From being an amazing day, things took a terrible turn, ohh, around four aye em.
Angie had just gone off to sleep, and as for myself? I was thinking that would also be a most excellent idea. However, that small stitch I had in my side? The pain where it felt like I pulled something? It decided it was no longer willing to be a dull pain, instead it was going to be a sharp, ever present, reminder that I was anything but fine.
Step one? I went to the shower. When I pulled my back way back in Europe, I do believe, I went to the shower and stood under the painfully hot water. The idea? It would relax whatever muscle was being feisty and let me get on with that I was doing. So there I was, in the shower, burning hot water on my side, and for a moment? I forgot the pain. It's not that it was gone, as much as the water was far more distracting at that temperature.
Then as I stepped out of the shower, and was met with the rush of cold air that winter is known for, everything came flooding back. Yes. This pain – it was not a pulled muscle. Or if it was, not one to be so easily ignored. I tried to lie down – there was no way that was happening. I tried to sit up, just as bad. I contorted myself in all sorts of weird positions trying to find some sort of comfortable resting place. And there was none. There was no resting place. There was to be no rest.
Back to the shower. At this moment I felt like everything inside of me was trying to destroy me. It was like terrible food poisoning. Maybe it was ecoli? But at the time I wasn't thinking this rationally, all I was thinking was – my god! ow! what the hell! i want to sleep! and other such related thoughts strewn around in semi-random order.
There may have been a purging of everything in me, but that was not helping. I was not getting better. I was not feeling better. As six o'clock rolled around, I attempted to access the internet. This was not the easiest task, as focusing on anything while, a.) exhausted, and b.) in pain (trying to spend time under hot water that was rapidly becoming cold) did not make this easy.
Thirty minutes of failed attempts, and I knocked on Angie's door – a pathetic plea for painkillers. They did not work. Not right away, anyway.
Coming out to see if I was dying, she hooked up to the interwebs (of course) and started checking symptoms on the online. I recall her mentioning things like Pancreatis, or gall whatevers. I took this in, while the hands still marched around the clock, very lightly as my world started to fade out. When I woke up thirty minutes had passed. The pain in my side was lessened to the point that it didn't control my actions. But it was still strongly there.
I could try to lie on the floor, against the heating unit, turned up to the point where normal people would sweat. And then I was asleep – the painkillers having taken partial effect. Good for them.
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