Misery Loves My Company

Sorry about not posting much lately...not that the two or so readers I have really don't know what goes on in my life on a regular basis, anyway. I woke up last Tuesday at 4:30am and was having the damnedest time breathing. Then came the chest pains. Oh. Boy. This. Is. Going. To. Be. A. Fun. Day. Deciding to head off this bout of pneumonia (cause that is what it felt like, and how it started the last time) I called my doctor and scheduled an appointment. The said they would work me in at the end of the day. Woohoo. That means I get undivided attention by people who are desperate to get their workday over and pissy that I am prolonging said workday. I'm SO blessed.

I called a friend to inquire if she felt like wasting her day by taking me and my unruly, yet sometimes entertaining, child to the doctor. I know my limits and driving while I feel like general poop doesn't benefit anyone. Actually, it is downright dangerous. I died once while I was driving and drove into a ditch. Yes, you read that right. I died. The heart stopped causing me to pass out and I drove off the road. Drove off the road and into a ditch while technically dead. Now THAT'S talent for ya, folks! (Booking info for parties and other entertainment available at the receptionist's desk on the way out, y'all.)

I have been seeing this doctor since I was 18 years old, and since I am so old I fart dust, that means this guy knows every medical malfunction my body can produce. I told him what was going on, about how I had probably over done it by lack of sleep, plus a day at the hospital for my daughter's surgery the Friday before, then a trip to the grocery store on Saturday, and a trip on Sunday to Walmart to get 30 FUCKING GALLONS of bottled water for the 55 gallon fish tank that occupies my living room. His raised eyebrow at this explanation of my week made me wince. At least he didn't lecture me. I hate lectures and know perfectly well at this point that me feeling generally craptacular meant my health was not up to par.

So he listens to my lungs and then stands there while twisting his wedding ring and looking EXTREMELY worried. Gee. That can't be a good sign. Of course the advice that follows if for me to get to the ER toot-sweet. He advised me that he couldn't even hear any air moving through my lower lungs and crackles in the top of my lungs. Not good. So I ask him about giving me a break since I was in the office and we caught it early so how about some antibiotics and a suggestion of bed rest and we all go home happy? Eh...I guess he wasn't feeling that. I got a prescription for a diuretic (pee pills) and an order for blood work and an X-Ray. Great. Thanks. That'll work. Yeah. Right. (You may now take a break to go get a paper towel or something to wipe all the sarcasm that is dripping off your screen at this point.)

So I came home (with the help of my WONDERFUL friend...Thanks!) and basically debated going to the ER for the rest of the night. And the next day. And the next day. And the next....ah well...you get the point at this point. So here it is Sunday afternoon. Last night I was so vertically challenged I just kept dropping to the floor unconscious every time I got up to pee (damn pills) and the chest pain was just this side of unbearable. This morning? Let's just say that upright and breathing was the last thing I wanted to do. The pain has now passed to the other side of unbearable, and I am just sitting here thinking...wouldn't it be funny if they found my fat ass dead, slumped in front of this computer....hey...does anyone else hear that laughing???

Why haven't I gone to the hospital yet, you ask? Well...you see, there is this little 4 year old here that sort of depends on me to take care of her. I have been asking around for days to anyone that will listen to me for some help in the babysitting department, but the friend that took me to the doctor is out of commission due to her own health problems. My older sister is pregnant with her fifth child and sent me an email saying that her house is full of a stomach bug and she had a slumber party for a niece to help with. Gosh. Priorities. Dying sister....puking kids...slumber party for a child that doesn't even belong to you. Slumber party it is! Bitch. (Not that I'm bitter or anything.) Her suggestion was to call my mom. My mom and my daughter don't get along so well. They just don't seem to like each other....(daughter is 4, mom is crazy)...can't figure out why.

So here I sit and I feel like shit, and it sounds like I'm starting to rhyme. So I leave you with that, while I pass out flat, after I've peed for the hundredth time.

(I'm gonna go crawl in a hole and whimper now...I really don't feel so very good. Must be the bad rhyming.)