That Happens

It's kind of stupid how many ways I could write this drunk post.

It was a few weeks ago that I noticed I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe just a few weeks before that, because my upper back hurt so bad. So bad I drank as much as I could without throwing up, smoked as much pot as I could, took a couple of tranquilizers, a handful of ibuprophin and when I couldn't take the pain anymore, I took a vicodin. Yeah it should have killed me, but I didn't care. Anything to take the pain away. (After all that, I passed out and got a whopping 3 hours of sleep after having none for the past two days.)

I have been praying to God to take my emotional pain away, and it ended up being the physical pain that made me cry out to him.

As I SLOWLY got used to the pain in my back decreasing, I noticed I couldn't breathe. I blew it off as another cold. But I knew what it was, and I igonored it. So I walked around acting like it was a cold. I woke up the next day with a strained calf muscle. Ok a limp helped me walk slower and keep my breath.

Fuck! Two days after that, I woke up with my leg looking like a sausage. The blood clots are back! Fuck,fuck,fuck! They call them pulimonary embolisms. It's like the tampon that is clogging up your toilet, but in your lungs! (On a side note, my plumber pulled out tampons, rags and a pair of painties out of my sewer line this week)

So I waited until the slowest day of the week to go to the ER. I avoid the ER at all costs, I can't stand the wait (and I have only been there about 3 or 4 times in my life!) So it's kind of cool when you know you have a life threatening condition and can walk in and they rush you to the front of the line. I guess it would be like being a super VIP.

Anyway, things got worse from there. So fuck god.