i feel like i got beat up. and even though the stabbing stomach pain is gone, i still feel like crap.
yesterday, there i was walking black jack (the dog, not the card) when my stomach started to hurt. again.
and i was all, ‘it’ll probably go away’ and i strolled off to the evening activities at church. but i didn’t go away.
actually it just got much worse. and when i came home my roommate was all ‘is the same thing as last time?’ and i said ‘yes.’ and she said ‘well why don’t you take the prescription you have.’ and i said ‘oh, that? i kinda never got that filled.’
and she was all “WHAT?! GO GET IT FILLED RIGHT NOW.”
so i did.
but it didn’t help with the pain. and i went upstairs to my bedroom to cry and pace and pray. but nothing worked. so after some careful consideration and the feeling that death was near, i sucked it up and asked my roommate to take me to the hospital.
and she took one look at me (later she would describe my face as completely pale and my eyes completely dark) and said ‘let’s go.’
on the way there I sat in every possible position i could find in the front seat trying to get comfortable while still wearing my seat belt and she tried not to make eye contact as i told her if labor is worse than this im never having kids.
when i got into the hospital, i signed away my life and asked for a throw-up bucket. (which, my roommate described as one step above a solo cup). then i threw up. and i swear to you i tried my best to get it all in the cup or the toilet. but i might have missed a bit and gotten some on the floor. so my poor roommate alerted the nurses, who responded by acting like people throw up in the emergency room waiting area bathroom every day.
i promptly got another throw up cup.
and threw up in it.
and i thought i was being all coy about the whole throwing up thing, seeing as how i had made it past the bathroom door both times, but i later realized that the room was not, shall we say, soundproof.
aside from the audible gagging, i succeeded in making everyone in the waiting room uncomfortable, as i repeatedly mumbled, ‘i think im going to die. what if i die before the election? i don’t want to die. im probably going to die while i wait for them to call my name. i don’t want to die.”
my roommate tried her best to be supportive by saying things like ‘i looked at the chart in the nurses area and it says that if you describe your pain as a 7 or above they have to treat you immediately. but you described yours as ‘a six or seven’ do you want me to go tell them that it is now an 8?’
me: ‘no. that’s ok.’
and then, about an hour later, i finally got into the see the doctor. well, actually the nurse. the doctor took MUCH longer to find his way to my room. but the nurse gave me an iv (during which my roommate let me squeeze her hand). and then i started feeling better. but my roommate was all ‘i think we’ve established that even though you feel better, you are not actually better.’ and i was all, ‘oh. ya. right.’
and then the doctor strolled in, totally ignored my in-depth description of my stomach pain and proceeded to reiterate that i have gastritis. and then he told me I HAVE to go see a regular doctor (note to readers: stop yelling at me. i already have an appointment for a week from Wednesday).
and then my roommate drove me home. and even though she had to work in the morning, she promptly googled gastritis. and made sure i wasn’t going to die overnight or anything.
and then she went to sleep. and the next day she was totally cool about the whole thing, claiming she wasn’t tired at all. and i believed her.
until i saw her taking a nap on her lunch break.
and that’s how you know she’s awesome. because even though she couldn’t keep her eyes open, she never once complained about taking me to the hospital. she just sucked it and did it. and then did her best to not let me die before the election.