Seems like the last few months my days start incredibly early. Most of the time it is before my 7 morning alarms go off, but I don’t mind. One morning however, it was not so wonderful to wake up. Not only was I up and not so enthusiastically at’em, but 4:30 is a little too early for me. So body, I’m not a farmer, fuck off.
The last couple weeks or so I have been having stomach and chest pains. It legit feels like a leprechaun jigging on my chest. So, Not, Cool. So alas, this pain never fully goes away, instead it’s been a constant. Straight up fucking annoying. Some days it is almost unbearable. Now, I am what I call a….tough cookie. But ouch, man. Seriously.
I am quite stubborn. That’s a fact. I strongly dislike going to hospitals or clinics in every way. The smell, the sounds, butt fuck everything. Most people think of hospitals as a place for healing. To me, its sickness and death. I will refuse and refuse to go. I could have a harmonica shoved up my asshole, and I still would refuse to go. Most likely, I would call up all the Plebians who owe me favours and tell them to finger my harmonica. I would rather lick butter off a prostitutes dirty ass butt crack than go see a doctor. HELL! One of the last times I saw a doctor they couldn’t find my hymen. MY GOD DAMN FUCKING HYMEN. The doctor thought it was playing peek-a-boo…MY HYMEN PEOPLE! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS. For fuck sakes, fuck hospitals and fuck doctors…..fuck.
Okay, moving on…
One of my closest friends advised me over the last few weeks to go see a doctor. Come on Cait, what is the worst that could happen? Um thanks closest friend, let me tell you what could happen.
- A shit ton, fool!
- A SHIT TON, FOOL!
I simply refuse to go. Caitlin, says no, closet friend, Caitlin says no.
The chest and stomach pain was constant and consistent. I was dizzy, I was drowsy, either I was puking or my ass was puking. Now, I know what you are thinking. This bitch is knocked up. Sorry folks, hate to break it to ya, but unless my fingers are shooting spermies I am as ‘un’-pregnant as humanly possible. If I was preggerz, meet Jesus Junior, the Second Cumming of Christ.
Almost forgot to mention, I am on meds too, but ya’ll know that so…. Yeah, the obvious side effects aside from cracking myself up and being awesome, I get constipated, faint, can’t think straight, I feel like a pansey, and I have the occassional slurrrrrr-rrrr-rring of words. I’m telling you, if they were casting Judy Garland’s BioPic I would knock that shit out of the park.
So all these forces seem to be building up inside of me. That one morning I was sweaty, the world was spinning, I couldn’t breathe, I’m telling you folks, I was one symptom away from seeing a baby crawling on the ceiling. I am alone. Who do you call when you are alone? No one is home. I got my cat plotting my death already, and my dog is licking his balls in the corner.
{SIDE NOTE: My boy Barrie is such a mythical Saint Bernard This cuddly beast has no idea what is going. Saint Bernard’s are supposed to be heroes. SAVE ME, BARRIE ST. BERNARD, SAVE ME! Granted, they are known for saving people from avalanches, the alps and people with colds. So I will let it slide, my boy Barrie. I mean the fact he was sitting in the backyard the other day trying to catch the wind with his mouth…whelp! It says it all.}
Okay, back to being alone. Who the hell am I going to call at this ungodly hour? I certainly do not want to call the parental units, not only would it worry them, but them being on the other side of the country is in all essence, useless. Sorry mom, sorry dad. I also thought, and this was a rather quick poke of a thought, to call some of my friends. However, the majority of them either don’t drive or do not have a vehicle to drive. Plus, the last thing a friend wants to hear is, can you please walk me to the hospital? So friends, maybe, you could get your license or a car and then I could call you, and you could be like a ‘real’ friend…..just saying…
So looking at my phone, I realize I really only have one option. Call the ex. Fuck my life, this is so not ideal. SO. NOT. IDEAL. I call him, no answer. THANKGOD! Not meant to be. I understand, no one wants to pick up the phone this early in the morning, let alone knowing it is from your ex. It’s fine really, It’s a sign. C’mon Cait, you are a big girl now. Definitely not forking up 80$ for an ambulance, so lets drive. Smart thinking, I know! I went to university where all the smart thinkers come from. I put on my jacket, can’t forget pants, grab my Nikes, dish out my Id’s, snatch up the keys and Oh, I can’t forget my driving gloves! KIDDING! Driving gloves are for pussies, and for people who duel. EN GAURD!
So at some point between my front door and my beloved car, Robin I passed out. No joke. I woke up to rain and wind and what I am sure was once a slug smeared on my cheek. MMMkkay… maybe driving is out of the question.
Somehow I find myself crawling my way back up the stairs, baby steps, Cait, baby steps. I can hear my phone. Its ringing. Someone can save me! I increase speed, which really isn’t fast at all at this point. I’m racing to my phone, I reach the top, only to realize my phone was in my pocket the entire time. Seems legit.
Who is it? The ex. I pick up and was doing my best to play it all cool. I went to five years of acting school for this moment, FAIL! I caved. Oddly enough he was on his way with little Plum dog for the pups to play. So….
FLASH FORWARD TO BURNABY GENERAL HOSPITAL.
