I’m outta here.
Notice how ridiculously close that tv is to where my head would be? I had to turn my head all the way to the right to watch it. And you can see my pee jar in the upper right bed rail. We were best friends for the last 36 hours.
Yesterday, I had to have a CT scan and an ultrasound to figure out what was going on with my innards. The CT scan revealed nothing interesting, but the ultrasound revealed that I’m not preggers and that I have gallstones. What went from an optional overnight stay at the hospital went to a mandatory 5-6 day stay that would include an MRI, a high density radio-something-or-other test, and ultimately, surgery.
I hardly slept a wink last night. Various beeps, boops, door slams and foot steps kept waking me up every dozen minutes; it didn’t help that my bed was self-adjusting to prevent bed sores either. At 4:30am, some ominous looking motherfucker came into my room unexpectedly. He turned the lights on, mumbled something to me while I was half asleep and proceeded to draw 6 vials of blood from my arm. He kept mumbling something to himself that I couldn’t hear, but scared me to death. I was sure he was going to perform a mercy killing or something. I couldn’t go back to sleep after he left.
I had the additional tests this morning. The second test involved being injected with a radioactive isotope so they can take pictures of my guts. As of now, I am disappointed to report that there are no new superpowers gained from the isotope. Both test results came up negative, meaning I have no infection. The doc gave me the “you need to exercise and eat better” pep talk before he discharged me from the hospital. I’m good for now, but I’ll need to have the gall bladder removed sooner or later. I’ll have to look into avoiding surgery altogether through the mystical power of the faux mustache.
All I want right now is a hot shower, a shave, and a nice hearty meal.
