Tofurken

Friday morning, while on a conference call with work, I tripped over devil dog. Originally, I thought that this was another one of my back spasm moments that would pass with some rest and plenty of muscle relaxers. I was wrong. As the day progressed, I called the boyfriend to cancel the trip and asked him to come over to take me to the ER. Here is my story.

The boy arrives and immediately wants to call 911. I feel stupid. I hurt my back, I didn't accidentally chop off my leg trying to construct something useful. So, I try to get off the couch, and manage to roll myself on to my hands and knees, then pull myself into a kneeling position, using my love seat for support. Oh, Internet friends, this was the end. I sat there for 5 minutes and said, call 911.

The medics arrive and I am expecting them to point and laugh until they cried. I looked ridiculous. I hadn't showered since the previous morning. I was on my knees, doing what can only be described as praying to the love seat gods. I was also covered in dog hair, shaking uncontrollably from the pain/embarrassment, and crying. It was not my finest moment. They finally get me loaded into the ambulance, and we're off. I am feeling slightly euphoric because there is help in the future and I am no longer stuck on the couch like some sort of condo-sized whale.

Did you know that there is no feasible way to get from my house to a hospital without driving through a crater farm, a train yard, and military land mine practice site? Because it's not. It was like they laid me on a gurney of nails, patted my shoulder, and said, "this may hurt a little." We finally arrive, after I have screamed myself hoarse (please note: when in pain, I am a screamer. Who knew?) They wheel me into my little room, transfer me from the gurney to the ER bed, and EMT #26 is on it's way to help someone with a real emergency.

Here is what I learned in my 5 hours in the ER:

1. The registration guy has nothing better to do than watch Hulu and buy baseball caps.
2. You will answer the same questions 500 times because they are, apparently, incapable of simple human interaction with each other. Or they were testing me to make sure I said the same thing. More on this later.
3. If you complain of lower back pain, someone will shove their finger up your ass "just in case."
4. TBS plays a "That 70's Show" marathon on Friday nights.
5. After Percoset, Valium, and something else I can't remember, you still say you are inexcruciating pain, they will test you. By raising your bed really fast. You will scream obscenities at the woman and she will treat you like shit from then on out.
6. When the doctor hears you scream, he admits you.

So, they admit me to the hospital. The first night was a blur of excruciating pain, and honestly, I don't remember much of Friday day and night. I was on no drugs...all I remember is pain.

So, the next morning I wake up, alone, in a hospital bed, scared out of my mind, and literally trembling from pain. I have never been admitted to a hospital before. I had no idea what to expect. The night nurses were nice, but I truly remember almost nothing of those interactions. The day nurse walks in, her name is Jen. She is snarky and rude and demanding and yells at me and I LOVE HER. She is exactly what I want in a nurse. I don't want fucking unicorns and rainbows and awww...sweetie, let me love you to health. Fucking gag me. I want someone to come in and say "get your fat ass out of that bad or I am going to give you the herps." True story.

Now, I have been in the hospital for three days and this is already ridiculously long, so I will number the remainder of the story, in chronological order, for your reading enjoyment. Please beware, I have lost all sense of modesty, shame, and privacy. This is going to be brutally (and disgustingly) honest.

Saturday:

• I'm sitting there, all hopped up on pain meds (I will provide a list later) when I realize I haven't peed in 24 hours. Um. This is bad. I call the nurse. It is decided that I need a catheter, because my bladder is asleep.
• And, I am all, wake the fuck up bladder, if anyone deserves a little resty poo, it's liver. So, first, they clean it with that Orange sanitary shit, and I am laughing my ass off because I have oompa loompa cooter. Seriously. Bright orange. Funny shit. Then, you know, they stick a tube up my shit, and I am all, this isn't funny anymore.
• The boy spends the next 2 hours telling me every time I pee. And then giggling because he is watching me pee.
• I go for an MRI. I am claustrophobic. And terrified of being buried alive. An MRI machine is like a giant, metal, grave. That makes a lot of noise. And is hot. And if you move, say, due to muscle spasms, they have to start the scan over. I believe that Obama should use these machines as torture devices.
• I do not believe in torture. But, dude, if I can do it, so can you.
• My stomach swells to approximately the size of Texas and I am having stabbing pains. The doc has another hospital on stand by, pending an x-ray, for emergency surgery. Turns out I am just full of shit. Literally. I am given laxatives, suppositories, and some goo that is supposed to make your poop slide right out like some sort of fucked up luge.
• They ship my night nurse in from Guantanamo Bay. I am freaking out about shitting myself, because, you know, it could happen. I have been given enough laxatives to shit out an elephant. Instead of, you know, giving me my options, she says, "I'll put a bed pan next to your bed." Um. Right. Do you see the size of my stomach? I am going to need some sort of industrial sized shit tank. A pretty pink plastic kidney shaped bed ban isn't going to do shit. Pun intended.

Sunday:

• In walks Jen, favorite nurse ever, and says good morning. Then proceeds to brow beat me until it is blatantly clear that my ass is getting out of bed and walking. Because if I don't shit soon, she is going to shove a tube up my nose and pull all of my shit out of my nose. I had this look on my face for the remainder of the day:
  
  
• I finally get my ass out of bed and am moved to a chair, where I proceed to have muscle spasm after muscle spasm. They don't stop. I am like some sort of demented, twitchy, chair person. At least one person ran from the hospital screaming "why, god, why?"
• They tell me I need a suppository. Literally, I was told to stand, thrown over the bed, and had yet another finger up my ass. Seriously - any of you out there that are into all that ass shit, I really recommend coming to the hospital I am at. They hand out rectal exams and suppositories like pedophiles hand out puppies at the playground.
• I start walking around, which is at about 2 feet per minute. Believe it or not, I was THRILLED with this progress.
• They give me another MRI and X-Ray again. Exec pt this time, they leave me in the hallway for an hour. My nurse comes running down the stairs looking for me. I personally think she was afraid some doctor had confiscated me for their own personal ass slave. The look of relief on her face certainly did not just mean "oh, there you are."
• Big Jed and Krackle stop by, bringing me tons of entertaining goodies, like magazines, crosswords, a machete, and this cute little pocket pet thing. They thought it would be fun for me to take care of. Let me tell you about my pet pocket dinosaur. ALL THAT MOTHER FUCKER DOES IS SHIT. Seriously. And every time it shits, it beeps. So, you can clean up it's shit. And then you have to feed it. And love it. It was one needy fucking key chain pet, let me tell you.
• I ate my first real meal - turkey, mashed potatoes, and carrots. I am taking a bite of the turkey, when I turn to my visitors and say there is no way this is turkey. I think it is tofurken or some shit. They both looked at me and laughed their asses off. What is tofurken you ask? I have no idea. Apparently, when on drugs, I make up words. I think I was going for turducken or tofurkey. But, I am not totally sure either of those things are real either. Along with the wizard that has been sitting in the corner of my room granting all my wishes. Because, my sponge baths are still being done by the nurses and not Collin Ferrel.

So, the moral of the story here is that prescription pain killers are good, wizards lie, Guantanamo Bay is not a good place to recruit nursing staff, and never take your ability to walk or urinate on your own for granted, people. It is a beautiful, beautiful thing. Also, protect your ass holes at all time. You never know when a rogue doctor will shove his finger up it.

More to come later in the adventures of Erratic at the hospital.