Jul 29, 2008
of doctors who don't do their job (s). Now, I live in a small town about fifty minutes from Huntsville and an hour and fifteen minutes from Birmingham. I have been in the hospital no less than 20 times since October 2007, AND I have had big time stomach issues for the past several months that I think are due to either a valve that doesn't close all the way or chronic pancreatitis. That's what I think. So they need to put me into th hosp and try to see what the deal is (endoscopy is normal save for gastritis). So they let me go last week after only a 24 hour admit because the endoscopy was normal except that this has HELPED NOTHING.
more later, too tired to finish
k. back now since I am still too ill to sleep. So this huge tool of a guy finally convinces the nurse on call (not like he could BOTHER calling himslf mind you) that I will have to get admitted though tue ER IF they tink its wuarr\s\\\\\zanted - not sure which lexicon I got those last couple words from, not the English one anyway. Just goes to show you how miserable I am. Then I do this mean thing, true though it may be, where I yell at my best friend Val, who HAS been the best friend a girl could EVER ask for while going through hepc, and I ***** at her for obviously bringing home a stomach virus from the plant because it turns out that yes, she does have another stomach virus. Still though. I was an utter ***** about it.
Whatever happened to the nice Sydney you all knew during tx? I had no blood and hence no energy to be mean and type A then, that's what.
So today everyone has been calling me. EVERYONE. If I needed people to call they wouldn't call like this. They want to know, where my chicken specs are (given ad nauseum to everyone last year in color coded folders). They want to know how I feel (ok until you woke me up and reminded me that I needed to vomit again), they want to know, oh I don't know --- I'm being melodramatic. The most touching though is that my mom called telling me to go the ER. I went back to sleep; Told her I'd go later if it got bad again (me not being the martyr type). Then Val, my best friend called and woke me up 30 minutes later saying, Your mom REALLY wants you to go to the ER. To which I repeated the aforementioned verbiage about going if it gets worse. I left out the part about possibly checking in to the insane asylum under an assumed name if maybe that will garner me some sleep because clearly, this isn't working.