No line up, practically no hospital personnel either. I’m in a room and on a bed within one hour. The ex heads back to my place to keep an eye on the pups. It was for the best, he seemed agitated and annoyed at my conundrum. I’m sure driving an ex anywhere is on no one’s To Do List. Part of me wanted him to stay, especially since I have driven him to the hospital more times than I could count, but I needed to be alone. I had to do this on my own. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. We are just friends and that’s okay.
So I am in Room 1. FYI not a real room. Just a bed surrounded by curtains. There was a gentleman on one side of me in Room 2. He sounded like quite the comedian. He was cracking wise with the nurses, telling them stories that ranged from a one-legged prostitute he fell in love with in Bali to tea-bagging a donkey. Come to think of it, not much of a gentleman. Oh and he was in the hospital for….get this… full on corkscrew lodged in his head. Yup, 8 stitches later and a bandage that somewhat resembled a yamaka. L’Chaim.
Now, these hospital gowns, don’t even get me started. They are frail, not flattering and seriously, you can never have enough coverage, (which reminds me I need to switch my life insurance.)
So anyways in my barely there hospital gown, nurse comes in to take my blood. She even says it in a creepy Transylvanian way which she thought was hilarious. I‘ve come to take vyer bloooood! I thought it was nonsense. I even told her to go back and re-enter like a real person. She did, such a trooper. So she grabs my left arm and can’t seem to find my vein. Stabs me anyways. MOTHER FUCKING OUCH! Painful! Incredibly so. Seeing my discomfort, she pulls out the needle, lets my blood drip on my beautiful hospital gown and proceeds to take blood from my other arm. I should have let the crazy bitch play Dracula. Be good to my right arm lady. It’s all I got until I find myself a man. She places cotton balls on my arms, both sore, my stomach is in pain, I can’t breathe, my veins are throbbing and all of a sudden…..a lonely tear drop falls from my eye. Then 2, then 3, and then the water works. I hate crying, I cry even more just knowing I can be an ugly crier. S.A.D.N.E.S.S.
Anyways, Room 2’s mom comes and picks him up. Enter, Room 2’s new patient, crazy lady. Why she be crazy? Let me tell you. I am there in my little ‘room’ crying. She starts crying. I get louder, she gets louder, I get even more boastful and operatic and she hulks it out even more. We sound like a whales, just a couple of swells I tell ya. MAAAOOOO WAHHHHH MAHHHHaaaa….Ahem, I am competitive by nature, its a gift, there is no denying it. So I use my years of voice training to …WAHAHAHAOOO BAOOOOOOMEOOOW MEOW…
This beautiful moment friends, goes on for quite some time. At some point my crying turns into uncontrollable laughter. The sad, sad story we were sharing turned into the funniest fucking moment of my life. AND THIS IS BEFORE THE DRUGS PEOPLE! She however, was not amused. She went silent. Later, Room 2 crazy lady. it was a pleasure. HAHAHA.
So non-bloodthirsty nurse comes in and mixes me up a frothy cocktail of grossness. It was straight up, gnarly. I sucked it back, channeling my college drinking days and I CAN’T FEEL MY MOUTH. Yes, she forgot to mention the numbness in my mouth that would happen with this shot. Clearly, she didn’t enjoy my whale talk as much as I did.
Follow blue line to x-rays. Follow blue line back to bed.
Pain, still so much pain. If I can’t handle this, child birth is not an option. I will order my children on eBay. Props to all you momma’s shitting out kids. Props Mom,
So the ex calls. I can’t talk. I’m trying to, but I sound like Leo DiCaprio from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. FUCK. MY. LIFE. Or in my case, FEEEOWKK MWAI LIFEEE….Like actually.Where are the actually drugs! This numbness, the mouth shit does fuck all.
I am such a baby. There was a man with a corkscrew stuck in his head, IN HIS HEAD! The fucking thing didn’t even phase him. Whereas me, a 27 year old, single, semi-independent woman Is whining over a misunderstood tummy ache. WHAHHHH!!!
Doc comes in, injects me with wait for it…..morphine! And oh my if you haven’t had morphine, I encourage you to have a go. You haven’t lived until a doctor jabs you in the backside (now I know why hospital gowns don’t close at the back), with a big ass fucking needle. The needle hurts, but the morphine feels like candy. I can’t talk and now I can’t think for myself. Clearly, every man’s dream girl.
So at some point, sprawled out on the bed, face down in a star fish position, gown back flaps wide open the doc revisits me. Lets me know I’ve been out about half hour or so. He gives me the down low. (The Doctor’s down low may or may not be featured in a future blog. After all, I should probably keep some things a mystery from you folks.) So yada yada, yadada….basically in one ear out the other. The Doc will have to invoice me, seriously I’m high on all your hospital candies, drooling and not even noticing that I am drooling and this is the moment you decide to tell me what is wrong with me. SO. NOT. IDEAL.
What a day it was folks. It will hopefully be a long time before I decide to visit the big H again. Hopefully, my friends will have cars, and I won’t need to call the ex. Or I could not be cheap and take an ambulance ride. BUT WHATEVER….Now, excuse me while, I instagram the hole in my back from the biggest needle ever.
Cait-Interrupted 