Momma go Boom (again)

Well, I guess when my doctor said "these shouldn't be a problem for you anymore" he was a lying sack of shit. I had another cyst rupture, and this one was BAD. Poor Scott had a front row seat. Thank god he's known my history (nine years, remember?).
We had just finished being...intimate, and were basking in a nice post-coital cuddle, when the pain hit. It was Friday night, and we were expecting to wake early, let Rick grab anthony, and I'd wander off to work. I was writhing in bed, and Scott was scrambling around, trying to figure out what he could do to help (I found Midol on the bedside table a few days later, poor guy). I was so exhausted, I couldn't really think clearly. I hobbled to the bathroom and threw up, being dizzy the whole way, and recalling that this was not part of the usual routine. I climbed back into bed and passed out. A few hours later the pain rewoke me, and now I realized something was really wrong. Normally, there's the blinding pain of the initial BOOM, then a dull throb. It eventually dissapates into a ridiculous tenderness in the area. But this was still really BAD. Scott finally convinced me I should call an ambulance. So, I did...
Now, despite the best efforts of Stevens Medical Center, I did survive an encounter with these freaks again. They sort of tossed me into a cold room and let me writhe there for an hour without any contact, let alone pain medication that I was tearfully begging for. Thank the heavens Scott was at home waiting for Rick to retreive Anthony, which, upon hearing that I was in the hospital, went without incident. Scott arrived right after they had given me the initial shot of Dillodin, and were attempting to wheel me into the ultrasound. More waiting, and no one would give me a drink of water (but hey, at least they were finally giving me drugs). Of course, the drug giving wasn't without complete without collapsing two of my veins and four attempts of pricking me like a damn pincushion.
Sooooo...ultrasound shows the largest mass I've had in me to date! How impressive, 7 centimeters. The decision is made to start cutting me open (no shit sherlocks, that's what I said the moment you admitted me). Family is called, and mom is apparently already on the road, having grabbed the keys the moment she got the initial call from Scott. Bless that boy, he managed to call mom, dad, jason, and my boss without overly panicking anyone. I get wheeled into a different room, the one that will apparently be my confinment until they start snipping. But, here's where it gets fun...
At 12 (yes, I've been there 7 hours already), they've had to keep giving me heavier doses of dillodin because the pain is increasing, and the doctor is AWOL. She finally wanders in, and dismisses my family for a moment. Now she starts pumping me about my sexual history. WTF?!?!?!
"Well, your white cells are unnaturally high, so we're pretty sure this is an infection. That's why we've been giving you antibiotics via IV".
"An infection? Are you kidding me?!"
"No, I mean, it could at a remote possibility be that your ovary is experiencing torsion, in which case we'd have to operate, and possibly remove it if it's wrapped so tight as to kill off the tissue..."
"It's a cyst. It Ruptured. And something. Is. Wrong."
"Well, I really think it's just an infection, and we'd rather we just wait it out for a few days, keep you in for observation, and keep the antibiotics going".
"How about you just do a laparoscopy and find out what it ACTUALLY is before another stupid decision to wait by this hospital ends up killing me" yup, I actually said that to the doctor. boy was she pissed.
"We really don't think-"
"I insist that you do the surgery NOW. I know my body, this isn't an infection, there is something wrong. ANd the last time you people told me to wait it out, I had a really bad rupture. Now, I've already had the rupture, anf since I am in increasing amounts of pain, I'm thinking I hemmoraged, and you are wasting valuable time"
Terse sigh. "You are insisting we do the surgery."
"Yup"
"Fine, we'll schedule you at three o' clock"
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Folks, my surgery got bumped three fucking times. One of the explanations we got was that I was bumped for a goddamn BOWEL MOVEMENT. By seven o'clock, I was dehyderated, in massive amounts of pain, and the dillodin wasn't working. Needless to say, my family and boyfriend were starting to stalk doctors in the hallways. Finally, I got wheeled in, and then woke up in that horrible recovery room (ya, know, the one where you hazily come to, and they completely ignore your moaning and confused questions as to where the hell you are). I got wheeled back into the room, and the doctor came in to explain the results to my fam (I was pretty much delerious, so I don't remember much). Apparently, I was right, I had a rupture that had hemoraged. The pain was due to uncontrolled internal bleeding, that if left ignored, would have killed me. The masses on ultrasound were giant blood clots surrounding my ovary, but doing little to stop the flow. They found a 6 ounce pool of blood sort of sitting in my abdomen.
Apparently the doctor was "a little embarrassed" that her initial decision would have been fatal. *sigh* I fucking hate that place. I am supposed to go to a hemotologist in a few weeks to find out why my blood decided to keep coming out of me instead of clotting properly. Stupid blood.
They released me late Sunday, after forgetting to feed me twice, and hardly letting me rest at all. They told me I had to wait until they could be sure I could walk (somewhat) before releasing me, but then never sent anyone to help me out of bed.
Luckily, I have a very strong (and very doting) boyfriend. My hero carried me up the stairs of my apartment and planted me on the couch, where I've pretty much spent the last few days whacked out on Vicodin, and playing ChibiRobo. I am slated to go to Texas on Sunday for a work conference, and am determined to go. This conference has a lot of information and helpful development tools for me, and I really don't want to miss it. My poor boss has been panicking over my recovery, and insisted I get a doctor's release clearing me to go. I think I'll be fine, I just need to rest up.
Lesson here? you betcha...one, never go on antibiotics again (they are what knocked out the hormones I take to surpress the cystic development). two, with every ounce of energy I might have, from now on, if in dire straights, I must grab the collar of the nearest ambulance medic and wheeze "anywhere...but...Stevens!"