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I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly....
Aug. 5th, 2004 01:13 pmI'm a good girl. I listen to my friends. I try to take care of myself, even though I know I'm not the best at it. So when nearly everyone I know started pestering me to go to a doctor to take care of the muscle strain in my neck and shoulders, I did.
The doctor poked and pushed and diagnosed me with some fairly serious muscle problems, and put me on a regimen of physical therapy, muscle relaxants, and horse-choking doses of ibuprofen, assuring me that as long as I took them with food I should be fine.
Did I mention that I'm not the best at taking care of myself? And that I'm especially not good at the eating thing, especially when I'm stressed and my body image comes tap-dancing up to kick me in the face? And that nearly 2000 mg of ibuprofen a day is apparently too much for my delicate, frail system under the best of circumstances?
The practical upshot of this is that I spent most of last night in the emergency room, after my sweetheart decided that being in too much pain to walk unassisted, sit up, or breathe deeply was a significant problem and that my suggestion of 'wait and see if it goes away in a day' was not quite proactive enough.
I hate hospitals. I hate going to the doctor. This experience did nothing to change my opinion. Apparently, the treatment for borderline gastric ulceration is being forced to drink a large cupful of green slime that looks like something that might be left over after a particularly diseased bunch of parsley vomited all over the place and tastes like peppermint pondscum.
It at least calmed things down to a point where I could walk, so I suppose it isn't all bad, and they've sent me home with a prescription for yet more drugs.
So. I now have to take drugs to handle the side effects of the drugs that I was prescribed to handle the tension that was caused by the job that I need to keep in order to pay for my health insurance that pays for the drugs.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly...
The doctor poked and pushed and diagnosed me with some fairly serious muscle problems, and put me on a regimen of physical therapy, muscle relaxants, and horse-choking doses of ibuprofen, assuring me that as long as I took them with food I should be fine.
Did I mention that I'm not the best at taking care of myself? And that I'm especially not good at the eating thing, especially when I'm stressed and my body image comes tap-dancing up to kick me in the face? And that nearly 2000 mg of ibuprofen a day is apparently too much for my delicate, frail system under the best of circumstances?
The practical upshot of this is that I spent most of last night in the emergency room, after my sweetheart decided that being in too much pain to walk unassisted, sit up, or breathe deeply was a significant problem and that my suggestion of 'wait and see if it goes away in a day' was not quite proactive enough.
I hate hospitals. I hate going to the doctor. This experience did nothing to change my opinion. Apparently, the treatment for borderline gastric ulceration is being forced to drink a large cupful of green slime that looks like something that might be left over after a particularly diseased bunch of parsley vomited all over the place and tastes like peppermint pondscum.
It at least calmed things down to a point where I could walk, so I suppose it isn't all bad, and they've sent me home with a prescription for yet more drugs.
So. I now have to take drugs to handle the side effects of the drugs that I was prescribed to handle the tension that was caused by the job that I need to keep in order to pay for my health insurance that pays for the drugs.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly...
