Meningitis?

Note: The following is probably the longest post I have ever written (and I've written some doozies), and it doesn't even have pictures. Just giving you fair warning.

Last night, just past midnight, my roommate and my boyfriend took me to the E.R. I wasn't unconscious, or bleeding, or shot. Gosh dangit, I didn't even have a stomach problem (they did, however, ask me to rate my pain and I said between a 7 and an 8 and I immediately thought of Mr. Regan here). What I thought I had was meningitis.

Well, I had the first three symptoms. I had a high fever that started suddenly (literally, one moment I was fine and about five seconds later I was shivering uncontrollably), I most definitely had a very painful and very stiff neck, especially when I tried to touch my chin to my chest, and whenever I changed positions my headache flared with a vengeance, but I hadn't vomited, I felt like I was pretty aware, and I hadn't had a seizure (and sure as heck didn't want to have one), but I was willing to wait it out.

Because here's the thing. I have been to the hospital for myself exactly twice. Once when I was two and I fell off the top of a 15-foot slide, and in that case I was two. And it was quite a fall. The other time was when I was in 6th grade and I fell of my bike without a helmet on and I got a concussion. In this case I was definitely out of it (example: I was playing GoFish with my siblings (my mom told them to keep me awake) and I held my cards face out, not realizing anything was wrong), and even then my mom finished my paper route before we went. We are very responsible, us Blackhursts. I can't remember any other time I've been to the hospital for myself, but anyone else is free to remind me. The point is that I do not go to the hospital. Ever.

So why did I go?

I went because the speed of the onset of the fever kind of freaked me out. I had had a sore neck the neck day before, but it hadn't been too bad, and when I woke up that morning it was much worse (as was my headache), but I took two ibuprofen and was fine all day, well, until about 9pm when my neck suddenly stiffened up while Jeff and I were walking around the Museum of Art at a gallery opening (we had even been swing dancing right before that and I had been fine). And then at 10pm when the fever struck without warning.

So finally, after talking to my brother (a doctor), and a few other people and taking my temperature about 50 times (okay, not really, more like 10 times) over the course of about 45 minutes and watching it climb, I called my Dad, let him know that I was going to the hospital (and asked him which hospital I should go to), and off we went.

There was an odd moment when we wondered if we should go to the E.R. or the front entrance, but we decided on the E.R. They checked me in, got my vitals really quick, I told them that my pain was about an 8, and then they showed me to a room and said to each other,
"Eight. "
"Yeah, I was thinking eight too."
I don't know exactly what this encounter was about, but it made me smile.

Anyway, I got changed into a gown, a few minutes later a doctor and two nurses came in, they asked me some questions and then he (the doctor) said,
"Well, I'm a pessimist," (perfect) "and although we're not sure exactly what it is yet, from everything that you've told us it looks like you have meningitis."
Thanks, that's why I came in here.
"We can't be sure yet, so we're going to need to take a sample. Now, we can take blood from anywhere in your body, well, except your head because there's no opening there, but the problem is that what we need is not blood. We need to get to the fluid that surrounds your brain, so you can see our problem. Fortunately, the fluid that surrounds your brain also runs down your spine, but we don't want to poke a needle into your bone, so we're going to poke it at the base of your spine, where there's some of that fluid just sitting there."
Mmm goody. A spinal tap.

So he and the nurses went to work, sterilizing my back, numbing me up, and getting ready to poke me with a needle. Well, actually they poked me with a couple of needles. He numbed me twice, and then when he got ready to poke me with the big needle, he said,
"Now Sarah, I'm going into a space where there are nerves."
Thanks for the heads-up.
"I have a really good idea of where the needle needs to go, and I won't actually puncture any nerves, but it may brush up against it, which may cause some pain."
At least he didn't say that I might feel some "pressure" (look at about minute 3:15)
"If you feel any pain in your legs, let me know immediately, don't try to be brave and get through it on your own."
You got it, boss.

So he started the needle in and after about 1/2 second it felt like my entire left leg had gone numb. The kind of numb when you hit your funny bone, and it hurts. So I said tersely, "ow! leg!" and he immediately backed off, asked me which leg and went in again. I thought for sure he would have it, but after about a second, once again, my entire leg felt simultaneously tingly and on fire. "ow! leg!" and then immediately after "ow! leg!" again. He asked me if it was my right leg. Nope. Still my left. I think you're going to far to one side, doc. Try again.

Anyway, he got my spinal fluid out and as he was doing it he said that if I had bacterial meningitis that the fluid would look yellowy and puss-y.
Delicious.
But mine looked clear like water.
Oh good. What am I doing here again? Oh yeah, because it might be viral meningitis, which wouldn't show up as a color in the fluid.

After they were done, a nurse took a blood sample and then they gave me antibiotics because until they knew that it wasn't meningitis, they were going to treat me like I did have it. And then they left.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I'm pretty sure they said it was going to be about a half hour, but it was an hour before they came back and said.... (drumroll)..........."You don't have meningitis."

What I have was just a regular old virus of some kind. How anti-climactic. Well, at this point I'm glad that I don't have meningitis, but I'm also disappointed that I went to the E.R. when I didn't really need to, especially when I made Saundra and Jeff stay up til 3am just so they could hear that I was not, in fact, that sick. And all that I have to show for it is a little band-aid on my back and a tiny hole in my arm where they took the blood sample.

However, I am glad I went because I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't. For all I know, the fever might have gotten worse and might have caused a seizure. I don't know). I'm just glad that I'm better now.

My weekend activities

So this is what I did last weekend. I probably won't make it a weekly or even monthly habit (if I ever decide to do it again), but it was a riot last week.

