I don't really know where to start, I've jumped around so much. Let's get to what shall henceforth be known as The False Start hospitalization, in which I was basically in complete denial for the entire time I was there (sound familiar?) This first stint was after my visit to the ER, they had me come in for bloodwork on the Monday morning, I went with Tara, who was in town to visit me and we were just baffled. I attempted to go to work that week but by Thursday they had taken my blood again, and requested I come in for an MRI. So I go into work on Thursday morning, after bloodwork, and get called back in to do the MRI for about 12pm. So I go straight back to the clinic and do the MRI and by this time, I get a message to please come back upstairs to the 4th floor because they had to speak to me. That was not a good sign.

The mind is a funny place to live, especially when you are unwell. I knew something was not right, I was fully aware that this is NOT how I am supposed to feel. And they don't just call you in for an emergency MRI if things look great and everything is going swimmingly. But my mind was just telling me to suck it up and the idea of being admitted to hospital was honestly beyond comprehension. I'm sure the thoughts crept in, but I really was sure it would pass and I'd be absolutely fine after the weekend. 

I was told: we want to admit you right now, we have a bed for you and we've spoken to admitting and you should go over there right away. I was numb. Or in denial. Or shut down. Or something. I cried, but not the long sobbing moans I had from my previous hospitalization, this time, I wasn't taking it seriously, I thought I'd be in and out -- in fact, I was determined to be in and out, boom bang boom, fix me up and send me packing. Oh, how little I knew then, how young I was. I literally was thinking, umm...I have a meeting at 4pm, it's super important, and I am not going to miss it: any way we could reschedule this whole being-admitted-to-hospital thing? That'd be great, thxxxxx.

Sidenote: before you are a patient in hospital (aka someone who has essentially been very healthy their entire lives), or at least one who stays for a while, you never think about certain things. But the idea of 'we have a bed for you' is like liquid gold to one's ears when you know you don't know how long you're staying. And if it's on the floor where your personal doctors treat people, even better. And if it's a single room (meaning you don't have to share) EVEN. BETTER. It feels like winning the jackpot to know you won't have to be thrown on to some random floor, or share with someone who is very sweet but watches TV the entire day on their iPad and doesn't seem to be in possession of any headphones in the entire Northeast and really likes loud TV shows with explosions and also reality TV with catfights (true story). 

So my main man Dan who is a nurse on the floor of the transplant floor and awesome and loves to chat (shoutout to 2 North, love you like a sister), had sorted me out with a room. I called my parents. They, too, were in disbelief. I told all the necessary parties I had to tell. Truly, nobody could really believe it. I swear: I was on quaaludes or had been given a temporary lobotomy, because although I wanted to tear my hair out and scream running in the other direction, I strolled into admitting and then up to the floor, cool as a cucumber. Not kicking and screaming like I had the second time I was admitted in September or the time I would be again, not nine days later. I think I thought, they're just getting the numbers under control and I'll be back at it in no time. My dad came from work and my mother followed, with all my accoutrements that I need from home to keep me sane (and because I absolutely loathe the hospital gown, mostly because I flash everyone constantly, can't seem to get my head round it). 

Like I always say, denial is a forceful mistress. Well that's the first time I've said that. But it's true. More to come on How They Love to Keep You Up All Night in hospital, and not in the partying way. And 8 Days in Hospital and What It Does to a Woman When She's Thrown Back In. Thrilling summer reading coming in fast and furious!