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I hate you. A lot. I want to stab you, rip out your insides, and crush them under my foot. Unfortunately, as I'm inside you, I can't do that without making things worse for myself, so I'll refrain. But I hate you. A lot. Really, really lots.
Translation: My body has decided to launch its latest attack on me, preventing me from doing anything but lie down and wish someone would give me a huge shot of Vicodin. On Thursday, I got these vicious stomach cramps that had me at the hospital at 5 in the morning (I was the only person there), where they gave me a cocktail of antacids, pills, an IV drips, followed by antiulcer medication that made the pain go away, but then tomorrow it came back! When I was in York! *punches stomach* So I only enjoyed like two hours before I ate lunch and got attacked by the evil stomach and spent the whole afternoon lying down in the park because the train left at 7:30. And then it was delayed. *headdesk* I sat at the emergency room for two hours before they told us it would be a four hour wait because they'd just received a major trauma emergency which pulled most of their doctors from the ER (A&E over here, by the way). Since the pain had gone away due to not eating for nine hours, I went home, then on to the GP this morning. I wound up in the A&E again today because it appears that the pill the GP gave me doesn't take the pain away immediately but rather works on the long term, but I couldn't take it anymore (I made the humongous mistake of giving in to horrendous hunger pangs). Through some miracle I only had to wait one hour to see a doctor this time. Maybe some divine force finally heard me crying (literally) about risking missing the play today. Yes. That play. Not that there was a chance in hell that I would not have run out of hospital and made it to the theatre anyway even if it felt like my insides were going to eat me alive. Not with that play. Hell no.
I hate my body.
Painkillers, though, are love. Especially the cocktails they give you at the ER. Mmm.
On a side note, I don't care how much it costs, I am getting a phone with internet on it. I was sitting in the waiting room wanting to call dad, but I don't know the code to call Mexico from the UK and no one I know is going to know, so I needed the internet to find out, but I didn’t have it, which is not cool. Plus, the internet is my primary means of communication anyway. I hardly use the phone as a phone. I think I use it more as a calculator.
Now lets see if I don't get run over by a car on my way to Covent Garden. It's the only thing missing, really.
Translation: My body has decided to launch its latest attack on me, preventing me from doing anything but lie down and wish someone would give me a huge shot of Vicodin. On Thursday, I got these vicious stomach cramps that had me at the hospital at 5 in the morning (I was the only person there), where they gave me a cocktail of antacids, pills, an IV drips, followed by antiulcer medication that made the pain go away, but then tomorrow it came back! When I was in York! *punches stomach* So I only enjoyed like two hours before I ate lunch and got attacked by the evil stomach and spent the whole afternoon lying down in the park because the train left at 7:30. And then it was delayed. *headdesk* I sat at the emergency room for two hours before they told us it would be a four hour wait because they'd just received a major trauma emergency which pulled most of their doctors from the ER (A&E over here, by the way). Since the pain had gone away due to not eating for nine hours, I went home, then on to the GP this morning. I wound up in the A&E again today because it appears that the pill the GP gave me doesn't take the pain away immediately but rather works on the long term, but I couldn't take it anymore (I made the humongous mistake of giving in to horrendous hunger pangs). Through some miracle I only had to wait one hour to see a doctor this time. Maybe some divine force finally heard me crying (literally) about risking missing the play today. Yes. That play. Not that there was a chance in hell that I would not have run out of hospital and made it to the theatre anyway even if it felt like my insides were going to eat me alive. Not with that play. Hell no.
I hate my body.
Painkillers, though, are love. Especially the cocktails they give you at the ER. Mmm.
On a side note, I don't care how much it costs, I am getting a phone with internet on it. I was sitting in the waiting room wanting to call dad, but I don't know the code to call Mexico from the UK and no one I know is going to know, so I needed the internet to find out, but I didn’t have it, which is not cool. Plus, the internet is my primary means of communication anyway. I hardly use the phone as a phone. I think I use it more as a calculator.
Now lets see if I don't get run over by a car on my way to Covent Garden. It's the only thing missing, really.
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