Amy Watch 2010: Update

UPDATE: I was released from the hospital on Sunday on the condition that I have my blood taken Monday morning to make sure the Coumadin levels in my blood were high enough (otherwise I would need to give myself a shot of Lovenox in the stomach). Sidenote - THERE WAS A PRISONER ON MY FLOOR THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL. I had noticed the police officer sitting down the hall from my room and thought to myself naively It's so nice they have a security guard to make us feel safe. On the way out, Kurt informed me he wasn't there to make me feel safe, he was there to guard the inmate three rooms away from me. I was so happy he hadn't told me beforehand. In this case, ignorance was bliss.

The second I was released, Kurt and I hightailed it to Brigantine where our friends were waiting. "Amy Watch 2010" they called it. We came back early Monday morning and I got my blood taken, stressing how vital it was they conduct the tests TODAY because I need a shot TODAY if the levels aren't enough. By the way, it bothers me to no end that you have to go to 3 different places and speak to 3 different doctors for one thing, and none of them communicate. The doctors have all been wonderful, but that is frustrating. Speak to each other instead of through me. Because no one believes me! Twice in the hospital I repeated to my nurses what the doctor told me ("he said you can take the port out of my arm" and "he says I can go home") and both times they thought I was lying. I understand that some patients lie, but if everyone communicated a little better, we wouldn't have this problem. And I was telling the truth.

Anyway, I picked up the mail on the way back to the beach (yes we came home for about 30 minutes and drove the hour and a half back right away) and guess what was in it: my COBRA enrollment form. Turns out, COBRA is retroactive. I could've cried I was so happy to see that form. We'll see if it actually works since in my experience dealing with health insurance companies is never straightforward, but at least I'm covered somewhat. One problem down.

I've been waiting all week to hear about my lab tests. When I first was admitted to the ER, they took 6 vials of blood to run tests, looking for the usual culprits of blood clots - pregnancy, genetic predisposition, cancer (yes I didn't mention that one before - no need to scare everyone). The most likely was a genetic predisposition, so I was expecting that as my diagnosis; baby aspirin for the rest of my life, daily, self-administered shots of heparin everyday while pregnant, etc. I got the call today. My blood is completely normal - no genetic disorders, no predisposition for clotting, nothing. Relief does not even come close to the describing the emotion I felt. I was elated. The doctors think it was most likely the pill that caused it. Don't you love how they're never exactly sure? I was off the pill the second I was diagnosed with blood clots, so we're all good there. Just 6 more months of daily Coumadin, weekly blood tests, and absolute sobriety. It's funny how things have a way of working out.

Two Ricci Women, Two Hospitals

Over the past three weeks, I have spent more time in hospitals than ever before in my life. Three weeks ago, Nonni, whom you've read about before, was admitted to the hospital for a heart attack (a fact which she vehemently denies). Of course, her faithful sons, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters have visited almost every day. The visits have ranged from fearful and sad (it wasn't looking good in the beginning) to happy and nostalgic, and, now that she's back to her normal self, to frustrating and blood-pressure-elevating. I'm the only one in the family who speaks Italian, so of course it fell to me to call her sister in Italy with whom she speaks every day. Let's just say this part has been a nightmare. I don't speak Italian very well anymore and it's hard for me to understand her. I tell her to slow down and she speaks even faster. Over the past three weeks though, it's gotten easier to communicate with her and understand her. But she now calls me every day. I don't answer my phone when she calls because it'll charge me (I use a calling card to call her), so she leaves confused messages on my voicemail. My voicemail message is in English, naturally, so she doesn't understand it, doesn't realize it's my voice. I listened to her messages and wound up in tears, laughing hysterically. I heard, "Amy Ricci. AMY RICCI." She apparently thought my voicemail was an operator and was trying to get put through to me. I hadn't listened to her messages for a few days. I'd just call her instead, so when I listened, it all finally made sense. She had previously spoken of "la donna", the woman, whom she called. I just assumed I wasn't understanding her properly. "La donna" is me on my voicemail. I've just let it go. It's no use explaining a cell phone or voicemail to an 88-year old Italian woman.

All that aside, Nonni is doing much better. She's back to normal, back to fighting with nurses, doctors, and us. She believes one of her nurses is too nosy and is most likely trying to deport her (she merely asked where Nonni was from). She freaked out when a male nurse tried to help her and yelled at the female nurses for "just standing around laughing, doing nothing" (because men should never do work, ever). And now she's been kicked out of the hospital because she won't do the training they're asking her to do. That's right. KICKED OUT. I still can't believe she lasted as long as she did. Those poor nurses. I give them a lot of credit for dealing with her.

Now for my story. On Monday, I was visiting Nonni when out of nowhere my right arm swelled up like a balloon from shoulder to fingertips. Because my insurance doesn't kick in from my new job until September and because COBRA was too expensive, for this one month out of my entire life, I have no insurance. So, I decided to wait and see if it would remedy itself. Of course, and I'm almost positive, BECAUSE I have no insurance, it didn't. I went to the doctor on Wednesday and they ordered an ultrasound on my arm. Instantly, they found three blood clots, one in a deep vein, and two in superficial veins. The doctors are stumped. I'm a medical marvel apparently. Great. I was immediately sent to the ER where I was admitted to the hospital and placed on blood thinners. I felt so horrible for the doctors and nurses. It was just too much for me all at once. The thought of the cost without health insurance, the fear of the clots, and to top it all, spending my long-awaited beach vacation in the hospital, was just too much. I lost it. In my defense, I was also PMSing, so that didn't help. I couldn't stop crying and the poor nurses were tip-toeing around me the entire day until I could finally compose myself.

So, for the past three days, I've been in the hospital. Missing vacation sucks (I'm not even thinking about the money anymore), but the hospital hasn't been all that bad. Even though my left hand now resembles a pincushion, I've been stuck more than a dozen times in my stomach, arm, and hand, and I've been confined to one floor of a hospital in the middle of Trenton, it could've been worse. The hospital staff (I'm at Mercer Medical Center in Trenton) has been wonderful. From the check-in staff, to all of the nurses, orderlies, and doctors. They have been so nice and accommodating. If you ever have to stay in a hospital, come here. Of course, while everyone's been great, I can't wait to get out of here and hopefully never see any of them again. I'm hoping to go home today. I finally have internet so I'm blogging from my (comfy!) hospital bed. I'll be on blood thinners for the next 6 months which means no drinking, no falling, and no getting cut. Sounds like fun right? I find out this week what caused a healthy, 26-year old non-smoker to develop blood clots. The best-case scenario? My birth control pills. The worst? A genetic mutation. For now, I'm just hoping to get out of here today and head down to the beach to salvage what's left of my vacation at the shore. Blood clots be damned.

PS - Nonni thinks I've been stuck at work this whole time. No doubt she's angry with me for not visiting her, but telling her the truth would result in her making my father's life a living Hell until I'm out. So we're keeping this one from her. Shh.