When the Urgent Care doctor offered me a shot of Dilaudid, I practically jumped on top of him and humped his leg. Had my neck not been spasming so badly, I probably would have.
For someone who claims to “want vodka,” I’m not much of a drinker, so the occasional narcotics use is about the closest I can get to altering my reality, and I was in such excruciating pain that had he told me that “licking the toilet might help a little” you would have found me bathing it with my tongue, no questions asked.
It was my second trip to Urgent Care in as many days and while normal people would have taken care of the migraine that I’d had since the previous weekend, not one of you can call me “normal,” so I’d waited until the pain was bad enough to make me weep. Then I’d gone in to Urgent Care. Twice.
After I’d sat in the grimy waiting room, being exposed to various forms of small pox and the bubonic plague, I was about ready to lop off my head and be done with the whole affair when I was called back and eventually offered the Dilaudid. That’s when the angels began to sing on high and the heavens opened up upon me. The idea of relief was almost more than I could stand.
I’d never had Dilaudid before, but I knew it was The Good Shit, and like I said, the pain was so intense I was about ready to find a voodoo doctor to remove the hex on my neck.
The nurse came in to administer the shot. She warned me that “it might sting a little,” but after three babies and two miscarriages, I’ve had RhoGAM a jillion times. RhoGAM is an immunoglobulin given to Rh-negative pregnant women. Immunoglobulins are thick, viscous serums that are administered via a McDonald’s straw right into the butt muscle. They hurt like hell.
So I was all, ‘WHAT THE FUCK EVER, LADY, YOU KNOW WHAT KINDA PAIN I’M IN?’ but I didn’t say that because if I was rude, she might have withheld the delicious drugs.
But holy fuckballs, that shit HURT. I walked around the Urgent Care clinic, trying to pick up Ebola and Dysentery (Oregon Trail makes it look so glamorous!) to try and get the medication to disperse, but damn, it hurt.
After about ten minutes, it stopped hurting, and then I felt pretty high. Like I might want to start making snowflakes with the picture of the sinuses on the walls so that I could glue them to my body.
I tried to look at something on my iPhone but the words melted together into a deliciously funny singing purple cat. I laughed at the purple cat. Silly kitty, didn’t he know that cats weren’t allowed at the doctors?
Just as I was batting at the bubbles that filled the room, a weird thing happened: my face began to itch. Then my chest. Then my arms. I scratched and scratched and scratched. It didn’t help. It did, however make me look like I’d been stuck in the roto-rooter.
Somehow, the nurse who came to cluck over my insanely low blood pressure didn’t notice my scratches.
But I was forced to sit there, scratching myself like a monkey as the doctors made sure that I streak naked around the clinic screaming about aliens and dingoes. I couldn’t, you see, I was too itchy. Also, where the bubbles that had appeared were once my friends, now they were horrible vile creatures that made me want to puke.
I laid on the cot peeling off layers of my epidermis trying not to vomit as the bubble-people attacked me.
Eventually, the Urgent Care doc deemed me fit to leave and was in the process of being wheeled out when I mumbled, “sorry I look so bad. I’m all itchy.”
With that, I was promptly wheeled right back in and was given a big ass dose of epinephrine and prednisone.
(CNS) Depressants plus stimulants = a fucking nightmare. My heart raced, I openly wept and I tried not to vomit on myself.
Eventually, I was discharged and crawled into my bed.
The following morning, I made an appointment with a chiropractor.
If this doesn’t work, anyone know a good voodoo doctor?
(also: looking into a breast reduction. No, seriously, the doc thinks it could be my rack.)
If you’ve entered the Pulling a The David Cook for Charity (and a year’s worth of Cold Stone), please go here and double check that your entry is up on the list. If it’s not, due to some error on my end, let me know so that I can add it before I do the drawing.
Over at Toy With Me, I wrote a letter to the bullied gay teens.