I Bet Doogie's on Team Edward

So, my divorce was final on Tuesday. I lost my insurance on Tuesday. I can't afford Cobra coverage and was going to start making phone calls for a cheap, high deductible plan that would at least cover hospitalizations and/or surgery. However, Murphy's Law came into play before I obtained insurance. On Friday, I started having some pretty horrific pain in my abdomen. But I've got six kids to care for and no insurance, so I dealt with it and thought - Eh, it'll be better tomorrow. I woke up Saturday and my tummy wasn't better. It was worse, in fact. I walked around, doubled over in pain as I cleaned up, made dinner, drove the kids here and there. I lay awake all night, crying on Saturday because it hurt so bad. I would have run to the emergency room if I'd had insurance, but I just couldn't bring myself to get help when my brain was virtually adding up medical bills.

Sunday came and went much the same. Constant pain that got a little better, then worse, then better, then worse. Finally, today, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I knew something was wrong. I called my ex's employer to check out the Cobra plan. Turns out I have until October 10th to pay the nearly $800 and I'll have retro-active coverage back to August 11. Good. I can handle one month of insurance, I decide, then I speed to my local ER.

So, I walk in, answer the basic questions, bp, temp, blah blah blah. I sit and wait. Then they tell me to pee in a cup. I'd just gone before I left the house because I'm an adult and I know to do that, unlike my kids, but thankfully, I can pee on demand (six kids and all...) (Actually, sometimes I even pee accidentally. Hmmm, I hope I remembered to write something in my pregnancy book about involuntary peeing while laughing after you've given birth to six kids. Anyway...)

So I wait. And wait. And wait. Then a guy comes along to draw my blood. Now, I don't like hospitals. And I don't like waiting. At all. I have this habit of acting goofy if I have to wait. It's either that or jump out of my skin. So, the guy's sticking the needle in my arm. I look at him and say, "So! I guess this (I pointedly eye the blood flowing from my arm to the tube) means you're on Team Edward, huh?" I don't think he got it. Or maybe (gasp!) he just didn't think I was funny. Nah, that can't be it. He just didn't get it.

Then I went back to waiting some more. After an hour and a half of waiting, they took me from the waiting room and moved me to a bed in the HALLWAY. I thought about faking a heart attack to be moved into an actual room, but decided not to since I didn't really want to be defibrillated, or you know, moved to the mental health unit.

I finally got in a room and got my standard issue hospital gown. A half an hour later, the doctor came in and introduced himself. I looked at him. I wondered when all doctors became younger than me. Then I asked, "Do you mind if I call you Doogie?" Of course, he was too young to have a clue what I was talking about, so he just gave me a puzzled, awkward look and started asking me questions.

"Where's your pain? When did it start? On a scale of 1-10, what's the pain like now? Do you have any other symptoms? Fever? Nausea? Blah blah blah.... What's the date of your last menstrual period?"

Okay, so I know I only have like two male readers, but it's time for you to leave the room now. Really. Close your eyes, stick your fingers in your ears and say, "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA" as loudly as you can. Trust me. You'll thank me later.

Okay, so I tell him, "Today." You know, because I'm just lucky like that. Then I gave him a look that said, "I swear I will hit you over the head with this bedpan if you tell me what I'm experiencing is menstrual cramps. I'm FORTY! I've had like 300 periods! I KNOW what it feels like!" To his credit, he didn't blame my pain on cramps. Still, after pushing on my abdomen and watching me wince in pain, he decides I need a pelvic exam. Lovely. As if those aren't bad enough, I get to have one in a curtained room by a cute young doctor while I have my period. Score!

Still, I've given birth to six kids. Modesty is kind of a thing of the past. So, I prop my butt up on a bedpan (yep, they've got a fancy set-up there in the ER) while Doogie puts the jack in and cranks it open. Now, I KNOW I wrote a whole section about pap smears in my new book! So, I'll just tell you this - I tend to ramble on and make stupid jokes when in this embarrassing position. So, I glanced at this poster on the wall...


and asked, "Sooo, how do I become an official member of the Clean Hands Club? Are there dues? Secret handshakes? Oh no, I guess there probably aren't any handshakes at all in that club. Unless you use hand sanitizer, that is. Do you get a free sample of hand sanitizer for joining?"

This is the point, he decided I was mentally, uh, challenged.

But did I stop there and just shut up? Oh no! I started telling him kid jokes. "What's the difference between roast beef and pea soup? Anyone can roast beef!"

"Whatcha eating under there?" The correct response to that joke is "Under where?" Underwear! Get it? Under where, underwear. Much hilarity ensues when my kids tell that joke. However, in hindsight, that was a really bad joke with really bad timing. Ahem. Doogie ran out of the room as soon as he was done. I thought to myself - Oh well, at least I have blog material.

Next on the agenda was a CT scan. I lay there and listened to the instructions. "Take a deep breath. Now hold your breath. Now breathe." I did that a couple times. But the final time lasted like 20 minutes. I couldn't hold my breath that long. I got dizzy. There was almost a code blue right there in the CT room. I finally breathed and hoped they wouldn't yell at me for it.

Back to my room to wait. And wait. And wait. And meanwhile, I'm getting a raging headache because I haven't eaten all day. I was finally able to flag someone down and ask for pain relief for my headache, but they never did give me anything. Anyway, Doogie came back and told me I had diverticulitis. I didn't know what that was, but I was pretty sure it was an "old person's" disease. In my head, I could just hear a couple of grandmas sitting around complaining about their bunions, arthritis and diverticulitis.

Long story short. Or well, long story not quite as long as I could make it - he wanted to keep me in the hospital overnight on IV antibiotics, but I played the "I have six kids at home" card and after consulting with my primary doctor, decided to let me go home. I have to take two antibiotics that cost me $350! Yikes! And I have to go 48 more hours without eating. I can have clear liquids. Yum. And I have to rest. Yeah right! Snort! Sure, I'll rest with six kids at home. That's a good one!

I meet with my regular doctor in two days and hope that I don't need surgery. So, that was my fun-filled day at the ER.