Diluted?

Yesterday began like any other day...actually it didn't. Not at all. Yesterday began with more of the same of the night before.
First, there was the cold sweats. I was sitting in a metal chair at Anna's Tae Kwon Do studio sweating profusely while Lucian beat me with a wooden sword thinking I was chattering my teeth as some kind of joke.

Not so, not so, my son.

I know you don't have to be a mother to experience that desperation that pain and illness brings. Very dramatic thoughts like, "If I can make the drive home, I will live another five minutes," or, "All I have to do is get them to brush their teeth and then I can rest."

It's not pretty. But, it does supply sadistic bursts of hope to an otherwise hopeless situation. I got them to eat the dinner, and brush their teeth and go to bed. Hell, I put the tooth fairy money on Lucian's nightstand. Of course, I was wrapped in about 4 blankets of varying warmth.
But then, oh then, came the morning. I honestly thought I could sleep off whatever illness I'd been afflicted with.

You know, like you can sleep off a heroin overdose, right? Silly girl. Well, you can't sleep off a kidney infection or a rupturing cyst. Especially one that's still rupturing and it happens to be snuggled in your cozy little sleeping bag of an ovary and the size of a hail ball in Texas and turning on its side.

Too much detail for you? Well, I didn't want you to think I was a wimp when I couldn't even get a pair of skivvies on under my nightgown in order to make the trip to the ER.
It was funny when the ER nurse handed me the pea-colored Johnny and said, "You can leave your panties on."
"I don't have panties." She looked a little disapproving. Then just shrugged her shoulders. "Good, less to deal with."
Thanks, lady.

And thanks for sticking me 7 times with a needle and rolling it under my skin only to discover, as I've already said, that I have small veins and am a little dehydrated.
"Just get Dan from the lab, he'll get it," I said about 5 times. Nope, why listen to me. Dan did eventually show up, and, huh, what do you know, first stick, he got all the vials of blood he needed.

It would be easy to focus on the negative here, and I almost want to. However, there were some positive elements to being in excruciating, unforgiving pain. Let me see....

Oh, right, the morphine. That's good sh*t. Too bad it lasts less than thirty minutes. Actually, the nurse asked me if I had a high tolerance to pain meds and I looked at the Sisco kid (who, in case it wasn't obvious, is my "gentleman friend") who was trying to hide a concerned snicker.
I like pills. I am immune to Vicadin unless we're talking whole bottles of it.
"I'm very responsive to pain drugs," I said.
Let's see, what else was funny, oh yes, Sisco shut the curtain to the ER room, gave me a mischievous look, and then began inflating a latex glove. Of course, the blow up glove needed eyes, a nose, stubble, some earrings and a big smile to go with his rooster mohawk. And since Sisco is 7 ft. tall, he safely secured "Sven" the glove man to the hinge of the inquisition lamp hooked to the ceiling.

It hurt to laugh. And I laughed alot. The nurses were in hysterics most of the time as I slowly cried, leaked, writhed and tried to smile my way through the ordeal.

Did I mention how much I liked the morphine?

Of course, there was an ultrasound. It's not generally a good sign when the tech whistles under her breath and says, "Woo-wee girl, I'm surprised you were able to walk in here. They better get you on some serious drugs. Ok, I'm just gonna need you to insert this."
Great.

I left against the doctor's strong recommendation that I stay and be miserable with strangers as opposed to taking the maximum dose of oxy/morphine pills prescribed to me and snuggling into my misery with an episode of "L.A. Ink" to watch, high as a kite, and the gentle snoring of the funny giant who did not leave the hospital, not once, during this almost 12-hour ordeal.
Hmm, tough choice.
Now, today, comes the follow-up. Should be great. I'm wondering if this blog will become a chronicle of my disease or a chronicle of my life.
I'll keep you posted. I miss "Sven."