How did I get this sick? How did I not know that I had bronchitis? Am I that out of touch with my body? And the colon thing. If it's pushing on my lung, you'd think I would notice something, anything different. And the rib thing is hitting home. I was just "take some Vicodin and it will mend in a few weeks," but no, that's wrong, isn't it? The xray shows that. It's going to need to be reconnected manually, as it's just hanging out there. People, I don't mean to alarm anyone, but shit just got real.
I guess I have to get a lawyer for the DHS hearing, seeing as how I will be flat on my stomach very soon for who knows how long. This is bad. This is very very bad. I'm freaking out here.
I'm not just saying that, this isn't an anxiety attack. I am disconnecting from myself and control of said self. I can feel myself pulling away from my body, backing away, shaking my ethereal head back and forth, no no no no no, this is not happening to me. Put me in the psych hospital, fine. I will do as much time there as you want. But put me in a hospital where I have to lay in bed all day and get help to pee and have tubes coming out of my very veiny hands and people coming at me with scalpels, no no no no. This is more than I can handle.
No, there has been enough in my life. I can't take any more.
And you just know that Doc, if he ever wakes up, is going to have plenty to say about how I don't take care of myself and see what happens. WHAT?!?!?! I fucking sneezed! Then I had a coughing fit. Because I went out in a 60mph dust storm to close the window on HIS truck that HE left open, and was in too much pain himself with a muscle pull to go out and close himself. If anything, this is his fucking fault. If you want to get petty about it. And I'm ready to, by god. He's yelled at me enough this week. He is going to lay off while this is happening.
If I end up going into surgery strapped to the fucking bed because I'm a basket case I will find a way to stab him.
So meanwhile, the ten minute breathing therapy thing I did with a nebulizer at the Urgent Care has worn off and I'm wheezing again and trying SO hard not to cough. I coughed on the phone with Kelli and she heard the whole cough/scream thing I was talking about. A while later I choked on my water and coughed a little but suppressed it, and she begged me not to cough again. They prescribed me nebulizer ampules and an inhaler.
Oh shit . . . coughing fit. that one was bad. i didn't even cough up the stuff, it's still in there. fuck fuck fuck. It hurt in the front that time. bad. poking into the lung.
so yeah. there's that. it woke doc up enough to ask if i needed his inhaler but not enough to keep him awake for the answer. so there's that, too. yeah, i wait on him hand and foot when he is sick. i don't sleep, i don't rest. i cater to him. i make him food. hell, i spend a tense hour every night trying to wake him up for work. and then another hour running back to his room to hurry him along and find out what he needs packed into his rucksack. of course there are the things he always forgets and i have to remember for him, and if i don't, i hear about it in the morning in accusing tones. mother fucker, you're 45, get the fuck up. i do it because i love him and because he spends his income trying to keep me alive. times like this, i wonder about my own devotion, though. he should be up comforting me. kelli did what she could for two hours on the phone today. it's his turn.
it didn't even occur to me until just now to do a search on disconnected ribs. i'm going to go do that. as i burp up metamucil tablets and huge amounts of water. god, can't i just have some ex-lax or correctol or some shit that will just blast my colon out in a few hours? why do i have to do it with this huge amount of belching gas, it's just going to swell my colon more. i swear, doc doesn't think sometimes before his pushes his ideas on me.