OK, that’s not true. I have never even climbed rocks. Well, that’s not entirely true either – I have climbed rocks, but only because of the angry squirrel chasing me. But I’ve never been rock-climbing in any sort of premeditated way. Also? Climbing rocks is not a particularly effective way to escape from an angry squirrel. Learn from my mistakes.
Still, rock climbing sounds way cooler than what really happened.
Remember that time when I said I hoped my spleen would burst so I could get a few more weeks of vacation? Well, I think my plea to the universe was heard, but it ends up that the universe has a warped sense of humor. Instead of a ruptured spleen and a few more weeks of vacation, I got diverticulitis. Now, I cannot explain why these things only seem to hit me on weekends, but here’s the deal. I woke up in excruciating pain last Saturday and thought I had a ruptured spleen. I wasn’t sure, though, so I figured I’d have some Cheerios and see if it went away.
It didn’t
Sunday, I went to the ER and when they told me I had diverticulitis, I used my most authoritative voice to say “Surely there is some mistake. Did you accidentally swap my chart with the 97 year old man in the next room? I think that would explain things. Probably, I have some young, cool, hip thing. Possibly a ruptured spleen. I’m only 47 and that’s way too young to have diverticulitis.”
Doogie Howser rolled his eyes at me and assured me that the charts didn’t get swapped. As an aside, when did they start letting 14 year olds practice medicine?
I snapped a picture – see it up there? That’s me, on the left. I’ve dropped a few pounds, thanks for noticing.
So I sighed a deep sigh and said “OK, then. I’ll tell my work people that I shall be out for 6-8 weeks of paid leave and I’ll have my husband bring up my special pillow and, oh, I’d like Chicken Cordon Bleu for dinner, served promptly at 6:30 PM.”
That little snot rolled his eyes again, handed me 37 prescriptions, and sent me home. We really need to do something about the state of health care in the US!
After I mortgaged the houses to fill the prescriptions, I settled in on my couch. (Sidenote: I love my couch like some of you love your mothers.) I let the fuzzy haze of pain meds take hold before I attempted these antibiotics that surely must be used for the moose population, that’s how big they are. Two of them (pills, not mooses meece moose). Four times a day.
I think what I’m saying is that my spleen is currently so bacteria-free that you could eat your dinner off it.
Evidently, moose-sized antibiotics were just what the doctor ordered because pretty soon I was feeling fine, and realizing that I was heading back to work, it took me only a few short hours to pass through all the stages of grief and land at acceptance.
Me and my bacteria-free spleen are now back at full productivity.
Still, if I could request one favor of you — if anyone asks, tell them it was a sky-diving accident. OK?
I’ve been thinking about God lately.