Nota Bene

asleep_jurate_gacionyte{Jurate Gacionyte}

Hey folks. There isn’t going to be a Sunday Kind of Love today – my apologies. Spent the afternoon/evening in l’hôpital  and I’m just not up to being witty and creative. Which explains why I’m switching channels from “My New BFF” and “From G’s to Gents”. xoxo

***

Later that same day.. Har har. Yeah. I was obviously feeling a little bit of self pity this morning, can you tell?  I think it was the combo of forbidden coffee being made and Pedialyte popsicles being proffered instead that really got to me. That, and the realization of how stubborn/silly I can be sometimes.

So. Since you’re all my little friends, and really, if we all lean in close nobody else on the interwebs will hear a slice of my biography titled “2 Organs Short, Ten Feet Tall in Her Mind: The Andrea Story”. To save all the really gruesome details I will attempt to insert links so that we can all continue to pretend that that nothing bad goes on in blogland. GOT IT? NOTHING. Angels. Cupcakes. Pastry. Champagne. Polaroid. Ikat. (I am also linking because I imagine some dufus checking the stats for webmd and wondering why on earth he was getting links from me..)

Here we go. When I was eight, I got this. Which, for all of you who blissfully didn’t know that a bowl and a bowel were two different things at that age, I am very happy for you. Then,  five years later after being admitted too much, being sick, reading just about everything I could lay my hands on (I carried around a copy of Johnathan Livingston Seagull, what the heck child), I was the graceful receipient of this operation. Granted, I was also left with a scar that runs from my breastplate to my pelvic bone, and a few others, but heck, I wasn’t sick, had a built in diet (holla.. I digest NOTHING…) and lets face it, was alive.

Fastforward 13 some odd years later – my biggest hurdle is staying hydrated. Being sick, in any way shape or form, kills me. Sorta literally. I get so badly dehydrated in such a short time that my fingers shrivel up and they can’t take a pulse, they have to try baby needles in me, it’s mildly funny. You know. In the same way as the Darwin Awards are funny. Sad. But funny. So if that isn’t enough forshadowing for you – that’s exactly what’s been happening this week. I was stressed, still a little sick from the last time, drank too much coffee… and caught the flu. And you know me, I’m so tough, I think I’m going to power through and whammo, Friday night I’m passing out on the way home from work and it takes me ten minutes to move from the seat of the car to the grocery store door where I deleriously think “just a little gingerale” will help. Because you know what always helps when you are doing this coupled with this? And you can’t walk in a straight line and your pulse is about 120? Some gingerale.

Luckily, I had a very responsible friend who refused to take me to see J’s gig (sorry babe) and instead took me to the best (super great doctors/nurses) slash worst (gets the most stab wounds, bar fights and such) hospital in the city. Now having been in the hospital system for a little while, I’m good with E.R.’s. I know I have to wait, I know I’m not going to drop dead, I know there is probably a good chance I wait for miniumum 4 hours before being seen. So I toddle up to the nurse, who looks shockingly like my mother, and tell her “what brought me here today” as she is pushing a wheelchair towards me, liberating me of my healthcare card and whispering words like “tachycardic” “can’t focus her eyes” and repeatedly asking if I “took any drugs tonight”. When I finally got out that I was also missing one of these, they didn’t even put me in the waiting room.

I got 5 litres of IV fluids in about 4 hours. And didn’t even see the barfight victims. It was sweet.

SO – Long story made longer – I’m ok! Yay. As ok as I can get, which is pretty damn fab. Sadly, it means I am very able to jinx myself as I believe my last thoughts signing off on Friday were “music, work, fun, food” and instead I may have gotten “myspace, workish, delirium and pedialyte” which, really, could have been a lot worse. I could have missed work and not been able to pay off my new dress next week.

xo

ps – thanks for sticking by me guys in what I promise we will never ever talk about again.

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9 Comments

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9 responses to “Nota Bene

  1. i hope you are all right? take good care of you.

  2. Oh no! I am so glad you’re doing okay. I had a friend in high school who was missing a lot of her intestines, and I remember it was always such a struggle for her cause she had to be on an IV every night. But you’re okay! And you can pay off your dress! That’s always good.

  3. You are brilliant, you know, to keep a sense of humour even in the face of all this! I hope you’re feeling better.
    White Teeth – Yeah, I’m really enjoying it so far, although I’ve only read the first couple of chapters. Very well written, very funny. I recommend it!

  4. I’m always so blown away by the things people have to cope with and even more so when you’d never know it to look at them (or, you know, read their blog regularly). Thanks for sharing a bit of what you’ve been through.
    Also, it sounds like you went to the Sarahbration school of medicine. “Blinding pain from my feet to my lungs? I’m sure I just need to walk it off and/or the magical healing powers of gingerale.”

  5. Oh dear! Take good care of yourself, miss.

  6. P.

    Poor muffin! I’m so sorry – please take care of yourself.

  7. Oof. Andrea! I’m so glad that you’re OK. Also, can I get that surgery? (Just kidding.)

  8. Tim

    the scar reminds me of the plane crash in the lord of the flies, but having the opposite effect.

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