My wannabe near death experience

I just have to say it: I love the emergency room! I love waiting and hearing everyone complain. Of course their little boy with a bruise should have been seen before the elderly lady that couldn't breathe! What was the triage nurse thinking? I love hearing people muttering at me because I was called back for blood work. "What's wrong with her? I feel sicker than she looks!"

I think people's selfishness is best (or worst) seen in an ER. I just shut my mouth and keep to myself. I wait patiently and go when I am called. To be perfectly candid, If I didn't I would be griping like the rest of them. Personally, I think that it is extremely rude and unattractive to complain like that so I would rather not do it.

So I waited like a good little girl and tried to read my book. Then I went back for tests and more tests. All to find out that something is wrong with my liver and they don't know what. Great. I love that, too. But I actually enjoy medical procedures. (You might as well if they are going to do them anyway) Since I am allergic to iodine in the bloodstream (for x-rays) I get to do some super fun nuclear medicine tests, as well as the run of the mill blood draws, x-rays, and the odd EKG. Sweet. Good to know that I don't have a blood clot, that my lungs look great (phew), and that my ticker is working just fine. But drat that liver!!!

So I am in pain. I can't take Tylenol (won't... maybe it's stupid, but I'm not pushing it right now) and I can't take Ibuprofen because of kidney stuff. So I'm keeping to myself for now so I don't turn foul on the first person that irks me. I think that it's a good game plan.

Beauty of it is that I slept half the day away to make up for the missed sleep last night. I love sleeping during the day... something completely lazy and decadent about lounging in bed at 2PM. Makes me feel wealthy... like the maid is just about to show up... and I can almost smell the dinner that my imaginary chef is whipping up in my gourmet kitchen. I have figured out that God does not want me to be rich because I would spend it on useless, needless things.

But I digress. So here I am in front of my computer unable to take a deep breath because I still hurt. Not a big deal... when I decide not to wuss about something, I have a high tolerance for pain. I didn't cry when my children were born or when I broke my leg. Felt like it... didn't do it. I'd rather make fun of how pathetic I am right now. I feel so tender that I'm walking like an old lady. And a mean one at that.

I'm hoping that it all just goes away and that it was some freak thing. I doubt it, but it's all good anyway.

Love (yeah, still love) to you all out there, Muffinhound