An ER moment, except George Clooney was not there to save me. Instead my boyfriend showed up and showed me he can kick ass.

7 Dec

I been gone for a bit, but I have a perfectly good excuse.

I been super sick, because well, I brought back SOMETHING from NC, and that something was not saltwater Taffy or Smoky Mountain Snack Mix, or even Chocobilly Cookies.

No, sir, NC awarded me with a nice cold, one full of complimentary coughs, and chills and runny nose and oh, let’s not forget the splitting headaches due to congestion.

So after a 12 hour drive back to Florida on Sunday, I was out for the count and put my ass down in bed, under the covers, holding the Klennex box and my Teraflu bottle for dear life.  Because, people I WAS GOING TO DIE – the end.

By Tuesday, I had enough and I knew I needed to step up the game.  So I called my doctors office, did major begging and got myself an appoitment to which I then dragged myself to and proceeded  to DIE THERE so they could give me enough drugs to forget my impending fate.  After an hour wait and having my nose, ears, and throat checked, the good doctor gave me the a-okey and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and strong cough medicine (I had graduated to the big league people!).

I dragged my ass back home and took the first two pills of the antibiotic and then waited until it was dark outside in order to drink up the HEAVY-DUTY cough medicine and finally fall asleep and dream of rainbows and unicorns while BREATHING THROUGH MY NOSE, like a normal person.

Except we hit a itzy-bitsy snag.

After 20 minutes of drinking up and waiting to go off to la-la-land… I started to feel a bit of discomfort, as in pain below my breast bones and this would have been fine except that in less than a minute it tuned into a oh-my-fucking-gawd-will-someone-please-stab-me-in-the-eye-with-a-pencil-to-distract-me-from-the-pain from hell.

And folks, I’m really good about my pain threshold and have a very high pain tolerance, I can hold onto A LOT of pain before I fall and cry like a baby waiting my mommy, or take narcotics.

But, in this case it happen way faster, because as soon as I started having trouble breathing, as in gulping huge amounts of air and nothing, and I mean NOTHING was getting through I knew I had reached the unsurvivable hell in pain-time. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Anyway, on pain scale from 1-to-childbirth (which I have yet to experience but, I have plenty of reference points from friends and mommyblogs), this was about a 9.5 and climbing fast, because this was not one of those that you can “breathe through”, but those that you can only recall later as blurry, red-tinged moments of sweating-panting-teeth-grinding waves of oh-my-baby jesus-pain punctuated by increasingly shorter periods of blessed respite – except there was no intermission followed by liquor and tiny hors d’oeuver.

Where was I? Oh yeah, in agonizing pain so debilitating that I could barely unfurl from the fetal position.  It was time for the big guns: so I shouted out to Tom to come and save me.

Except it was more like a baby whimper, because yeah, I could not even come up for air to scream that I was DYING DAMN IT! and that I was wearing underwear with a hole and that’s how I was going to end up in the coroner office, totally embarrassing. (note to self: I need to stop watching so many CSI’s)

I was taking a shit worried

Tom, thank god hears things and when he shouted back if I was ok and never got a confirmation ran to my side (The good, good man – he gets so many brownie points its bananas!) to investigate and instead of finding me all nice and drugged out-of-my-mind, he found me doubled-over, whimpering, quivering mass of hell, holding to dear life unto the floor and taking big, gulps of breath with a crazy look (at least that is how he describe me later on. I was to busy trying to NOT DIED to notice this tiny detail, plus, truth be told, I was way more worry about the hole in my underwear than I care to admit).

Anyway back to the saga story.

Tom, decided at that moment to play Columbo and start to interrogate the shit out of me, while I’m trying to respond and breathe at the same time, and Internet, I tell you this…IT CANNOT BE DONE — YOU CANNOT DO IT AT THE SAME TIME.  But, somehow, through my panic and reading the medicine information sheet that the pharmacy gives you, but we throw away as soon as we get home (YES YOU DO, DON’T YOU LIE) he was able to play doctor and conclude that I needed medical assistance FAST (it’s what the paper said).

ER here we come.

And let me tell you it takes about 12 minutes from our house to the nearest Hospital ER. But let me assure you folks, those 12 minutes in pain-time equal 10,000 years.

By the time we arrived I was totally out of my mind with pain, scare and about to loose my shit and pass out, because I knew that I wanted to be in total denial at the point of death.

Fortunately, Tom had things under control while people continue to ask me questions and totally ignore the fact that a) HELLO I CANNOT BREATHE and b) I WANTED MY MOMMY BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO DIE!

The next couple of hours, all  I remember was bits and pieces. I was given stuff, which I promptly threw up, I was poked, probed and told to relax and to swallow more stuff, which I proptly keep hurling it right back at them.  They may the decision to insert an IV, which followed with dosages of wonderful narcotics, which relaxed me enough to rejoin the living, in an anesthetized coma.

Which was fine with me.

During all this drama, Tom held his own, answered questions about my medical health (who knew the boy was paying attention all this time?) called my mother and was able to stay calm enough to avoid having another crazy female to deal with and held my hand and told me it was going to be ok, and that they did not see my underwear.

I could not have loved that man more than right there and then.

After all is said and done, we learned to put this in under my already expanding medical history – I’m officially allergic to codeine, which was the culprit of this long saga.

But I also learn one important thing: Tom totally ROCKS IT when it comes to the emergency department.

And if you are still reading this, Holy shit, I think you earned a prize.


2 Responses to “An ER moment, except George Clooney was not there to save me. Instead my boyfriend showed up and showed me he can kick ass.”


  1. Tweets that mention An ER moment, except George Clooney was not there to save me. Instead my boyfriend showed up and showed me he can kick ass. « MACA's WORLD -- - December 7, 2009

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Monica, The A List. The A List said: An ER moment, except George Clooney was not there to save me … […]

  2. Bye Bye 2009, don’t let the door hit you on the way out! « MACA's WORLD - December 31, 2009

    […] had a bit of health issues, specifically me. And a couple of trips to the closest […]

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