Monday, June 17, 2013

The Time Joey Tried to Kill Me

Yeah, it happened.  Kind of.  Wednesday, roughly one hour after getting to work I started to get a pretty awful pain in my left side.  I assumed it was heartburn since I had just eaten, and you know, you get that in your side, popped some Tums and went on about my business.  Cut to about three hours later and I thought I was dying.  Not in regular, dramatic Tina, dying, but actually about to stop existing, dying.  I popped some more Tums and went and got some ice cream (I know) and made it through the rest of my night at work.
Around 9:30 in the morning, after three hours of trying to fall asleep, I finally decided whatever the hell this pain was, was something serious and not going away on its own, so I cried my way to the car and drove my ass to the emergency room.

Now, I've had my fair share of injuries from 10+ years of playing sports and 20+ of tripping over my own feet and running into walls, but this, whatever this was, was EXCRUCIATING.  I'm always very honest in Triage when they ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, assuming 10 is the pain you would feel if you broke every single bone in your body.  On a scale of 1 to 10?  I'm making numbers up.  I'm expecting to pass out any second from pain.  I've seen Jesus at least six times in the past twelve hours.

Once the doctor actually saw me, and I managed to answer his questions in between tiny, pathetic sobs, shit got kind of real for a second.  The only thing scarier than seeing a doctor look concerned is seeing your usually stoic boyfriend look just as concerned.  Long story short, this on-again off-again smoker is forever an off smoker.  So, after lots of poking and x-rays, and scaring this piss out of me, he ruled out all things that could kill me, I was diagnosed with a strained intercostal muscle.  Seriously?! A strained muscle?!  Did he mean to say 'your intercostal muscle is trying to kill you'?!  After he explained everything to me, turns out, it's a pretty God awful injury, and I 100% agree.

And, she's responsible.

Yep.  She likes to not listen whenever we go for a run and stop whenever feels like it.  After being pulled back by her suddenly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk too many times, the muscle on the left side of my chest finally had enough.  Why am I telling you this story?  Because I just took her on a run and let her do it to me again.  Lesson learned.  They gave me some pretty weak pain killers, so I'm off to mix them with nail polish remover or something and cry on the couch.  Peace.

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