It was a regular Tuesday afternoon. I'd been feeling under the weather for a while–thanks in part to some seasonal allergies, when the clock struck 2:15 pm. Before I could say "good heavens, was that my spleen that just ruptured!", I was sitting on the throne with a bucket on my lap. Intense waves of stabbing pain attacked my abdomen with feral savagery as I sat there shaking, tears running down my cheeks. Then, when all seemed lost, my strapping, loving, ever-faithful, and verbose husband Theron called; It was all I could do to mumble "help...". But it wasn't over yet. Within minutes the Gatorade he'd rushed to me found its way back up again, and after a few phone calls I knew my only hope for survival rested in the hands of our local qualified health professionals–we sped to the emergency room.
I couldn't say with much certainty what happened after we arrived, as I drifted in and out of consciousness. There were flashing lights, men in masks, and then darkness...
When I came to, the doctor told me the bad news. I'd been the victim of a terrible flu. And as quickly as it had struck, just like that it was gone again without a trace. Except for the $500 bill–payable to IHC.
The End.
by Melissa
2 comments:
Melissa, we were so glad to hear that you are alright and that it was just a flu bug. I do have one question though...are you sure you wrote that non-autobiographical account? The sentence "my strapping, loving, ever-faithful, and verbose husband Theron" sounds suspiciously like something theron would write about himself;)lol I love you guys. Katie
Oh Miss, that sucks. :( I'm sorry to hear you weren't feeling well. :( And are you cutting and dying your hair? I cut mine. And dyed it, kinda. Get on facebook... I have pictures there.
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