VooDoo dolls and Morphine.

Today I’m going to forgo the normal Ten Things Thursday for an absolutely great story about my unbelievably fabulous day yesterday. Trust me, this definitely takes the cake on my normal random bullshit. Good times I tell ya, good times.

***Boys: might one to skip this one! Women issues.*** 

Sorry, I just have no shame on here.

Here in LauraLand, we’re one big ol’ hot mess.  Yesterday, I woke up with a slight amount of pain (at the F*ing ungodly hour of 5AM) in the abdominal area; basically my body telling me that that bitch Mother Nature has come bearing gifts. Stupid tranny hooker.  Anyways, I got ready for work, trudged out to the car (only to find out I didn’t need the scarf, gloves, extra gloves, long johns, sweatshirt, facemask, wind pants, winter ski jacket, ear muffs, and stocking cap on because **SURPRISE** it’s 58 degrees at 6:00am. IN DECEMBER!!!! Oh, and it’s raining. wtf), I then trudge back into the house, change into more appropriate kansaspsychopantsweather attire, and make my way to work.  Along the way to my lovely place of employment, that 'slight pain' turned into my body feeling like somewhere out there was a Cajun Witch Doctor with stringy hair and no teeth stabbing and torturing a LauraBelle VooDoo doll, just for shits and giggles.  Gut wrenching stomach pain? Yes, please.  Lower back feeling like someone is sticking 7,458 samurai's in it? Absolutely. Unhumanly (it’s a word, just go with it) vomit tendencies? Bring it on.

In my agony induced delirium, I somehow made it to the store for the magic Midol pills, a hot pad, 6 donuts (no judging), and a diet Mt. Dew. Breakfast of champions. Then, I somehow made it into work.  I may or may not have run off the road twice, jumped a curb, and nearly ran over a mailbox along the way. I just can’t quite remember. Once at work, I tried to OD on the Midol, whipped that little hot pad outta it’s packaging and shoved it in my drawers, and prayed to Baby Jesus that he would just come and take me away to a nice little heaven complete with double fudge ice cream, Ryan Reynolds serving me calorie/fat free beers, and unlimited shoe shopping.  Baby Jesus did not grant my wishes.

Instead, my good little employees and friends Rebecca and Vicky walked in. Pretty sure they both may have dropped a load in their pants when they saw me doubled over, telling them, in between very ladylike snotty bursts of sobs, that I think they may need to take me to the emergency room. I eventually crawled out to Rebecca’s car, Vicky took my car, and we headed off to the hospital.

Rebecca asks, “Well, which hospital do you want to go to?”

‘ONE WITH FUCKING MORPHINE!!!’, is what I was thinking, but the words, ‘Mercy Hospital’ came out instead. 

Poor Rebecca looks at me like I’ve gone straight to locotown and proceeds to look up Mercy Hospital on her phone.   

Then all sweet and soft she says, “Well, do you know where it is, because it’s not coming up?” 

‘SHOOT ME!!!!!! You know, the one on that one street. Kinda downtown, but not really. Maybe on Hillside St. Or Oliver. Or on another planet. WHERE IS A BUTTER KNIFE TO SLIT MY WRISTS???!!!!!!!!’

“Oh,” she says, “You mean Wesley Hospital?”

‘Holy Christ and horse farts . Yes, that's the one. JUST LET A MACK TRUCK RUN ME OVER NOWWWWWWW!!!!’

We finally make it to the Wesley ER and I attempted to get myself checked in. Thank the Lord the nurses were so nice and sweet and patient. I couldn’t breathe because of the blinding pain, and when I could breathe it came out in huffs. And when trying to write your name, address, phone, and other pertinent info on sheet of paper, while clutching your abdomen like you’re going to die, and huffing and puffing, lets just say the communication and handwriting were not the most stellar.

They finally got me back to a room and I had to change into one of those flimsy little gowns that makes everyone look like they're wearing a moo-moo from 1985. Pretty. I then drug my ass into the bed and tried to act all tough and smart. Didn't do a very good job.

