Alright, alright. I'm back. But I have a really good reason for not writing anything in the last week.

I've had an infection. IN MY HEAD.

Yep, stayed in the hospital and everything. Sounds like a nice little mini-break, right? It was just so totally not, I can't even explain it. Last month I had had this massive sinus congestiony, cold-like, possibly allergy attackish thing going on for a week or so, and I thought it had cleared up, but obviously IT HAD NOT. IT WAS IN MY HEAD ALL THE TIME.

Insidious little turd.

Anyhow, I've had this fluid building up in my left ear for a couple of weeks and then last Thursday night (after a particularly triumphant 2nd place at trivia, mind you), BAM! I wake up in the middle of the night with a horrendous earache. The kind you only see in movies where you are either having insects tunnel through your brain, or a serial killer is repeatedly stabbing you in the ear with an icepick. Take your choice...I prefer the icepick one because it grosses me out less and it seems to describe the intense stabbiness that went on in my head for the next three days without ceasing. 

So I went to the ER (after having already gone in to see my regular doctor just a couple of days earlier because I was concerned about a swollen lymph node on that side and swollen tonsils, so go figure) and the guy puts me on antibiotics and sends me home with some Lortab. Which, by the way, is the  dumbest thing I've ever taken. Did nothing but hurt my stomach.

So, as you may have guessed, these remedies did nothing. I ended up in my doctor's office the next morning (trying to avoid the higher ER copay, which as you will soon see, was unavoidable), and after seeing my lovely swollen jaw, etc., the PA (who is probably the one always stuck with Saturday office hours) sends me to the ER in the neighboring town, because the CT-scan machine in our hospital was broken. Great.

I get to Santa Fe and go into the ER, where they promptly remove my clothing (not my bra, which I had to wear continuously until the next evening because they didn't want to take out my IV for bra-removal purposes...seriously...like I wasn't uncomfortable enough), pop in an IV and send me off for the scan.

One problem:  I'm allergic to the iodine they use with those pesky things. Got an incomplete picture, but they decided it was probably mastoiditis. Yum.

At this point, they decide to keep me in, supposedly just for overnight iv antibiotics. Now, they didn't tell me this until I was checking out, but it turns out that the reason I got that big old room all to myself in a deserted section of the pediatrics wing is because they were pretty sure it was going to be meningitis, in which case they'd have to isolate me from the other prisoners patients. Yeah. Nice to know, guys.

I was also visited by five different doctors, none of whom decided to approve any decent pain meds for me on that long, long Saturday, so I had a day full of Oxycodone and Tylenol and absolutely no pain relief. None. Every time I tried to ask, I felt like they would think I was seeking drugs or I was just being a baby, so I don't think I really got my point across as well as possible. I think next time, I'll try a more violent approach. Because, seriously. Worst pain ever.

Sunday morning arrived, and I finally said, "Look. I need something different. Could you please try that lovely drug you gave me right before the CT-scan? That was the only thing that helped at all. Otherwise, could you throw me some ibuprofen, because I am going to die here. For reals." They went and asked a doctor (don't know which one, but I really don't care...bless you, buddy) and got me the right meds. Hallelujah.

However, at this point, I was getting a bad headache, which is not a good sign when meningitis is on the table, and the antibiotics hadn't really started working yet. So when the doctor (who is, apparently, the guy that makes this call) came in to see how I was doing and I was worse, he was like, "Okay. Let's give this a couple more hours and if your pain isn't improving, we'll need to do a spinal tap."

WHAT WHAT WHAT? Spinal tap? Methinks not. At this point, I'm crying and my husband's over in the corner, trying to be manly and supportive, but I'm sure that, deep down inside, he was crapping his pants right along with me. Fortunately, the doctor took off pretty quickly so I could have my major freakout in private.

Fortunately, my pain starting easing and my swelling starting subsiding and my jaw calmed down. Just in time. Doctor comes back and says, "Looks like the antibiotics are working. Let's just up your dosage and keep you in here another night, just to be safe."

Hu-fricking-zzah. No spinal tap. 

At this point, this young ear-nose-throat specialist guy comes in and decides everyone was wrong and it's viral, but none of the other doctors (or even any of the nurses) jumped on that train with him, since the antibiotics had started to work already. That and he totally disagreed with everything else they'd all said, so I was confused about my diagnosis until I read my discharge papers the next morning. Which said pretty much the same thing they'd told me they thought was wrong when they checked me in. Nice one, guy. Way to confuse the sleep-deprived lady. Good call.

Anyhow, the nurses were all lovely, the food was horrible (except the piece of turkey, which my husband ate because I couldn't chew and he thought was awesome), and I have never been so glad to shower and do in laundry in my whole life. Hospitals are full of all the things that inhabit my worst nightmares.

Now to see if I regain my hearing in my left ear. Ugh.

Pretty good reason for not blogging, eh? Yeah. I win.