General Hospital

You might think that there's nothing funny about going to the ER in an ambulance in a semi-conscious state. Well, you might be right.
I actually called the ambulance myself, barely able to form words but also not able to second guess myself either, as I was in great pain. By the time the paramedics arrived I was no longer able to talk, although I could hear most of what was going on. My daughter answered all the questions including "Is your mom kind of over dramatic?", to which I took great offense, even in my reduced mental state, as it takes a talented hypochondriac indeed to turn green, clammy, nonresponsive and lower one's bloodpressure into the forties. Things were a blur but somehow a team of mules got me on to the guerney and into the ambulance. The only coherent thing I said was to ask where my daughter was; she was riding in the ambulance with the driver. I was unaware until much later in the day that I had become a human pin cushion. Both my hands had tubes, my arm also, my nose had the oxygen tubes like on tv; it was the kind of drama I would have appreciated had I not been practically unconscious. I had been so hot, but when we got to the hospital I was so cold, a woman came to take my blood but couldn't find a vein because I was so cold my blood was trying to stay deep and stay warm.
So my daughter was trying to reach my son, to tell him what's going on and have him come to the hospital. At some point he did in fact show up, I remember him crying and hugging me as i lay in a pool of my own vomit on the hospital bed. I think the first dose of morphine was starting to kick in by then. What the hell? I've never been so sick, it was ridiculous. The most ridiculous part of the whole experience was the hospital staff deciding I was actually fine and I should go home. The second dose of morphine had burned horribly as it went in through my hand but at least I could talk; a nurse came in and said "Oh you're still here?" , to which I replied
"I can't sit up by myself" she said,
"I'll get you a wheelchair, we need the room" and then I was out, done with my high drama hospital experience. My son drove me home and went to get my perscription vicodin. My daughter and I made him buy maxi pads for us, just because we could. When I found out he had, in fact, been home the entire time and had slept through the fire department, ambulance, paramedics, guerney etc, I certainly did not feel bad about his Lady Products Trauma.