Ok this shit is getting old in a super fast way.
As most of you know on the 10th I drove myself to the E.R. like a big twatwaffle because I was having a heart attack. I never had a heart attack before and since I wasn't in a junk yard, and didn't have chest pains to be fair I wasn't 100% sure it was indeed a heart attack.
The Military in true fashion had 1 dude that finished the last couple weeks of school and he was playing golf or having an affair or whatever so they sent me to the civilian equivalent to a Gold fish Doctor where they cathed my heart on my daughter's 22nd birthday. I was awake for the beginning of the heart cath and I don't really recommend that for anyone except maybe a couple of those hyena bitches from "The View",
Click here and read - A nut in the Hand
anyway I wrote about it here, because I grabbed the Italian GoldFish Doctor by the nutsack.. He prescribed a medicine and we pretty much left thinking I had dodge another bullet and was rocking the heart with the kick butt sexy brain and it was all just gravy. Went to daughters grad, worked overtime trying to make up some funds, because MENSA man can't balance a budget any more than he can shave hair off a moldy dish he leaves laying in the sink for 3 days. Then went and watched the prince rock his county baseball tournament. Each day I got more and more tired. The fatigue was kicking my butt. But my days needed to be longer, going from 17- 19 to 21 hours. I had to catch up, I was becoming slower so my days had to become longer. I was tearing it up like a herd of turtles.
Ok actually I couldn't take more than 10 steps without panting like a freaking fat hog who just ran a 10 k with a hoho on a stick in front of her face. I saw my PCM ( which means Primary Care Physician even when they aren't always physicians, and most of the time they don't really care. I expressed to her like 15 times that I was extremely exhausted and it was getting worse, and I was worried. But my nearly a Doctor if she went to school for 10 more years and was over 17 years old said that's what happens with stress ( wtf you turd?) so I guess I am ok right? The only stress I have is the inability to communicate with you jackholes.
Long story short between they screwed up meds, and me trying to catch up from the time out from the heart attack ( which I called an event last week so as to play it down) and the "almost nearly a doctor" blowing me off, I almost nearly ate dirt in a permanent fashion this past weekend.
Thankfully the droid was home. I took a nap, ( rarely happens) on Saturday because I am in a state of constant exhaustion. I woke up with back pain. ONLY. However, since I have been in a state of permanent exhaustion he pulled the 'FUCK THIS" card, and took me to the Emergency room.
They scooted me straight back to the E.R. where my first labs and EKG came back awesome but they admitted me because it can take up to 12 hours for the Troponin ( or whatever enzime shows in your blood that you had the heart attack) to show up. Mind you neither time did I have chest pains.
Click here So you don't die, read this
almost PSA by me This time I didn't even have the jaw pain or sweats, or shakies, or dizzies, or nothing. But the Droid was here, and he doesn't feel like wearing a tie to a funeral or cooking for the prince until he's 18 if I die so he is protecting his investment so he made me go.
They admitted me, and requested my records from the other civilian/ Goldfish hospital/doctor/popped nut Italian hottie guy.
Come to find out, it I win the bet against the Droid. I do have a freak heart. So nee nur. Unfortunately it's nearly as jacked up as my brain, which is as whiggidy whack as my attitude. I have super small aterieries, and some type of spasm issue which I guess makes me a spaz.
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Because I am actually a freaking spaz.
The medicine they gave me the Goldfish Dr messed up and shouldn't have given me because I have low BP and low heart rate and dude gave me stuff to lower it. That will teach me to pop a Dr's nut YO. Yeah he may have been sitting on frozen peas but I kept eating tile flooring and stuff. Then the military Docs kept blowing me off, you know cause, I don't look or act sick. Apparently the hospital is based on theatrical abilities not medical issues.
So I spent my weekend in the Military hospital finding out the Goldfish people knew my heart was 47 levels of jacked up, yet they did nothing other than give me a medicine that could have killed me. The PCM ( nearly almost a real doctor who is looking forward to being able to vote next year and drink in a couple years) blew me and my complaints off even though she was handed the medicine.
My care is now handed over to a team of actual Dr's in Internal Medicine and Genetics. My bloodwork was drawn every 2 hours, I am on 5 new medicines which brings my daily total to 23. This time I am actually going to listen and be on bed rest. Because in the grand scheme of things I would rather be dead broke then just dead. I have been digging in the couch cushions broke before. Hell I have been, "wish I owned a couch!" broke before, so it's no biggie. Alive is so much more cool. I spent 2 years of my life adjusting to this crazy brain crap and yesterday I have coronary artery disease, some blockages, some spasms, some super small arteries, I think they found out that the smurfs butt rocking Gargamel live in my heart who knows.
Your tweets, dm's, facebook posts, and emails mean a LOT. Honestly I adore all of you crazy folks.
I have just as much hair on the dishes in my sink as I do on my floors. I am not spending much time on facebook or twitter. I miss everyone but I really want to dance at my daughters wedding one day, hold my yet to be dreamt up grandchildren and watch the prince who is 10 graduate. Those things are far off in the future and damn it I intend to be here. They say this shortens my life, whatever, they told my dad in 1987 he had 6 months.
So the entire " lifes a journey not a job thing, take it serious folks, rock every day, and who gives a crap if your socks don't match, or you spilled that lunch down the front of your shirt. Rock it !
** Due to popular demand to see my 1/2 shave monkey/ beaver/groin just like the 80's in Daytona totally free of charge. These bruises were just from the first hospital stay. honestly now I look even more like Violet Beauregaurde, it's very sexy. Very Very Sexy.
Don't you wish your Beaver was hot like me. doncha, doncha..