Today was probably the second worst day in my life.
On the way home from work, I stopped by a friend’s house to drop off some leftover decorating stuff that ExRoomie didn’t want, and neither did I. She wasn’t awake yet, so I left it near her back door. Her two ankle biter puppies followed me up the driveway when I left. I figured they would turn around and go back when I got to the road, so I didn’t give them any thought beyond making sure I didn’t run over them.
An hour later, she emailed me. One was missing. She walked up and down the road. She didn’t see it laying in the ditch or on the road, and it didn’t respond to her calls. We assume someone picked it up. Her spawn is heartbroken. I guess I should’ve taken them back down the driveway and tossed them inside the house or something.
My stomach had been cramping some all night, but I didn’t give it much thought until I got home. And it siezed up to the point that I was praying for death. I spent hours in the most excruciating pain that I have ever experienced, covered in sweat, tears, and God knows what else, alternately dry heaving my guts out and trying to get some movement through the usual exit.
Several times, I’d decided that a trip to the local Emergency Department was the correct course of action. But I couldn’t have safely driven the ten miles had my life depended on it. And I couldn’t speak coherently enough to summon EMS.
Probably five hours later, after two enemas, several failed attempts at various oral medications, and about fifteen minutes of semi-productive heaving, the pain subsided enough for the exhaustion to take over. I slept the remaining two hours before time to go to work.
I awoke extremely weak, and although the cramping was still making its presence felt, at least I could stand upright. I decided to try to work my shift, praying that it’s an easy one. And here I am.