“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Friday, September 28, 2007

Ok, so Friday evening I'm sitting around watching TV with the guys and I find a small bump in the middle of my scar.

I figure "Great, I tore open a couple stitches and have already started on a new hernia."

I make plans to go to call my surgeon in the morning.

I end up staying up all night because I felt like shit and decided to have my Mom give me a lift to the Emergency Room. So I'm just sitting in the living room, watching TV, feeling like crap. Mom comes in and says "What's bleeding?"

Bleeding? I wasn't bleeding.

I look at my shirt.

There's a spot of blood.

Oh, FUCK.

Well I pull up my shirt and my hernia binder is soaked clear through. Open the binder and there's blood freely running out of a nice quarter-sized hole where, previously, had been my little bump.

I found this a tad vexing.

So we go to the local hospital that didn't kill me. They gave me some shit at the front counter. Went kinda like this:

"What's the reason for your visit?" (The blood spot is quite visibly getting larger through my shirt at this point.)

"I'm BLEEDING."

"Ok, fill out this form."

The form simply consisted of my name, asked about any drug allergies, and again asked why I was there.

I was starting to wonder myself.

I fill it out and hand it to her.

REASON FOR VISIT: Profuse bleeding from abdomen.

SYMPTOMS: BLOOD!

They eventually take me back. In all fairness, it WAS the fastest I've ever gotten into an Emergency Room.

I think I only lost a pint.

Well they check me over, the bleeding stopped, and they send me to Morgantown.

They DID have the nerve to ask me if I'd ever been diagnosed as anemic before. I told them I wasn't fucking anemic till they made me bleed out in the fucking waiting room.

So I spent the last couple days in Morgantown. They pumped me full of antibiotics, made me drink radioactive dye, got a CAT scan (where they gave me MORE radioactive dye) and then they decided that they gave me the wrong antibiotics because I have that crap you catch at the hospital that's immune to all forms of penicillin.

So now I'm on the right drugs and I'm back home. How was your week?

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