Atomictumor

No, I’m not trying to stir up theological debate.

Just wanted to share with you the latest Lent snack food.

What next - a seasonal Lent aisle in Wal-Mart?

OK, so I have this big ol’ headache, and I was reaching for a thing of Excedrin (well, off brand, whatever) instead of the usual 800 MG of Ibuprofin I enjoy, because I figured my stomach lining needed a break, and got the last two pills, along with the little plastic thing.

I popped the pills, and chucked the little plastic thing, and in the tiny microcosmic flash that my eye saw the writing on the bottom of it, I read ‘How was your day?’.

“whoa…” I said. So I fished through the garbage can to find the happy little plastic thing that was so interested in my day.

After finding it, in the quarter full garbage can, I found that it said “do not eat”.

Well, screw you too, plastic thingy.

So the Missus asks me if I asked off for when I have to get my permanent crown put in my mouth.

I said, “*&@$!, no.”  Then I whacked the desk I’m sitting at for emphasis.

The Missus said, “you know, you don’t need a PDA.” She went on, “you need a pocket sized wife.”

Damn.

Hospitals.

They suck the life out of you.

I don’t have much in the way of resolve, or humor, or any kind of emotion right now. Heres what I emailed to my parents a second ago:

Thanks for the flowers. They came as GAC was being moved from her room into a step down room where they can monitor her because her bp was staying too low. Her pulse is around 150 and bp is bottoming out at 83/33 and topping around 100/40. I had to leave, but they were kind enough to let me stay longer than the allowed visiting hours of 10 - 10:30. Pulse ox levels keep dropping below 90, which makes the machine beep in anger.

Its pure hell. The room is bright as hell, theres all sorts of beeps, theres a senile old man across a certain that had a bedpan bowel movement shortly after her arrival, and the nurses call everybody ‘honey’. The bp armband tightens every 50 minutes, she has to wear an oxygen mask because the nose things were too uncomfortable, and her throat is killing her.

There. I’m too tired to explain all that again.

So, things are worse than before, and they booted me out.

I can count the number of times I’ve slept alone since March of 1996 on one hand. Tonights another finger.

What I haven’t said is what the cause of this is. Well, they’re not sure. Word around the campfire is maybe diverticulitis, which I remembered by saying:

Diver Tick a Lite-us.

Don’t let me be old and die in a hospital.

Don’t let me be old and die in a hospital.

Don’t let me be old and die in a hospital.

Seriously, 50 in a race car is fine with me.

Night. Thanks for staying up with us.

GAC, I love you.