It wasn't enough that there was a K-9 shit explosion in our bedroom this morning, one that required removing the bed skirt and scrubbing down a dresser.
Then our little dog ate a shit-ton of chocolate and had to be force-fed hydrogen peroxide so that she would vomit uncontrollably into the bathtub and threaten more K-9 shit explosions for the next two days.
Neither Gray or I was having a bad enough Tuesday, so you gave him a roaring headache and roiling nausea, then you decided to TURN MY MOTHERFUCKING HAND PURPLE. So purple was my hand that co-workers insisted I visit the company's EMT, who insisted I call my doctor's nurses' line, by whom I was told to go immediately to the emergency room, to which I was transported by a kind security officer, where I was stripped of my shirt and solemnly told I might have a blood clot...all while I shook my head and laughed and said, "This is ridiculous."
Gray raced to my side so that he could sit with me in the same ultrasound room where, in 2008, we learned that our little, tiny fetus wasn't visible on the screen. He sat there next to me as the vascular ultrasound technician squirted my neck and armpit and forearm with blue lube. He tolerated my bad jokes about armpit fetishes.
And then, Universe, you fucking asshole, you decided that there was nothing wrong with me. Literally. The emergency room doctor said his diagnosis is, "::shoulder shrug:: I dunno." He said he's been a doctor for 25 years and never seen anything like my purple hand and no blood clots. He said it might go away on its own but that I should return if it does not.
WHAT THE MOTHER FUCKING FUCK FUCK. This was supposed to be MY year. You know...the one where I didn't have to go to the emergency room for any reason? No miscarriages? No broken arms? No skull fractures? THAT is the year I ordered up.
And I didn't make it even a fucking month before I returned for a pointless trip to the emergency room. A very EXPENSIVE and pointless trip.
Sure, it's true that now I know I'm not going to die from a blood clot. The kicker is that I'd consider that option right now.
Don't settle for the ER guy's line. I would head to a good cardio-pulmonary guy, or your neurologist who may have some insight...
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand (rim-shot), that once happened to me as a teenager. My friend's mom, the nurse, was in a right state about it. Then I washed my hands, and it turned out my new jeans had been losing dye when I put my hands in my pockets...
ReplyDeleteIn the words of Mary Steenburgen in the epic film "Stepbrothers"...what the fucking fuck? Seriously, I would go get a second opinion. That just doesn't look right.
ReplyDeleteOoh, purty...but also scary. yeah, collar your neurologist, stat.
ReplyDelete