A doctor comes in and asks the same 216 questions the nurse asked me two minutes ago, so I go over everything again:

I woke up with cramps. Mother Nature’s a tramp. Pretty sure miniature Devils implanted explosive devices in my uterus on my way to work, then detonated said devices while I was driving down the highway. Took a few bottles of Midol. Still IN. EXCRUCIATING. AMOUNTS. OF. FUCKING. PAIN! No, I haven’t ever had anything like this happen before. Yes, the pain is all over my abdomen and lower back. No, it’s not on just one side. Yes, I’m absolutely sure it’s not on just one side. I don’t know how heavy my ‘flow’ is, my thoughts have been elsewhere lately, and I haven’t felt the need to check my stupid flow. Yes, my flow started this morning with the EXCRUCIATING PAIN. Yes, I’m on meds. (Could be anti-psychotics, who knows.) No, I don’t know the names.  Sorry, but the answer is still the same as 30 seconds ago, I don’t know what kind of meds. Call my pharmacy. On the scale of 1-10 the pain is 47. Yes, 47. Yes, I’m sure it’s cramps and not my appendix. Because I haven’t had an appendix since I was 16. Did I mention that Mother Nature is a Fugly Whore?

Finally the doctor leaves and the nurses return to take my vitals.  That is the moment I look down and notice that the small amount of skin that is showing below my moo-moo and above my sexy white tubes socks looks like I haven’t shaved in, oh, about 18 months. SHITBALLS! I could practically braid the shit. Sexy Laura, very sexy.  And I don’t have some dainty thin blonde leg hair people. I have big ol’ black burly lumberjack leg hair. Thank you Dad. So I asked for a blanket, and profusely apologized for my laziness on the razor action. It’s winter, after all. And my husband’s only home on the weekends. Both nurses just think this is hilarious. Laugh it up ladies. Just laugh it up. I did assure them, that while I may let the leg hair ‘go’, I DO NOT take that same approach with my pits, thank you very much. Had to pull out a midge of dignity somewhere.

This is where we got into the 20 minute conversation about how European women do not shave their leg or pit hair and one of the nurses played volleyball against some French ladies……with full-on man pit hair……and proceeded to tell us how horrible they smelled and looked.  Then the other nurse said that it’s all the rage across the pond, that sometimes they even braid their leg hair with beads and ribbons and crap all up in there. What the WHAT?! Serious? Now I’m feeling like I’m going to hurl, and not because of the pain people.  

You learn new things every day.

After that scintillating conversation, another nurse came in with drugs in hand.

HALLELUJAH!!!!

I almost jumped off the cot and kissed the ground she walked on. 

But that would've been weird.

They gave me a fine cocktail of anti-nausea meds and an ass-shot of morphine.

THANK YOU JESUS. THANK YOU LORD. THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!

I was then promptly whisked off to get an ultrasound to check and make sure all my womanly parts were still in working order, and that this, in fact, was most likely just a really, really, reallyreallyreally, really bad period. That was not fun. Not fun at all. Little lady pushing on my poor little stomach with that instrument of torture just to get a picture.....she about got shanked. Twice. But the morphine finally kicked  and I started to feel real GOOOOOooooooooooood.

Once back in my little room, a different doctor came in and asked me, and I’m not shitting you, the same 216 questions the previous nurse and other doctor asked me. Really buddy, really? She typed it in the computer, can’t you read?  Ok, that was a little harsh, but when you repeat yourself so many times the nearby janitor could tell you what my symptoms are, you know it’s a little overkill.  He did however, let me know that everything on the ultrasound was normal, that this was, indeed, a bad cycle, and he’d send me home with some precious goodies to keep the pain at bay. I’ll take 7 shots of morphine please. On the rocks. With a beer chaser. Thank you very much.

Unfortunately, they don’t know why this one was worse than any of my others. It probably has to do with the fact that my last one was over 3 months ago. I'm blessed with abnormal cycle times. Hip hip hooray for stupid woman parts.  All I know is that it was the worse pain of my life. And I get migraines people.  I’m feeling a little better today, but thanks to Dr. Smartypants I have about 8 little golden ‘assistance’ nuggets that I can take if things start to get bad again. 

Which……I just took advantage of an hour ago and now I am floating on air and walking on purple puffy hearts.

Good day huh?

Moral of the story: If you feel like you are being tortured like a VooDoo doll, go straight to the hospital, do not stop at GO, do not collect $100, and request ample amounts of morphine right when you get there. Then all will be right with the world again.