I really don't know how I went two days with my back the way it was. I wasn't moving much. When I went to work, I wouldn't bend my back, and I was moving slowly. They sent me home on Thursday, because my eyes were welling up from the pain, and all the tension in my back had caused a migraine.
Now, let me state for the record that Shelby does not cry, and Shelby definitely does not cry in public. Shelby hates crying as much as she hates going to the hospital. Yesterday at work, when Andy patted me on the back, in the middle of my spine, I buckled and began to cry. I cannot even describe the pain to you, but you don't need to empathize. Trust me.
I tried to regain my composure, but now that I had started crying I couldn't stop. My back was absolutely on fire. I couldn't bend it, couldn't sit, couldn't do anything but stand there, screaming into a fist full of napkins while balling my eyes out. The crying didn't help the situation, because cry-breathing is different than normal breathing. Cry-breathing is short, and my back was not having it. Every time I breathed I wanted to scream, or throw up (which I did, and which also did not help), but I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face.
I cried until Sandy got there. I screamed when I got in the car [which I'm sure makes the patrons of Famous Dave's really want to come back. Ho ho, I got your advertising right here. "This restaurant turns people batshit crazy!" Hoorah!] I cried all the way to the hospital. I almost threw up on the nurse. She was slow, and extremely unaccommodating, as I recall. In hindsight, I wish I would've puked on her. It might've made her realize that she does, in fact, work in the emergency room and should handle matters with some urgency. Trust me, I wouldn't have gone there if I had my druthers.
They walked me to my
Anyway, they then botched my IV. It stung. Now, I'm practically an IV expert. I am no stranger to them, or to having my blood drawn. I do not wince anymore, I do not flinch anymore. She figured out a way to make me, I'll tell you what. It stung, it felt stiff, and it was not functioning properly. Blood is not supposed to go into the IV, and yet it went into mine several times. Oh, and she let an air-bubble go straight into my vein. Awesome.
They gave me pain-killers and muscle relaxants. They took blood, x-rays, and forever. I was there for four hours. After the drugs kicked in, I was ready to leave. I was ranting about how Madam Pomfrey would've had me out in minutes, and how simple blood tests don't take four hours. I started bitching at high volume and with great abandon about my IV. You can always tell when Shelby is feeling better. The moment the Shelby starts being petulant, you know she'll be fine.
My irritation was falling on deaf, Russian ears. I started threatening to take out the IV myself. I would've done it if I'd had any gauze to put pressure on in order to stop the bleeding. Alas, I had none.
Four hours. It took four hours to find out that I have a UTI caused by last month's kidney stone, and ridiculous muscle spasms in my back. Honestly, I thought I had bone-marrow cancer or something. I'll take a curable infection any day, but it really shouldn't have taken 4 hours to determine that. Also, given that I still had an IV in my arm when I received my diagnosis and prognosis, they really SHOULD have taken that opportunity to put in antibiotics through the IV... but they didn't. They wrote out three prescriptions for horse-pills [one of which, and again I'm not kidding, was a prescription for ibu-fucking-profen. Guess which one I didn't fill.] and released me into the world.
I still firmly believe Madam Pomfrey would've done it better. Urg. And I still have to go to work today. Awesome.