*blank stare*
2002-01-10 17:35:35 (UTC)

Hack, Hack, Wheeze, Wheeze, I Need a Marlboro, if you Please...

Damn that Pluerisy.

Before you burst into flames trying to figure that one
out, let me explain. I spent last weekend over Bob's house,
with us spending a good portion of Friday night over
Norty's house with Norty (duh), Picard, Brian, and Jacob,
watching Dracula 2000 and NOT watching Little Nicky
(Grumble growl mutter). Bob and I returned to his place of
residancy around 1 am and quickly fell asnooze.
Cut to Saturday... we slept a good part of the day away,
and then picked up Picard and met up with Kat, Mike, and
Brian G at Fox Run Mall. So as not to upset the natural
order of our degenerate universe, we went to PTC Bickford's
where we also ended up with- deep breath- Brian F, Jon B,
Tony, Quin, Nick, Jess, Bin, Maria, Jenny, and Steph.
After torturing the waitress AND fellow diners at Bick's
(Yeah, that's all Mike), Myself, Bob, Jess, Nick, Mike,
Kat, Brian, Brian, Picard, and of course, Bin herself went
to Bin's house to watch movies. In the middle of a strange
but entertaining piece of cinema called Poor White Trash, I
was blasted with Panic Attack #7- my first one since New
Year's Day, and the latest one thus far.
Bob and I were lying on a mattress on the floor, and I
started twitching. He knew it was going to happen, and
asked if I wanted to go someplace else. I was attempting to
control it, keep it from happening and it seemed to be
working, so I said no. Then he got up and went into the
bathroom and shortly afterwards, it began.
This one was actually pretty calm, especially when compared
to the one I had previous, when the EMT's came, but I was
quite less coherent during it. I remember Picard trying to
sit me up and get me to drink, and then he picked me up
under the arms and suddenly I was scooped up and carried
out into the cold night air (which, not to make any of the
people who helped me feel bad, was a very bad idea). I
didn't know at the time who was carrying and sitting with
me on the steps, but it turned out to be Brian F. Nick
offered his BMW to take me to the hospital, which I didn't
end up going to since Bob was wise enough to know that they
couldn't do anything for me anyway.
Bri carried me back inside and lay me on the couch, where I
continued to shake with my eyes clenched shut for what felt
like forever.
When I could finally open them and gaze around, I was
THRILLED to see everyone staring at me like they expected
me to turn colors and start speaking alien tongues. Than
again, only three of the people there- Bob, Mike, and Jason-
has previously seen one of these attacks, so it was
totally new to everyone else. I would have been staring
too, in all honesty. It just didn't help me feel a whole
lot better.
Soon after my attack ended, while I was still shaking like
a chihuaua on the couch, Mike and Kat left to go visit Jon
and Brian G left with Jess. Robin put on Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon, which, surprisingly enough, I liked, and
then Bob and I headed to his place for some sleep.
Sunday we slept until around 1 pm, and as soon as I awoke I
knew something was wrong with me (you know, for a change.)I
was terribly weak, and could hardly sit up, even when
leaning against Bob. He didn't want to let me drive home,
since I could barely keep my eyes open, but I'm stupidly
stubborn and insisted I had to go home so I could go to
work Monday. He eventually let me leave, first giving me a
black ball- chain necklace that was hanging from his lamp,
telling me it was his good- luck charm and he wanted me to
take it so I could get home safely. I gave him my small
metal cat medallion on two chains linked together, and off
I went, getting a reasonable tongue-lashing from Picard
before I got to my car.

Cut to Tuesday...

I got to work okay, but around 8 or so, I began to feel the
way I had over Bob's house on Sunday, and sure enough, a
little after 10, my legs went out from under me; my back
whammed against the table I block screens against and I
sank to the floor.
After 10 minutes of sitting with my head on my knees and
the shop spinning around me, I went on wobbly, weak legs to
find Corey, who gave me permission to go home. Scott drove
me, as I wasn't about to try driving. I came home to an
empty house, left a message on Brian's screen name since I
knew he was still at Bob's house and they were both
sleeping, and went upstiars to pass out until Bob called me
at 3:30.
I told him what had happened, and he said he and Brian
would be right down. Before they arrived, however, Momma
came home and asked what the hell was going on. I told her
I had collapsed at work, and she took me immediately to
Barrington Urgent Care, who then sent me to *shudder*
Frisbie Memorial Hospital, to have CAT scans taken of my
chest to check for blood clots or small rodents or whatever
the hell else they thought might be in there.
Since my house is in between Barrington and Rochester,
Momma and I stopped here so I could snag Bob and Bri, who
were in my room with Kat and Mike. Bob and Bri followed
myself and Momma to the ER, and Bob never left my side the
entire time. There was one room he couldn't go in, where
they shot me up with a funny- feeling dye after about 18
attempts to get the damn IV in my arm (Sharp pointy needle
Blood vessel stubborn nurse = Profuse Bleeding) and then
stuck me feet first through this big donut with pretty
flashy lights on it that took pictures of my lungs. But he
was sitting in the waiting room when they freed me, and
held my hand while walking beside me as I was wheeled back
to the ER.
Well, there's no blood clots in my lungs (though come to
think of it, they didn't say anything about small
rodents... I wonder...) and so I was told it's a viral
infection called Pluerisy. I doubt strongly that Bob has
ever been so relieved about anything in his life. I stopped
at the pharmacy on the way home, got some drugs, and spent
the night with Bri and Bob, who are both goddamn paranoid.
In a good way, I guess. What can I say? They take good care
of me, which I appreciate and love them all the more for,
and of course, I'm not about to forget Jacob, Sarah or
Jason, either...
And, to pat myself on the back a little here, I have cut
back by insane amounts on my smoking. My pack-a-day habit
has been reduced to two smokes a day. At the very very
most, five, and that hasn't been since Thursday last week
or so. The only thing is, though, I'm not cutting back/
quitting for myself. I'm doing it for my parents and my
friends and my lover, and for two reasons. One, I know
they're all concerned about my health and I'm not one to
turn my back on being cared for, and two, so they'll stop
bitching. Seriously, though... yesterday I went out on the
porch to smoke one of the two I had all day, and there's
Mike with one of my cigarettes in his hand, telling me I
can only smoke half of one.
Anyone else see anything wrong with this picture? I do.
My nonsmoking friends have no right to tell me not to smoke
since they dont know how hard it is to quit. And my smoking
friends have no right because...well... THEY SMOKE.
I DO appreciate everyone's caring and concern, don't get me
wrong... but having 15 sarrogate parents is getting
irksome. I'm a big girl and I think the fact that I've cut
back so much in under a week is commendable. With the
exception of Bob, no one acknowledges how much I'm not
smoking... they instead yell at me for the ones I do smoke.
I'm doing this for all of you, guys... keep that in mind.
You've all helped me, so I'm trying to help you... but I
need to do it on my own terms.
Still, they've all been wonderful and hopefully, with my
meds, this will all soon be but a happy memory...

Music: The Bangles- Eternal Flame
Quote of the Day: "Are you still a big ball of sexual
energy?" - Me
"No, it's in the trash can now," - Bob