I awoke at 4:00am unable to breathe. My mouth was continually filling with snot and forcing me to either swallow or spit. Around 5:00 swallowing was no longer an option - my throat was nearly sealed shut. After a short conversation with my mother (who is convienently situated on the opposite coast), I have been convinced to call 911.
Soon after, a firetruck and ambulance arrive unloading their cargo of about ten firepersons and ambulancors into my apartment. Repeatedly I'm asked what kinds of drugs I have and can procure. I say "you're not getting your damn hands on my vicodin." The fireman are not easily amused. The probably all have English degrees.
Pain. Riding in the back of the ambulance I realize that it probably was a good idea to call these motherfuckers. My throat feels like it was just used to clean up pizzeria after a big game. You know, chile cheese dogs, pizza, steel wool. The fucking thing is dry as hell too, and the supervising EMT-type won't lay off the small talk - "what kind of drugs do you have?" "what is your zip code?" "do you have a day time phone number?"
Lesson learned.. if you want service in the emergency room, arrive in an ambulance. When I was at the ER on Wednesday, I had to wait around for about two hours before they tried to take my pulse. Luckily, I had the laptop and a couple of DVD's. Everybody seemed to get a kick out of Frankenweenie
For the next two hours doctors came in and out of my room, putting things in my mouth.. attesting to have to so.. preparing my for future oral violations. The final oral violation was the worst. I got the chance to see the ultra-sound photos of my tonsils. The plastic utensil dickwand wrapped up in a lambskin condom was no problem. It was the sticky pink silly spray shit that they coated my mouth with. Tasted like Nair for clown genitals. I was gagging up that shit for an hour.
After some hot antibiotic intervenus action with Evette, I caught an Alpha Cab and found myself home. I'm still only able to eat popsicles and can only swallow while wincing. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to eat those little Nancy's mini-quiches. Miracles happen.