This one, it has profanity. Just a little bit, but it is key to the plot, so if you are not offended by profanity, then click on ahead.
Well, last night I was pouting over not having a tea this year, so I decided to take a shower and cough a little. I pulled on my jammies, because there is no better feeling than fresh PJ's on a damp body. That was nice, and I figured I felt like having some food. Gary, the Best Husband Ever (see below) heated up some Chicken Pot Pie, and even though I followed that up with some more productive coughing, I still felt sad for having canceled tea. I wanted Party Food. Not tea party food, but classic party food, which in my world is Rye Bread with Dill Dip.
Best Husband Ever pulled on some outdoor clothing and started to leave to get me Rye Bread/ Dill Dip at the grocery, while I coughed productively. Suddenly, blinding pain. I would have yelled for Gary, but I couldn't breathe, so I started slapping the walls and wheezing instead. For some reason I left the guest room / sick room bed and crawled across the hall to our bed, where Gary found me.
He started right into his role as Best Husband Ever.
"Aww, honey, poor sick baby --"
"HOSPITAL!" I gasped.
"What? You mean - the Emergency room? Just calm down -"
"NOW!" I was running out of time, and I didn't have much air left.
"-Tell me what's wrong -"
Clearly he didn't understand. I had no other option. I grabbed his hand.
"MOTHERFUCKER." I wheezed pointedly.
"Okay, okay, let's put some clothes on you first."
"MOTH. ER. FUCK. ER."
Then he started trying to pull clothes on over my pajamas.
"FUCK CLOTHES," I said with my dying breath.
"You can not go to the ER in your pajamas!" Then he left the room for some reason and I pulled on a sweatshirt and prayed he wouldn't notice I wasn't wearing a bra, because then I would have had to kill him.
At the ER, we discovered many things:
1. Serious pain will really clear up a cough. I only coughed three times during the three hour wait. It also helps if you breathe as little as one of those monks who are able to fake their own deaths.
2. In response to my first question of the nurse, there is no ER dress code.
3. Gary does not know that I have a signed (but admittedly not notarized) living will.
4. Teenage prostitutes get really pissy if they have to wait three hours and will call their pimp.
5. Saying "Eight" as soon as the nurse gets as far as "On a scale of - " gets you Percocet, no questions asked.
6. Percocet, and I have this from the doctor, is an excellent cough suppressant. Robotussin doesn't do anything.
7. Even though I have been listening to my lungs gurgle symphonies for the past seven days, my lungs are perfectly clear.
8. Even though I really expected to hear I'd coughed a rib apart and a fragment had collapsed my lungs, there's no visible damage on the x-rays and the doctor didn't feel anything. Then he gave me a neck rub, I don't know why. Then he gave me a prescription for more Percocet.
SO that was my night, except for the fact that Gary was so worried I would never cough again he had them give me one of those breath measurers so he can be assured I am not getting pneumonia. Plus, he also got to buy me a humidifier, and he's been wanting one of those forever.
Oh, and we also got Rye Bread and Dill Dip on the way home. See? A bruised chest wall and some profanity gets you all kinds of goodies.