here is my day in a nutshell:
FUCK EVERYTHING.
Okay, most of the day hadn't been going so bad. I got up nice and late, procrastinated for a while, attempted to work on my actual novel for NaNoWriMo, gave up and wrote almost the entirety of the next chapter of His Last Request instead. So, yeah, the world's pretty good for a little while, despite the fact that I've been cramping and my boobs have been insanely sore for the past three days, but I haven't gotten my period. What the fuck ever.
Unfortunately, at the end of all this? My mom broke the bathtub. And by "broke the bathtub", I mean that it got clogged somewhere along the line, except everything was backing up into the tub so apparently a different area was clogged? I don't even know. But my mom, being utterly useless, called my dad (who told her to call the landlord because, uh, he's not any help from work), and then the landlord came down and poured some Drano-type stuff in the tub and left, assuming that would work. (Of course we know it didn't.) So eventually my dad came home, and he has to make all kinds of phone calls to get someone to actually take care of the bathtub, and then to call a doctor. To ask if he should go to the hospital because he has this really bad pain in his leg and it's started to move.
Yeah, my dad's kind of a genius sometimes.
SO pretty much he's told "GO TO COOPER RIGHT NOW AND GET AN ULTRASOUND TO LOOK FOR A BLOOD CLOT YOU STUPID SHIT" only not in so many words, and probably a lot nicer. So, yeah, I get to take my dad to the hospital while my mom attempts to take care of everything going on with the bathtub (bitching the entire time about how hard her life is and omg she didn't get to have a shower and stop complaining about your leg you don't know what I had to go through today djf;asjivb;nfa).
So we get to the hospital and, guess what? There's no parking spaces outside the ER because whatever fucktard designed the place decided twelve parking spots was plenty IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING CAMDEN. And this is a sore point, because this means I had to end up using the parking garage. Joy. So my dad goes inside, I go into the parking garage, and then I have to find out how the hell I get back to the ER (I had to go down in the main hospital, walk across it, go BACK outside, and go into the door to the ER). Eventually I find my way there, and my dad's still hanging out in the waiting room waiting for them to call him in. I don't know how many people went in before I got there, but after I got there there was at least another five before him. Because, yeah, I guess possible blood clots aren't considered life-threatening problems any more? I don't know. But we go in, and we end up hanging around in the fucking hallway for like an hour waiting for a doctor. Never get one, but we do eventually get our own room, so we hang out in there for a while longer. Eventually, a doctor comes in and does whatever (making my dad change into a hospital gown) and letting us know that pretty much he just has to have an ultrasound done, but do you want something for pain in the meantime? So he gets some oxycodone, and then we hang out for a while longer...and another doctor comes in. What the crap. So my dad has to go through the whole spiel again, and then the doctor leaves. A book later, my dad and I are bored shitless, I'm pretty sure the Phillies were losing their game, and we're still waiting to get to the ultrasound place. Eventually, the second doctor comes back (to see the Phillies) and my dad asks him what's going on--turns out that the people who do ultrasounds? Aren't actually at the hospital. So there is not a single person in the hospital capable of doing this, which means we have to wait for them to get a hold of somebody, and then wait for that person to get to the hospital, and then FINALLY we can get the ultrasound. Great. So we wait forever longer until I'm almost done another book, and finally somebody shows up. Maybe like twenty minutes later, my dad's wheeled back in and we're waiting for the results. Another ten/fifteen minutes: no blood clot! You can go home!
When my dad asks what's wrong with his leg, the doctor says: "Well it could have been something something from your catherization something something or it might be a blood clot forming that's too small for us to see yet." which is doctorese for "Yeah, we have no fucking clue, but you can go home now because you're probably not going to die!"
So by the end of all this? It's been six fucking hours. Yes. We were at the ER for six hours, five and a half of them just waiting to get anything done. It's a good fucking thing my dad didn't actually have a blood clot, because you know what? HE COULD HAVE DIED IN THOSE SIX HOURS. We do all know this, right? My dad had six hours for the blood clot to get to his heart or something and, you know, give him a fucking heart attack or what the hell ever and, oh yeah, did we mention that his leg is still in pain because they don't know what's wrong with it? And apparently it's kind of numb? And let's not forget that I had to pay for parking because there wasn't enough space for me to park in the ER. That's six hours of parking, ladies and gentlemen. Six hours of the pain in my dad's leg cheerfully jumping around. Two books that I didn't actually want to have finished reading yet. And, just because, let's also mention that that was six hours of perfectly good writing time that I didn't get to use, so guess who's already set up to fail WriMo again?
So, yeah, pretty much I'm in a goddamn terrible mood, my ass hurts from sitting around waiting six hours, my back hurts from not having a back to the rolling chair I was sitting on, and pretty much I'm going the hell to bed and fuck everything.
