Okay, I said a real entry would be coming.
- Last week was reading week! Ostry came to visit from Ottawa.
- I didn't wind up going anywhere except for Montreal on Thursday.
- I spent most of reading week drinking and smoking with friends, though I had a sore throat for much of it.
- I was bleeding internally.
But, on Thursday, things started to go badly. The day was off to a rotten start with the drive to Montreal. My throat was so sore that it hurt to swallow anything at all. Very cold drinks helped a lot. Mike and I wound up drinking beer together and talking about the old days.
We drove around Montreal some, visited the casino there, had some smoked meat (no poutine this time), and finished up the day at an amazing irish dive bar called Cock n' Bull, on the grittier end of Sainte-Catherine. They're so friendly, and they serve chinese food from the back of the pub. I had General Tao's Chicken, and Mike had some fried rice. I should have had fried rice, too, it hurt so much to swallow. ANYWAYS.
We drive back to Ottawa around 8 or 9, and we get there at about 10pm. 11pm, I'm outside with my pipe. I spit, and realize there's blood in my mouth. I step back inside immediately, and walk into the washroom. My parents are both downstairs now, because they want me to move the car into the garage from outside.
I retch, and thick mucousy clots of blood go into the bathroom sink. My parents smell the pot on me, and start haranguing me about it. When they notice me throwing up blood into my sink, their next words are literally "That's what you get.". "If you're still throwing up blood in the morning, I'll think about taking you to the walk-in clinic."
Anyways, long story short I have a half shot of rum to disinfect whatever cut I have, and sit back and wait for it to stop bleeding. (that hurt like hell, by the way)
By 2am, it still hadn't stopped. I drive myself to the hospital, stopping twice to throw up clots of blood onto the road.
I am only freaking out a little at this point, and it's 4am. still coughing and spitting and retching, and the doctor walks me into the emergency room, where I lay down. They give me a suction tube to spit into.
I spent seven hours in the hospital - five of which I spent in quarantine, just in case this was something contagious.
It wasn't contagious, though. It was a cut on the tonsil area of my throat that was draining into my esophagus and trachea. The mucus from my tonsils caused the blood to clot up. At about 8:30am, the Ear-Nose-Throat doctors got in (finally) and after a moment of peering into the back of my throat with a light and a tongue depressor, they got out their sticks of silver nitrate and burnt the shit out of it, stopping the bleeding.
Now I can't eat solid food for a couple of days (tomorrow is the last day of that, thank god) and I can't drink alcohol for a month. I have an appointment with the doctor for a followup sometime next week.
Yesterday, and Today, I spent much of the day in bed resting. I've had a couple of milkshakes, but I'm constantly hungry and I can't eat anything much. Oh well. I can go without food. Tea is wonderful.
My father steals all my cigarettes from me, and grinds them up into the garbage. My mother steals the rest of my pot and does something similar I'm sure. That's almost $25, right there, for the cigarettes, and $30 for the pot.
I am going through a thing you guys. My dad feels betrayed by me since he took out a loan for my tuition (that I'm paying back) and I'm doing not very well. He attributes this entirely to the pot, of course, and points out how much better than me my brother is - with his three tuitions, championship competitive rowing, going to the canada games in PEI in the summer, and doing well in his classes.
I wonder whether or not he'd even believe that Russ smokes more pot than I do.