Some mornings things just don't work out for you:


So I wake up at 3am. I gotta pee like nothing else ever ever. I get to the bathroom. I can't go but a dribble. Sign number one that something is not right. I shrug it off, assume I'm just dreaming, and go back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, I bolt up in bed: somebody fucking stabbed me with a knife! I reach down...no blood. Uh-oh... I haven't had much pain in my life, but this is definitely an 11 out of 10. I crawl to my computer, www.google.com, "sharp pain left abdomen." Appendicitis, food poisioning, etc, etc, etc. Regardless, nothing pretty. Maybe I just didn't cook my fish all the way through ? I give it some time. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Fuck it. I gotta call the doctor. Gasping for air, I call the Dr. on call with our practice. He suggests Pepcid, hoping it's gas, but warns me that if it's still there in an hour, I have to get my ass to a hospital. Fuck. This is exactly what I need, right? Only babysitting a 12-year old, needing to get him off to school despite his claims that he's sick, too. Just have to get back to school in time for an exam. Perfect timing, definitely.

Here's the worst of it. The only thing on TV to distract me was Full House. Just add insult to injury, eh? Anway, the pain starts to subside--ah, it was just crazy gas. I get back upstairs. It's about 4:30 by now. I crawl into bed. Before my head even hits the pillow, the crazy knife murderer is back, and with such a vengeance. Gotta get on the phone, call my mom, tell her that I have to abandon my brother and get to a hospital somehow. She's awesome, tells me that he's okay and not to worry about him, even calls a family friend who's willing to take me to the ER.

I get there, pain's down to a 7/10 maybe. Much more relaxed. I get through Triage in like 10 minutes: excellent. But they keep on passing around the phrase Kidney Stones. Oh. Shit. They send me on back. A doctor comes in, keeps on blathering about Kidney Stones. I just want him to lie to me: "Oh, you just ate some bad food. You're a pussy, get over yourself and you'll be better by noon." Not so much. He wants an IV pain drip. He wants a CAT scan. He wants me to sit in the cold in one of those goddawful hospital gowns for hours with the door wide open. He wants me to drink about 3 quarts of this disgusting red GASTROVIEW shit. I ask the nurse how long it'll be: 3 to 6 hours. Riiiiight. My parents friend goes to work: I'm without a ride now. They do the scan. I fall asleep on the scanner. Oops. The shove me back in the room. 15 minutes. 30 minutes. 45 minutes. A nurse: "You've got a big ass kidney stone, the doctor will be in shortly." 60 minutes. 1.5 hours. "You can leave now." What?? Where's the fucking doctor? "Oh. Here are some papers." I wanna see the fuckin' doctor. "Fine, fine, just wait." 2 hours. He comes in. "You got a 3mm kidney stone. Blah, blah, PAIN, blah, blah, DISCOMFORT, blah, blah, VICODIN [mmmm.....Vicodin...], Blah blah, urethra, blah blah, go home." Yeah, right, go home. Uh, I don't have a ride. I have like no cash. Fun.

I go up to the Triage nurse. "Can you, er, call a cab for me." She stares at me. "Just so I can, uh, get home. My ride left." Where'd your ride go? "Work." Fine. She calls.

I wait for the cab. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. 'Cuz this is what I always wanted to do: wait for a cab in 35 degree weather with my side on fire with a rock going through a 1mm tube in my body while I fret about getting to school on time and making sure my brother is still, well, alive. Finally it arrives. I get home without incident, but minus $15. So now I'm in pain and broke. And I still gotta buy Vicodin. So much for being able to afford books in the Spring.



In retrospect, I think it's funny as shit. I feel glad, though, that I was still able to make jokes with the doctors and nurses while I was in pain. That's some solace.