I worked 12 days in a row.

Working 12 days in a row is bad. Working 12 days that get progressively stressful sucks ass. I actually took my xanax as prescribed instead of hoarding them like I usually do.

We had a major software upgrade last weekend. We’ve been planning to do this for 2 FUCKING YEARS now. Does it take that long to do an upgrade? No, not usually. It only takes that long if you work for a company where the users get to just say….OH…testing? Nope. Not going to fucking happen.

We took the users who were screaming and kicking into this upgrade. Then we dealt with the inevitable fall out you’re going to have with any upgrade. Especially so when you upgrade with minimal user testing.

Yesterday was the last day of the 12 days. I was looking forward to this weekend the way a kid looks forward to watching a sibling get into trouble.

Yesterday I hoped the lull in activity actually meant we were near the end of our issues and was actually getting excited about a few days off when I got sick. I went from fine to sweating and doubled over from stomach pain. I went from realization that I wasn’t feeling good and my goddamn Friday night tequila fest was in jeopardy to ‘fucking hell…get me to the hospital’ in 30 minutes. I got dropped off at work that day so I had to call Randy to come and pick me up. We were no more than a few miles from my building before I puked.  For a few minutes, I felt light headed and was having difficulty breathing. For just a few short minutes, I was honestly afraid that I might have something bad wrong. It’s not uncommon for a 50 year old woman to have a heart attack. The shortness of breath didn’t last long, but it was long enough to convince me to go to the ER.

That is how I lost my motherfucking weekend. Next week, we will have all our kids and grandkids staying with us. I’m cooking dinner for 20 people. This weekend is crucial to getting the house clean, getting the shopping done and getting the first wave of food prep done. Plus, I was supposed to have a few drinks with Randy. Or all of the drinks. Probably all of  the drinks.

I don’t know what crimes I committed in a previous life, but I’m pretty sure that crimes were committed.

I walked into the ER in Randy’s hoodie and smelling like vomit. It could have been worse, though. One of my work friends had given me a plastic bag in case I got sick in the car, so most of the vomit was contained. Some escaped though. I really owe her something sparkly, as disgusting as it was to hold a bag of puke the whole ride the hospital, it would have been worse wearing it.

Apparently it was a slow night in the ER and it wasn’t long before I went from miserable and in pain and smelling like puke to laying in a bed in a morphine haze and smelling like puke. I wore a hospital gown and blue jeans. I had bare feet because I wore ballet flats yesterday, so no socks. I wasn’t cold, but I didn’t refuse the blanket because I haven’t had a pedicure since August.

They drew blood and shot me up with morphine and then told me I needed to give them a urine sample.

The bathroom was across a rotunda. I had to walk past 4 or 5 open beds and there was a largish crowd of people milling about who were there with their loved ones.

I was drugged and in pain. It didn’t occur to me how completely disgusting it was to walk through that rotunda in my BARE FEET until I got into the public restroom. All I could think was “Fucking hell, now I have MRSA feet”.

It’s not like I haven’t given urine samples before. This was, however, the first time I peed all over myself giving one. Again, drugged and in pain.

I washed the pee off my hands and then made my way back to my bed. I was pushing a mobile IV with one hand and carrying a cup of my own pee in the other. In front of a crowd of strangers. It’s difficult to muster up a lot of dignity when you’re holding your own pee.

I am definitely in the beginning phase of menopause and I have had a uterine ablation and they insisted on giving me a pregnancy test. I have no lining in my uterus. Even if I could still get pregnant, which is not at all probable, where was the egg going to attach and grow? I thought hospitals knew about how fetuses grow.

Disclaimer: Any readers who are in the medical profession, I realize that I am oversimplifying this and it’s more than likely that I am flat out wrong about all of it. However, I am frustrated and I’m going to vent. Thank you for your patience.  HAHA. get it? Patience? 

After a few tense moments, they let me know that I was not pregnant and then I was carted off  for a CAT scan to rule out appendicitis or kidney stones.

Have you had a CAT scan before? Because that is some weird shit. They told me they were going to inject me with something that would make me feel hot. What they did NOT tell me, is that I would only feel hot in specific places. First, the back of my throat got real hot and then an area further south got hot. It felt like someone dumped hot water in my crotch. If I hadn’t JUST peed for a the urine sample, I might have been slightly concerned that I just wet my pants.

We waited another 45 minutes to learn that what I probably had was a GI virus because the only thing wrong with me was my white blood cells were elevated. I think that’s how you say it. It seems like word ‘count’ should be in there somewhere.

They gave me a script for nausea and for a few vicodin and sent my sick ass home.

Randy says there is no way I could make that funny and I’m finding it hard to disagree. However, he did take this video of me under the influence of morphine and it’s a LITTLE funny. It’s kind of hard to hear at first, but it gets louder.

The part where he says I should address him by his proper name? I DID answer that question, he just turned the filming off while I answered. Pretty sure my answer included the words ‘motherfucker’ and ‘sperm’.

http://youtu.be/Dle1RR6su9I