No, Matt didn’t come to his senses and finally leave me, although that’s a totally reasonable conclusion to draw and something he should probably consider. But you know I keep that guy locked down with a combination of witty humor, amazing cooking and intimidation and fear.
It’s actually one part humor, one part meatloaf, and 5 parts fear. It’s a recipe for a happy marriage.
But seriously, the inevitable happened. Again, I realize there are lots of ways this post could go, but I know you readers are impatient, so I won’t leave you guessing any longer.
My internal organs are trying to kill me. That’s right. Last week they launched a coup to overthrow me as their leader. Not cool organs, not cool.
Last Friday night I began to have a horrible pain in my stomach. I thought it was my body’s way of punishing me for putting away 2 brownies, so I tried to deal with it, because I’m a martyr that way. (Okay, it wasn’t 2 brownies, it was 4. Geez! Get off my back!)
Speaking of my back, that started hurting too. Badly. It continued to get worse and I found I couldn’t get comfortable and the pain was excruciating. Not as bad as watching the chick from South Carolina in the Miss Teen USA 2007 pageant try to answer a simple question, but it was still pretty bad.
Too specific of a reference? Don’t you remember her with her “heretofores?” If not, you must find it on YouTube….but only after reading my blog.
We knew it was time to go to the ER when I diverged from my normally pleasant and charming self and started snapping at my husband. I believe I told him at one point to “get online and figure out what’s going on with me instead of sitting around doing nothing.” That’s a direct quote. Please feel free to confirm it with him, but be gentle, as I think he may still be emotional about this incident.
We went to the ER where I was whisked away to see a doctor immediately. I’m not kidding. That totally happened and it was rad. (My friend Stacia is trying to bring back rad, and since I have such a loyal following on this blog, I’m going to make it happen…because I change lives that way. So read her blog too. http://www.driedonmilk.com/ )
When I met with the doctor he asked me some questions and through slurred words and partial sentences, I was able to tell him about my pain. By that time the pain meds kicked in and I can only imagine I was even more hilarious than normal. However, Matt was a total downer because he made me tell the doctor about the brownies I ate pre-pain….and the pizza. Whatever. He was just trying to ruin my high from the pain meds.
After a CT and an ultrasound, it was determined there was an attempted murder at issue and the culprit was my gallbladder. Granted, it was a super infected, swollen and throbbing gallbladder, but that doesn’t matter. The intent to kill was the same and I took it as a personal attack (as did my stomach and spine, which felt like they were exploding.) The doctor said I needed surgery immediately to remove it before it ruptured and killed me.
As I prepared a mass text alerting the news media to increase the terror alert to red, I felt compelled to ask the doctor something. “Doctor,” I asked. (In all honestly, it might have sounded more like “Dooooc…..terr……”) “Was the cause of this attempted murder the brownies and pizza? What was the impetus for the attack?”
The doctor’s response? A glorious one. “The cause wasn’t anything you ate. You have a very infected gallbladder that’s a result of a virus or bacteria, and not from anything you ate.”
Sweet vindication. I looked at Matt and did my “I’m right and you’re wrong, so suck it” dance, which is one I do several times a day. But since I was in pain it was more along the lines of a small hand gesture involving one choice finger. He still got the point.
I’m sure the surgeons argued over who got to operate on this sweet specimen of a body, and the doctor who lost the argument was the unlucky soul who performed the surgery. Lucky for me, I liked him a lot. Lucky for him, he’s a fan of sarcasm, so we were able to easily communicate. Matt looked on, most likely mentally drafting his divorce petition.
As you can tell, I survived the attempt on my life, and emerged the victor over that vindictive gallbladder. I wanted to keep his lifeless body (I’ve determined it’s a “he” and his name is Stan), However, apparently there are safety issues with that and the hospital didn’t want me removing him from the hospital. (Insert eye roll and gesture previously used on my husband.)
Funny, because they didn’t seem to mind me bringing him into the hospital…they actually welcomed that with open arms (and wallets). Come to think of it, I think they should pay me for allowing them to keep him.
They told me it was something about it being hazardous materials, but I think that’s just their way of disguising the real issue. That, or they wanted to protect me from further harm from that piece of crap. He was a real S.O.B.Maybe they are using my gallbladder in some secret underground operation.
Do you think Stan is now the leader of a rogue group of crime fighters? Like maybe he’s the Splinter to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Definitely.
So I’m now recovering from the attack and I’m out of the woods. In this sentence, “the woods” is “the hospital.” I’m on the mend, and as I’m sure you can tell from this post, I’m also under the influence of some serious pain meds. Don’t judge me if there are typos or random words or sentences that don’t make sense. I blame the meds.