When one has a gastric bypass, the worst thing in the world that can happen is an ulcer in the pouch. The pouch is the size of an egg, so any hole in there can be devastating. More surgery, blood transfusions, incredible limitations to food intake are all a part of the difficulties of ulcers after Weight Loss Surgery (WLS). So, when I began throwing up blood, you can imagine my concern.
During PSI (an entry all on its own) on Sunday, I threw up twice and there was blood, but I had tomatoes on the sandwich and thought that might be it... kinda noted it, but pushed it aside. However, during the herpes check at the doc's yesterday and I felt so horrible (faint, weak) and after the NP left and I vomited blood again... I became more alarmed. My daughter helped me find a bathroom so I could diarrhea and vomit at the same time (I thought I was going to faint) and I was just terrified about the blood. I called the doctor before I even left the hospital. I ran through the multitude of meds I was on, trying to see if any were NSAID in origin or had that inclination to pierce a pouch... nothing that I could think of.
The doc didn't call back in a timely enough manner, so I called back and they put me right through. He told me to get to the ER now. Asked what my pulse was... 110. Go NOW. Take an ambulance if I am alone. I told him I wasn't, that my daughter could take me. He said go NOW. I called my partner who raced home, threw her armor off, a shirt on, and we were out the door toot sweet.
During the waiting time for the doc to call back, I collected, in 2 separate Gladware thingies, my vomit with blood and my diarrhea to check for occult blood. My daughter was disgusted and made aluminum foil covers for them so she didn't have to see the specimens. I laughed while I nearly fainted covering the plastic.
I get to the ER... they whisk me in... ask a hundred questions... and then my partner and I were in a cubicle thingie and I am gowned nekkid and gurney-ized. The kind nurse comes in, tries to poke me for blood work and an IV and misses. I tell her no more pokes until she tests the samples for blood. She thought that was a great idea.
During the time apart, when my partner and I weren't fighting over PSI concepts or silent because I was done fighting, she went through my diet for the day. I ate au gratin potatoes at 6am... that was it! I felt horrible... zero desire to eat all day. She asked, "no candy, no crackers, nothing else?" and my face dropped. I'd had TWO Skittles at the doc's office... but I couldn't remember what color they were! We started laughing about the absurdity of my vomiting Skittle-color, not blood... that the day before had probably, in fact, been tomatoes. She played the What-If game about why I had a fever, why was I faint, why blah blah blah and I told her I was NOT being scoped if I didn't have blood in that vomit she was checking.
When the nurse came in, we told her about the Skittle episode and she laughed her head off... went to the other nurses and they laughed their heads off... we were all giggling so much; the comic relief was welcome.
The nurse came back awhile later... no blood. No pokes. I wanna go. She said I would have to sign AMA if I didn't wait for the doc, but she would send him in right away so we could go. I was soooooooo embarrassed, but couldn't stop giggling. My daughter tried to give me granola when I felt faint! I chose the stupid Skittles.
The doc came in, asked his requisite questions, laughed and sent us on our way.
All I had was Skittle-itis... didn't even need a Skittle-ectomy or anything.