I can't pinpoint a date when I started having pain in my stomach, so sometime in the last four years I began having mild to major pain in the upper center part of my tummy. Usually it just annoyed me, but every now and then I would feel so sick that I could hardly get out of bed. I'd feel nauseated and get weak and lightheaded and sweaty. I couldn't seem to find a remedy, either. Of course, I'm not much of a seeker of medical attention, so I waited until my annual physical last fall to ask my doctor what might be wrong with me. He ordered an ultrasound to look at things and sent me on my way. The ultrasound revealed that -voila!- everything was normal.
Talking to the doctor again, he suggested I get a HIDA scan done. I scheduled it, but after consulting with my health insurance people and finding out how much those fandangled tests cost, I decided to forgo. No stomachache deserves that much attention and financial gratification was my opinion, especially at the end of the year when we hadn't paid hardly a cent toward our deductible. So I persevered.
The new year brought what seemed to be a worsening of my symptoms, so I revisited the idea of further testing. Then when we had some changes to our health insurance which would raise our deductible considerably, we decided it would be best to go for it before the changes became effective. My doctor worked his magic to rush the orders before the deadline, which was about 2 weeks away.
The HIDA scan came next. The procedure for this test consisted of getting an IV through which some radioactive dye was sent that lit up the gallbladder while I lay under a big x-ray machine for a couple of hours. This was about as bad as it sounds. The IV and dye didn't bother me [although I'm not generally a big fan of sending radioactive products coursing through my body], but lying still on a hard, narrow table for that long about did me in. I brought along my current book club read [which I think was The Brother's Karamozov -- oi! I needed something much more diverting], but holding my arms above my head and avoiding all the contraptions was not so fun. After the gallbladder was sufficiently visible the technician added some hormone to the IV that made the gallbladder contract so they could view if it was properly dispensing it's juice. Upon observation, the conclusion came back... Normal!
Next came the CT scan. Of all the procedures, this was my least favorite. It was quick, which I appreciated, but whatever junk they stuck in my veins I felt certain was going to kill me. The technician warned me I'd experience some sensations such as feeling very warm and like I was going to wet my pants. Nice, huh? So they started the IV and told me to follow the instructions the machine would issue. "Breathe in ... Hold your breath ... Breathe out." It started out all right, but as the contrast spread through my body, I got horribly hot. I began feeling a little bit panicky. I have no idea what a heart attack feels like, but that's what I imagined as my whole center heated up and felt compressed. And I truly thought I would wet my pants. So weird, and utterly unpleasant. Fortunately, it was over in a timely manner and my pants stayed dry. I left the hospital and decided to run a few errands before heading home.
Here's where the fun began. I arrived home to a very disturbed husband. I think his first sentence to me was, "I'm getting you a cell phone!" [Yep, I'm one of the 13 people in the US who does not yet have a cell phone.] Apparently, immediately after I left the hospital, the radiologist called to say that I needed to either go to the emergency room or to my OB/GYN right away. The scan showed that my IUD had ruptured the wall of my uterus and needed to be removed promptly. Jeremy took the liberty of scheduling an appointment with my doctor, so we went to investigate the matter. Now it turns out I had just been to see the midwife at this same office to determine the cause of some other pain I'd been having. She had ordered an ultrasound which showed some ovarian cysts. Nothing too worrisome. So the doctor took another look at the ultrasound and declared the IUD to be in exactly the right place. He called the radiologist, who stuck to his determination that there was a serious problem. My doctor seemed unconvinced, since I didn't have signs of infection, but he also couldn't argue with what the radiologist said he saw. So he removed the IUD prepared to send me into surgery if it was indeed ruptured through the uterus. But, as seems to be a theme here, everything appeared normal. He sent me home with some antibiotics, just in case, but still sure that everything was just fine.
Test #4: Endoscopy. Actually, it had a much longer and more impressive sounding name, but I'd have to go find the paperwork to write it all down. For this one I would be sedated and the surgeon would stick a camera down my throat to take a look at my insides. I was a little nervous about being knocked out. But it ended up being the best part. I remember them hooking me up to the IV. They put something in my mouth so I couldn't bite down. It also made it so I couldn't talk. My arm started to hurt where the IV was placed, so I thought I would take the thing out of my mouth and ask if that was normal, but I couldn't do it and then I was asleep. When I woke up I was so disappointed. I'd been having the best, most restful nap ever. I wanted so badly to stay put. The surgeon came in and showed me some pictures of my small intestines and began explaining that the little teensy lesions I saw were either caused from celiac disease or from ibuprofen use. Of course, my brain was a little foggy still and I couldn't get over the fact that I had pictures of my gut. Cool! He ordered a blood test and said they'd taken a biopsy to rule out celiac disease. Jeremy walked me to the lab for the blood test, and then we left to go curtain shopping. The doctors had instructed me not to make any major decisions for 24 hours after the sedation, but I'm happy to say I still like the drapery I picked out in my altered state.
I spent an anxious few days thinking of all the things I would miss if the celiac diagnosis was confirmed. And, naturally, I ate as many of them as I could. I thank my lucky stars that the tests came back normal. Which meant I was having a disastrous reaction to ibuprofen. I've steered clear since then and am pleased to report I have mostly felt much better. I still get minor stomachaches from time to time. But I haven't had any severe problems for a few months. Still, I think the best part of the whole thing was getting a picture of my tummy from the inside. It's so fascinating. If this sort of thing bothers you, you can't say I didn't warn you. Look away!
