After a trip to the doctor, then a trip to the ER, then another trip to the doctor, I'm doing okay.  Not good by any means, but in my opinion no better then I was on Tuesday.  I am DEFINITLY in less pain then I was on Wednesday night/Thursday morning when I was rushed to the ER.  I just pray the doctors have things right now and that I am on my way to recovery.  I missed work all last week and don't feel up to going tomorrow, but I will.  I feel myself mentally slipping during this trying time of illness.

Through all of this, I am SO grateful and blessed to have such fantasic family and friends.  The biggest hero in all this has to be my friend.  At 02:30, he answered his phone "What's wrong?"  To hear..."Can you take me to the ER?"  He lives roughly 4.4 miles away.  He was at my house, no questions asked in 15 minutes...and he had enough sense to grab a garbage can (in case I was puking), water, and sprite.  He was a trooper.  He did such a great job of rubbing my back, wipping my tears, holding my hand, calling my sister and parents.  He knew when to just shut up, he knew when to come with me, he knew the right questions to ask.  Upon discharge from the hospital, he was still a champ.  He helped pick up my newest precription, made sure I had gatorade (damn dehydration), got me all tucked into my bed with everything I needed before heading to his house.

Of course tons of my family and other friends are like you could have called me.  At that time of night and being in such pain, I needed someone I knew could act fast and someone that I trust and could be comfortable around.  At one point while laying on the hospital bed with my pee collecting in a bag attached to the side of the bed, an IV in my arm, a stylish hospital gown, and unwashed hair...(and this on a morophine high) I notice my legs are HAIRY.  My friend was like "I've seen them worse."  And then I didn't care about my hairy legs anymore.

As someone who HATES the doctors and everything that comes with it...I do have to say I am proud of myself and how I handled this week.  At the hospital, I had SO many tests done and I didn't fight any of them.  I think I was at the point, where I just surrendered and didn't have anything left in me to fight.  At one point, about 10 minutes after getting the morophine, someone gave me a consent letter to sign.  I have an IV in my left arm and am high on morophine.  I couldn't read it, couldn't sign my name, and at that point she could of told me she was taking my first born child and I wouldn't have known let alone care.

For the record, my friend is my friend.  We aren't together and we do what works for us. 

Back to the grind of work tomorrow.  I'm dreading it. 

God is love!

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