(no subject)
So...
Dea and I went yard saling. We hit 2 yard sales, and then the Catholic Ladies Rummage Sale. After we were leaving, my retarded self fell down the last step and I skinned my knee. I also kinda hurt my ankle (which is okay now) and for whatever reason almost passed out. After about a minute my knee, ankle, and diziness subsided so I lurched over to the passenger side of my car. Dea started the car while I proceeded to pass out. I guess my breathing went really ragged, my pupils were different sizes, and for a few seconds I "stopped" breathing. Dea started to slap me in the face trying to bring me to and called 911. I woke up when she was on the phone with the operator, told them I was okay, and got off the phone. And I really was okay, after I completely came to. I knew where I was, what happened, etc etc.
Dea wasn't convinced I was okay (after she started to blow small puffs of air in my mouth) and called my mother and father. They are all hella worried and force me to seek medical care. We all trooped to the clinic after I had a hissy fit and started crying because I do NOT want to have a huge medical bill. The clinic was closed because of Labor Day Weekend, sooo we all headed to the hospital/ER. There they couldn't find me in their records (even though I was there in '85 for pnemonia) and realized for some stupid reason Dea's and my records were mixed together and was apparently one person.
Anyway, I get there, fill out paperwork, wait in the ER for someone to see me. Nurse takes my blood pressure twice and temperature. I get in and see a PA, Kelley. Kelley decides I need an EKG. Crap. I get one done, get my blood drawn, and get my blood pressure taken a few more times (apparently almost every single time it was a liiiittle high which is no surprise, because I was freaking angry.) My blood work comes back slightly low in some areas, my EKG is fine, and my blood pressure is in a range they're comfortable with. Kelley tries to be chummy with me and say, "Aren't you glad you got this done so you know you're okay?" And I reply, "No. Even if something was wrong, I wouldn't do anything medically about it," and he gets an upset look on his face but says nothing else. Conclusion is that I'm released. Yay. The whole ordeal takes about 2 hours.
Conclusion? I'm okay. Really. Except for the incredibly-huge medical bill that will be awaiting me. That's going to make me cry, big-time.