth be told, through the power of social media I recently posted that I had food poisoning once again.

I posted this simple update mostly because I wanted someone to give me advice on how to make the pain go away, not because I expected to get a wake up call.

I am thankful that I did.

Because of my very thoughtful friend, I called my doctor who promptly advised me to go to the emergency room.

I was just as anoyed as my husband to end our Sunday early, and yet I still didn't think it would be more than a common stomach ache.

But things got serious when I was triaged, in a hospital gown and with an IV on my arm - in less than 15 minutes.

Upon my initial consult, my doctor made me feel less crazy when he said he didn't think my symptoms "were the cause of simply over eating."  

He, instead, listened to all of my symptoms, including the random shoulder blade pain, and quickly requested a series of tests to rule out one of many issues that sounded more serious that a simple stomach ache.

From blood tests, to a painful ultra sound, my Sunday was spent in an ER.  

I felt weaker as the day went on, but the pain wasn't as severe as when I first walked in the hospital.

And, for the first time in a very long time, I turned to my hubby while tears were streaming down my face.

I was scared.


While the pain isn't what it was a few days ago, I am now weak and tired.  My eating, as to avoid additional flair-ups, is numbed with medication.  And yet, I am still scared.


In four days, instead of celebrating my birthday with a visit to one of my favorite places, I will be admited in the same hospital I spent that fateful Sunday to remove an infected and stone-ridden gall bladder.

Could I have done anything different to prevent myself from being only days away from surgery?

Not really.  But the pain could have stopped much sooner if my first doctor had properly diagnosed me.

So it's with that last thought that I leave you:  Even if an ailment or illness isn't preventable, the diagnosis, let alone the pain, can be taken care of.

Don't wait and think that your sudden weight gain, pain and various other problems are in your head.

If you have a medical problem - even if minor - see a doctor.

If the doctor doesn't pay attention to you - see another.

But most importantly, make sure that you keep those you love informed of your pragnosis every step of the way.

Because, remember this much: if it wasn't for that very caring friend that connected the dots about my constant battle with food poisoning I wouldn't be here.

I could have died.