What's wrong with me

*ahem*
Physically...I mean. *grins*

OK.
Here's my yesterday.
I was tired. Didn't fall asleep until almost two o'clock Friday morning because I'm a big wuss when it comes to any type of pain. I'm thinking Same Day Surgery applies here. Woke up at seven o'clock. Got the chickadees ready for school. Took a shower. Slid on some comfy pants and t-shirt. Could NOT get my belly button ring out. OMG! I jacked with the thing for about half an hour. Didn't know if I was turning it the right way. Geez. Probably loosened it and tightened it back about a dozen times. *eye roll*
Someone picked me up at eight. Drove to the hospital. There by eight-thirty. So I get a pager and wait in the waiting room. For approximately an hour and a half. I did good for the first hour. Then I started to become fidgety. Read almost a whole book sitting there. Finally paged me around ten. So I take a deep breath and make my way back to SDS. I hand my pager to nurse chickie and another one tells me that my bed will be over there by the door.
I explain that using the restroom RIGHT BEFORE I change would be a good idea. She looks at my kind of strange and points me in the right direction. (I went with a friend once to SDS, and she was there forever in her bed waiting. And I was NOT dragging a flipping IV to the bathroom with me. Nay.)
So I come back. She tells me to slip out of my clothes and into the uber attractive gown they have for me. I can leave my panties on. No bra. I explain that even with the supreme effort I put into it...the belly piercing wouldn't budge. She just kind of shrugs and says that's fine.
I take off my clothes and start to put on the lovely gown they left. And let me just say...dressing room lights and mirrors have NOTHING on hospital lights and mirrors. Pfffftttt
So she comes back in, and I can't tie the top strings, so she does. And she has her little kit at the foot of my bed.
You know what I'm talking about. It's like a tacklebox for nurses. And I immediately start to sweat. I ask just where she'll be poking me. Because I don't want it in my hand. She says ok and begins to poke on my right arm (I'll be lying on my right side during the procedure.) Then she says I have some lovely veins. (Go me!)
I ask her when she's going to give me a shot. You know the one. The one that actually NUMBS the area? Apparently they don't do that anymore. I demand an explanation, and she says that they use some type of freeze spray to numb the area. I take a deep breath. OK, I agree. Rock on. It's cold, she warns. Even better, I mumble.
She first tries an area about four inches up from my wrist. OK. She sprays the cold shit, and let me tell you...there was NO numbing. NONE!!! I felt every freaking jab. My toes have a death grip on the foot of the bed, and I'm sweating like I've run ten miles. I'm doing Lamaze breathing, and I've never taken classes. It was bad.
After about a dozen jabs or so with no success...she removes the needle. I sigh. I ask if it's in. No, she says, your vein rolled. I'm like WHAT? Why would it do such a thing? She just kind of laughs and then tells Sid (who has by now joined us) that she needs a 20 gauge.
A 20 gauge? My nerves hit an all-time high. Apparently the large-size needle we were previously working with just wasn't doing the trick. I have to kick my feet out of the covers because I'm in Spazz Zone.
Sid comes back with said needle. I don't make eye contact. How can these people do this to me? I don't know where the poke will be. Hell, I don't WANT to know. Are you kidding? I was poked so many times in the previous area that it was numb.
And then she slides the big ol' SOB into my vein on the other side of my elbow. At least twice. I have two good size bruises.
"Mercy," I mutter. I think I was pleading for this little bastard to have actually gone where it was supposed to. I life my arm off my eyes. You in, I ask. Yes, she says.
Thank God.

Then Sid (rolling hospital bed master), takes me from my little haven and starts wheeling me into the surgery room. OK. Two things. One: I have NEVER seen the inside of one of these rooms. I was always nice and doped up before that happened. Two: I'm slightly freaking out. By God...where are the DRUGS around here?
So we cruise down several hallways and into THE ROOM. Keep in mind...I don't have my glasses on so everybody is pretty much a blur anyway. And then Sid tells me that he has to spray anesthetic on my throat. Smells like bananas but tastes vile. I'm thinking...gee Sid...thanks for your blatant honesty.
He leans closer, and I explain I have a major gag reflex, and I don't want to embarrass myself. The nurse explains that they've seen it all, and I have nothing to worry about. Just swallow the nastiness as soon as it's sprayed.
Out came the tongue dispenser. Then he sprayed.
Holy shit. The boy didn't lie. It tasted vile. But after gagging for a second, I quickly swallowed. Then came another spritz. (By this time, wasn't so bad.) Then a minute later...the last spritz. They pat my shoulder and told me I did good. *smile* It's always best to make nice with those that control the drug dosage.
So Dr. M strolls in. Changes the music. Asks me how I am. And then I hear Eileen (an angel, I'm telling you) explain that she's going to start the sleepy medicine (demerol). I say something about them being good people, and I'm out.
Next thing...I remember waking up. Everything fuzzy (still didn't have the glasses on). My sister is there. I think we talked. Um...probably. Then Dr. M comes in. I ask what the problem is. Apparently I have a LARGE ulcer. Not ulcer muy pequena. Nope. Not me. I have the grande sucker.
So he puts me on Nexium and says he wants to see my in two weeks. Amber helps me find my clothes and my eyes, and I dress.
I don't really remember a lot of what happens next. I was still in my happy place. I wasn't supposed to drink anything until 12:15, but Amber (wonderful sister that she is) took me to Sonic where I was blessed with a Rt. 44 Diet Coke...easy on the ice. The doctor warned her that I may have problems keeping stuff down, but I took a long swallow anyway.
I remember Amber glancing over worriedly (I AM in her car) and asks if I'm all right.
"Goooooooooooooood," I remember saying. Yeah. Just like that. With a big ol' goofy grin on my face.
Then she takes me home. Most of this is just a blur, too. Got home about twelve-thirty and passed out. Woke up at six that evening.
So there ya have it.
Me=duodenal ulcer. A granddaddy by all accounts.
Go. Figure.
Grins*