Okay, most of the day hadn't been going so bad. I got up nice and late, procrastinated for a while, attempted to work on my actual novel for NaNoWriMo, gave up and wrote almost the entirety of the next chapter of His Last Request instead. So, yeah, the world's pretty good for a little while, despite the fact that I've been cramping and my boobs have been insanely sore for the past three days, but I haven't gotten my period. What the fuck ever.
Unfortunately, at the end of all this? My mom broke the bathtub. And by "broke the bathtub", I mean that it got clogged somewhere along the line, except everything was backing up into the tub so apparently a different area was clogged? I don't even know. But my mom, being utterly useless, called my dad (who told her to call the landlord because, uh, he's not any help from work), and then the landlord came down and poured some Drano-type stuff in the tub and left, assuming that would work. (Of course we know it didn't.) So eventually my dad came home, and he has to make all kinds of phone calls to get someone to actually take care of the bathtub, and then to call a doctor. To ask if he should go to the hospital because he has this really bad pain in his leg and it's started to move.
Yeah, my dad's kind of a genius sometimes.
SO pretty much he's told "GO TO COOPER RIGHT NOW AND GET AN ULTRASOUND TO LOOK FOR A BLOOD CLOT YOU STUPID SHIT" only not in so many words, and probably a lot nicer. So, yeah, I get to take my dad to the hospital while my mom attempts to take care of everything going on with the bathtub (bitching the entire time about how hard her life is and omg she didn't get to have a shower and stop complaining about your leg you don't know what I had to go through today djf;asjivb;nfa).
So we get to the hospital and, guess what? There's no parking spaces outside the ER because whatever fucktard designed the place decided twelve parking spots was plenty IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING CAMDEN. And this is a sore point, because this means I had to end up using the parking garage. Joy. So my dad goes inside, I go into the parking garage, and then I have to find out how the hell I get back to the ER (I had to go down in the main hospital, walk across it, go BACK outside, and go into the door to the ER). Eventually I find my way there, and my dad's still hanging out in the waiting room waiting for them to call him in. I don't know how many people went in before I got there, but after I got there there was at least another five before him. Because, yeah, I guess possible blood clots aren't considered life-threatening problems any more? I don't know. But we go in, and we end up hanging around in the fucking hallway for like an hour waiting for a doctor. Never get one, but we do eventually get our own room, so we hang out in there for a while longer. Eventually, a doctor comes in and does whatever (making my dad change into a hospital gown) and letting us know that pretty much he just has to have an ultrasound done, but do you want something for pain in the meantime? So he gets some oxycodone, and then we hang out for a while longer...and another doctor comes in. What the crap. So my dad has to go through the whole spiel again, and then the doctor leaves. A book later, my dad and I are bored shitless, I'm pretty sure the Phillies were losing their game, and we're still waiting to get to the ultrasound place. Eventually, the second doctor comes back (to see the Phillies) and my dad asks him what's going on--turns out that the people who do ultrasounds? Aren't actually at the hospital. So there is not a single person in the hospital capable of doing this, which means we have to wait for them to get a hold of somebody, and then wait for that person to get to the hospital, and then FINALLY we can get the ultrasound. Great. So we wait forever longer until I'm almost done another book, and finally somebody shows up. Maybe like twenty minutes later, my dad's wheeled back in and we're waiting for the results. Another ten/fifteen minutes: no blood clot! You can go home!
When my dad asks what's wrong with his leg, the doctor says: "Well it could have been something something from your catherization something something or it might be a blood clot forming that's too small for us to see yet." which is doctorese for "Yeah, we have no fucking clue, but you can go home now because you're probably not going to die!"
So by the end of all this? It's been six fucking hours. Yes. We were at the ER for six hours, five and a half of them just waiting to get anything done. It's a good fucking thing my dad didn't actually have a blood clot, because you know what? HE COULD HAVE DIED IN THOSE SIX HOURS. We do all know this, right? My dad had six hours for the blood clot to get to his heart or something and, you know, give him a fucking heart attack or what the hell ever and, oh yeah, did we mention that his leg is still in pain because they don't know what's wrong with it? And apparently it's kind of numb? And let's not forget that I had to pay for parking because there wasn't enough space for me to park in the ER. That's six hours of parking, ladies and gentlemen. Six hours of the pain in my dad's leg cheerfully jumping around. Two books that I didn't actually want to have finished reading yet. And, just because, let's also mention that that was six hours of perfectly good writing time that I didn't get to use, so guess who's already set up to fail WriMo again?
So, yeah, pretty much I'm in a goddamn terrible mood, my ass hurts from sitting around waiting six hours, my back hurts from not having a back to the rolling chair I was sitting on, and pretty much I'm going the hell to bed and fuck everything.