not quite as much of an idiot as I was all week

Yesterday, after spending hours vomiting in pain, I threw my antique cowbell across the room to attract the Sober Husband's attention. When he came within reach, I grasped his arm and said, "Take me to the hospital. NOW."

We stayed at the UCSF emergency room from the early evening until about 2 A.M. It was the best night within memory. I got a CAT scan, which showed no anomalies, and prescriptions for compazine, vicodin, and industrial strength ibuprofen. I felt a little bit better as each hour went by, as I was plugged into an IV and not just sugar water was pouring into my veins; my IV was heavily spiked with narcotics. I went in with a pain level of 10 out of 10 (like giving birth naturally to 9 pound Lola) and came out with a pain level of 4 out of 10 (like the time I had a bicycle accident and broke a couple of bones).

The nurses were all very kind and warm and kept lecturing me over and over again to go to the hospital, to go to the hospital, to go to the hospital IMMEDIATELY the next time. I lectured the Sober Husband as well later. "Next time make me go to the hospital! Right away!"

At the hospital the nurses gave Iris and Lola unending cups of juice and a couple of popsicles apiece. Iris's only disappointment was that she wasn't able to go to my cat scan and experiment with bits of metal. Since they didn't get to bed until about 2 AM, they were allowed to stay home from school today and rest. Their main source of amusement has been that when their sickly mother dozes on the couch, her cat, Ray Charles, keeps pressing his butt firmly on the side of her face.