A short recipe for disaster

Yes, I did spend Christmas in the hospital; no, it didn't suck that much. I feel much, much better now than I did, and although we never determined specifically what was wrong, the antibiotic seems to have fixed everything up.

The percocet is for pain; apparently I strained something. Today's round of poking produced what's called "pinpoint pain." I shreiked, but I'm glad to say it's not dangerous enough that they wanted to keep me another day. (I was really afraid to report the latest pain, since Dr. Jonsson had already said I could go home the next day when it started.)

Of course, once I reported that percocet makes me loopy, I was told not to take it any more. I had to say something, though; I sat there and didn't answer my phone because I didn't recognize it as mine, even as it was ringing right next to my head.

On the other hand, I don't think Dr. J. had slept in three days, so he was a little loopy as well. He was singing and telling jokes and doing his best to make me laugh. I don't know whether he was funny or not--it could easily have been the drugs--but I did laugh quite a bit.

It remains to be seen who was the loopier, I just know that I wasn't writing prescriptions or transplanting organs into people's bodies. Now, more sleep for me, and I hope for the transplant folks who've been on call out at Fairfax Hospital at least the last three days. They deserve it. We all do.

before - after