chillin’ in my fav cubicle no.6
Yesterday I was sent to hospital with a suspected heart attack.
No, wait, hear me out.
For the last couple of weeks I have had a steady chest pain with intermittent OMG WHY IS THIS PAIN TRYING TO KILL ME smattered with panic attacks and a touch of tingling lips and tongue and fingers just for shits and giggles.
And I put all that down to medications and Christmas and people pissing me off and just general me-ness, but then after a few weeks of this shit I thought maybe I should go to the doctor.
So I went to my doc and he lost his damn mind. And sent me to the hospital because well SHIT KELLEY IT IS YOUR FUCKING HEART and the Professor that we don’t speak of anymore took you off all your anti stroke meds and you like had a stroke and shit.
MPS drove me to the hospital and I was all ‘um, sorry about this’ and I handed over the letter from my GP the nurse took my BP and then I got a bed like right-a-fucking-way.
They hooked me up to machines and took MORE blood and I gave a little tutorial on the medical ID on the Apple health app while they oooohed and aaahhhed at all the shizzle wrong with me and tried to connect the medication to the condition. Funner than anything you played over Christmas.
Except for Cards Against Humanity. I am pretty damn horrifically awesome at that. *hangs head in shame*
The nurses and doctors and orderlies were all amazing and someone came and took me for my x-ray and told me dirty jokes all the way and I am not fucking with you the X-ray dude was waiting at the door for us and I was in and out in like 2 minutes and back in my cubicle thingy before the nurse even knew I was GONE.
What the hell?
And just as they were going to admit me the doctor came racing in with my blood and xray results and discharged me.
Walked in at 5pm and out at 7.15. A-fucking-mazing.
Oh, I guess you are wondering what is wrong… yeah. I didn’t have a heart attack, YAY ME! I have an inflammation of the cartilage in the rib cage called costochondritis which hurts like a motherbitch but won’t KILL me so extra bonus points for that. Dude pressed on my chest and I nearly flew through the roof and he reckons it was from all the vomiting. Maybe. Probably. Who knows.
This shit just happens, and as we all know shit tends to just happen to me.
So now I have this thing I can’t spell let alone pronounce and a damn fine reason not to wear a bra.
Oh, and not a heart attack.