5 – number of days this week Henry or I have seen a doctor
6 – number of waiting rooms I’ve waited in since Monday morning. Add the one on Friday and you get 7.
13 – number of days I’ve now been dealing with a rash of unknown origin or diagnosis.
5 – number of different diagnoses for the rash on my body. It’s been shingles, staph, a bug bite, a fungus, contact dermatitis…
7 – number of shots Henry had to drain what looked like aliens out of an infected boil
365,397 – times I wanted to die on Wednesday
28,967 – times I wet my pants while vomiting on Wednesday
28,967 – times I didn’t care about said wetting of pants because of the 365,397 times I wanted to die
6 – number of hours spent at the ER
3 – number of sticks it took for the nurse at the ER to run an IV
2 – number of bags of fluid shoved in my veins in the ER
0 – sadly, the number of bags of vodka shoved in my veins in the ER
2 – number of complete blood panels run on me
4 – number of prescriptions I’ve filled and tried
3 – number of people in this house who are dying for this week to be over
1 – number of biopsies done on said rash by the bitchy yankee PA who made me feel like an absolute asshole for not having changed ANYthing I’ve done for the last 2 weeks. She couldn’t believe I hadn’t switched shampoo, detergent, or soap in TWO WHOLE WEEKS. What?
1 – also the number of HOLES I now have on my rash on my stomach
12 – number of Krispy Kreme doughnuts I bought on my way home from the last doctor’s appointment today
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I’m fine. I’m alive. Henry’s fine. He’s alive. Nothing is horribly wrong with either of us. Just one of those weeks that started off at the tippy top of the hill and rooooooolllled down swiftly.
