Monday, August 19, 2013

"Maybe It's Just Gas."

It started on Friday afternoon as a stomach ache.  I took a nap and when I woke up, I had a stomach ache.  In a few more hours, I had a stomach ache.  I ate a little Shabbos dinner then we went to lie down - just me and my stomach ache.  The only difference is now I'm crying because I'm in pain.  The girls are freaking out because Daddy is lying on the bed crying.

Roll around 10 PM and everyone is going to bed.  "Wait!  You all just can't leave me."
Kirby gently suggested I call my doctor.  "It's 10 o'clock, I don't want to bug him."
"Charles, you're CRYING."
"Yeah, but..."

Here's the "but".  Guys get a bad rap for not seeking prompt medical treatment.  Here's the thing:
1) I'm looking at an ER visit, at least $100 - $150 that I can think of other things to do with.
2) I haven't been stabbed, I have a freakin' tummy ache.  I'm going to sit in ER for hours; and
3) And this one's important - nothing is worse than seeking medical treatment and finding out it's nothing.  It makes you a jerk.  It means you're stressed.  Or you panicked.  BUT THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU AND YOU WASTED TIME AND MONEY AND ACTED LIKE A BIG GIANT BABY.

I call my doctor, who I like, (who's no longer going to be my doctor) and he answers.  He said, "it could be your appendix.  I wouldn't mess around.  You don't want to be 'that guy.'
"Which guy"
"Wait around until your appendix bursts and then you need an emergency appendectomy guy."

I drive myself to the hospital.  Kirby drove herself to the hospital after her water broke with Orly so she can't say shit to me.  Also it's Shabbos.  Also the kids are in bed.  So I drove alone.

The hospital part was quick and uneventful.  Except for the part where they injected me with Dilaudid.  Whee!  Eventually, the doctor comes back with a diagnosis of diverticulitis and, let me tell you, that is one serious letdown.  Yes, I have a diagnosis and I wasn't faking but that's an old people disease.  Or a girl's disease.  How much cooler would it have been to get my appendix out.  But you get what you get and you don't and you try not to wet.  Or whatever.

I don't know what happens now.  Except I can't eat popcorn.  Bummer.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Her house is still a dream

Amalia got a $25 Target card for her birthday  She's so excited.

"I don't know what to get."
"Just remember that you really can only buy $22.50 worth of stuff."
"What do you mean?"
"You have to pay taxes."
"Oh man.  That's terrible."
"We should write them an angry letter."
"Who do you suggest we send it to?"
"How about that person behind the counter?"

You know the husband chair at women's clothing stores?  They should have one in the Barbie aisle at Target.  I thought I was going to kill myself.