Yeah, we went dumpster diving. Not because we have to, but because we want to.

(what trash officer?)

We went to a pastry shop. And yes, Hilary and I (and a roommate or two) did actually eat the stuff we picked out of the garbage can.

In our defense, they were in a sealed bag at the very top (so, no actual diving occurred), and they had just been put there maybe a half hour before. So its not that bad.

Or maybe it is.

I haven't gotten sick yet, and it was something fun and spontaneous, which means it was something I can check off of my list for becoming a more fun person.

Bachelorette party

One of my best friends got married last week-end, so naturally we had a party for her. To be more specific, we had a bachelorette party for her. This is not to be confused with a bridal shower. The bridal shower is the one you invite your grandma to. The bachelorette party is the one you don't invite your grandma to. For example, you would not invite your grandma to a bar.*



Also, you wouldn't try to convince your grandma to follow the bar with... more drinking!**

Nor would you invite her to partake of a dessert that everyone affectionately calls "Satan"***

However, that is exactly what you would do at a bachelorette party.

Before you start worrying about my eternal salvation and stuff,
*Spark is a non-alcoholic bar
**this drink is Martinellis cider (with quite a bit of head, I might add)
***this is a delicious dessert that Jessie (the reason for the party) made for us girls freshman year--we call it Satan because it has pudding, cream, oreos, fat, more fat, sugar, more sugar, and more fat. In other words, it will probably destroy your body. But it is oh, so good.

Copycat

My sister is really cool. She has two beautiful boys, operates two blogs, runs about a million miles a week (only a slight exaggeration), and somehow finds time to cook awesome food. Really awesome food. So its no wonder that I want to be just like her. I have to tell myself that so I don't feel bad that I am so uncreative that I have to do exactly as she does.

Here's what I did: while I was in New York Lizzie made homemade granola. This might sound repetitive, but it was awesome. Naturally, as soon as I got home I wanted to get the ingredients to try making it myself.

(her pictures look better)

I did okay until it came time to put in the honey. A while ago my grandpa gave us a HUGE bottle of honey, and because I thought we still had a lot left, I didn't bother getting any at the store. Oops. I had to scrape out every single drop of honey we had in the apartment.

Poor little honey bear--being sacrificed for the sake of my tastebuds.

After that everything went well...


...until it was time to take it out. Apparently things don't need to cook as long in Utah as they do in New York. Or maybe my oven burns hotter than Lizzie's does. Regardless, the granola is still edible, but it's not awesome. And I'm not going to post a picture of it.

Sigh. Maybe I shouldn't be such a copycat.

A measly 3 minutes

I left on Saturday with two hours and 15 minutes before my plane left. Or at least I thought it was 2h 15 min. It was actually only 2h and 5 min. While I was in France they changed my flight time to be ten minutes earlier. I didn't think it was that big of a deal. Apparently it was. So, running ten minutes behind I got on the A train towards Howard Beach station. Oh, did I mention that the A train is an express train? Except for on weekends. And when you really need it. So it stopped at. every. single. stop.

So I'm running a little late (but I've still got an hour and 15 minutes or so) when I get on the Airtrain, which isn't super slow, but slow enough for me to want it to go faster. I get off the Airtrain with just over an hour, and walk my way to the Delta terminal. When I got there a nice man told me to go to the self check-in before I got in line. No big deal. Everything is going well and then I push the button that says I need to check my baggage and a screen comes up telling me that it's too late for me to check my baggage and to talk to an attendant. This was about 8:53.

So I talk to an attendant and he says "Oh yes. Oh yes, you are too late. You're going to have to talk to one of these ladies at the counter to get on the next flight."

I'm sorry. What?

Apparently, Delta makes you check your bags in at least an hour before your flight. So even though my flight left at 9:50, I had to wait another seven hours for the next flight to Salt Lake. But at least it was just seven hours and not thirteen, like the woman I talked to had to wait (but that was because she got to the airport a day early). Oh, and that big group (50 people) of youth from San Diego who had spent the past week volunteering in Haiti, who missed their flight and had to wait until the next day to be re-routed. I actually talked to one of the guys in charge and he told me that they were a church group who had gone down to do repainting and repair stuff. He kept saying, "the Lord's hand is in everything" and all I could think was, "Yes, I totally agree. I just don't know how me coming late three minutes was so important." I don't know if I really needed to miss my plane or not, but after that conversation I've been thinking more seriously about doing my field study in Haiti. I had thought about it before, but now I'm thinking that if I can combine it with an internship, I will. We'll see.

I'll keep you posted.

Bluemarble

For my last night in the big apple, we had a picnic in the park, tossed the frisbee around, and then ate ice-cream at Bluemarble. Delicious. I was convinced that I needed to try the ginger ice-cream. I must admit, I was a bit skeptical. I was even a little apprehensive. I needn't have been. It was delicious. Next time I go to Brooklyn I am going to make a return trip. Unless I can find one closer.


P.S. While we were tossing the frisbee around, Micah was holding Simon and either Lizzie or I threw a way-off pass, but he still ran after it with Simon in his arms, and caught it. A lady behind us yelled, "Did you see that?! That guy just caught that with a baby in his arms!!" Yeah. Go Micah.

The Sights, Sounds, and Smells of NYC

I don't know why, but I took an immediate liking to New York. Maybe it was because the smell of pizza was pervasive. Maybe it was because it didn't reek of cigarette smoke and b.o. (like Paris sometimes did--not always, but sometimes). Maybe it was because I could understand what people were saying, even if they were speaking with a New Jersey accent (which made me happy). Or maybe it was because there is an energy in New York. From what I saw, people were friendly, they joked and laughed, they talked quickly and loudly, and I loved it.

As for the sights...