Bowled Over
Thirster Juices are nutritious and delicious.
Free switchblade straw with every box!
I do not know whether to think that the makers of my apple juice are ex-convicts or vampires. While a pointy clear tip on the straw included is ingenious for people in the hospital, with one arm psychologically pinned down by an IV, it looks like you could fatally stab or shank someone in the throat with it. While I usually do not have such morbid thoughts, a stomach ache usually does not wake me up at 5AM either, torturing me like the nurse wrestling with a forearm vein that pales in size to the one that lies near my elbow. In either case, I knew the pain would return later, hopefully not as bad the next time around.
Like my arm, the only way to get rid of the stomach pain was to get rid of its foreign contents. Unfortunately, water was widely rejected no different than the idea of the Seahawks winning the Super Bowl. Urgent care centers did not open for another few hours, so I thought it would be worth the extra money from my medical flexible spending account to hit the ER in an effort to convince my stomach to at least give a green card to water. If I waited much longer, I was afraid that deportation would ensue, bringing me closer to dehydration. After nearly two hours of waiting, most of it spent in an odd pain and nervousness-induced ADHD state where I had a hard time sitting still if I was not reading a magazine in the lobby.
By the time I got into an examination room, I was feeling a little better, but only because my stomach had perhaps accepted that it was alone, just like I will be come Valentines Day. With blood drawn and an IV stuck into me, my left hand was transported to a place up North over a thousand miles away, as I had to bundle it up due to the unusually cold sensation that came over it. I felt hopeless, being at the mercy of my lab work and only having mobility in one arm. I distracted myself from that rare feeling by grabbing a pen out of my backpack and a hospital privacy practices pamphlet with a blank side, then writing what the side of my juice box said along with what I thought should be added. Dwelling on the words and everything that lead to me cautiously sipping from it kept me entertained until my IV was sucked dry. In the end, I was given five pieces of paper related to the very thing that caused me to be there, two of which I would later be able to redeem for narcotics unlike any other I have ever taken. It is the least they could do for a little something called gastroenteritis that I have endured and am recovering from. Aside from the unkempt hair, two holes in my arm, and an ER bracelet, only one of which was clearly visible to others, people who saw me outside the hospital may have guessed that my day had just begun. Oh how wrong they are.
Free switchblade straw with every box!
I do not know whether to think that the makers of my apple juice are ex-convicts or vampires. While a pointy clear tip on the straw included is ingenious for people in the hospital, with one arm psychologically pinned down by an IV, it looks like you could fatally stab or shank someone in the throat with it. While I usually do not have such morbid thoughts, a stomach ache usually does not wake me up at 5AM either, torturing me like the nurse wrestling with a forearm vein that pales in size to the one that lies near my elbow. In either case, I knew the pain would return later, hopefully not as bad the next time around.
Like my arm, the only way to get rid of the stomach pain was to get rid of its foreign contents. Unfortunately, water was widely rejected no different than the idea of the Seahawks winning the Super Bowl. Urgent care centers did not open for another few hours, so I thought it would be worth the extra money from my medical flexible spending account to hit the ER in an effort to convince my stomach to at least give a green card to water. If I waited much longer, I was afraid that deportation would ensue, bringing me closer to dehydration. After nearly two hours of waiting, most of it spent in an odd pain and nervousness-induced ADHD state where I had a hard time sitting still if I was not reading a magazine in the lobby.
By the time I got into an examination room, I was feeling a little better, but only because my stomach had perhaps accepted that it was alone, just like I will be come Valentines Day. With blood drawn and an IV stuck into me, my left hand was transported to a place up North over a thousand miles away, as I had to bundle it up due to the unusually cold sensation that came over it. I felt hopeless, being at the mercy of my lab work and only having mobility in one arm. I distracted myself from that rare feeling by grabbing a pen out of my backpack and a hospital privacy practices pamphlet with a blank side, then writing what the side of my juice box said along with what I thought should be added. Dwelling on the words and everything that lead to me cautiously sipping from it kept me entertained until my IV was sucked dry. In the end, I was given five pieces of paper related to the very thing that caused me to be there, two of which I would later be able to redeem for narcotics unlike any other I have ever taken. It is the least they could do for a little something called gastroenteritis that I have endured and am recovering from. Aside from the unkempt hair, two holes in my arm, and an ER bracelet, only one of which was clearly visible to others, people who saw me outside the hospital may have guessed that my day had just begun. Oh how wrong they are.