Let me just crawl out of my hole of self-pity for a moment.
Wait, whoops, I fell back in.
So it all began with SF'10 (we all know what that is now). It was violent. It was prolonged. It owned me.
As I crawled out of the depths of Hades, Mr.Bronchitis wrapped his tentacles around me and didn't let go for 2 solid weeks. I have used the term "coughed up a lung" on many occasions prior to the last 2 weeks. I now know what that phrase looks like.
And it ain't pretty.
So in feeling some sharp pains in my side, I decide it's well beyond past time to go to the doc (obviously my least favorite thing to do on the planet). They do some x-rays, tell me my lungs look fabulous but I've torn some scar tissue.
3 c-sections in the same spot? Not good for scar tissue. Ripping scar tissue apart? Not good for living and breathing.
Get some meds, go home, then experience tremendous chest pains. SWEETNESS. I wanted something else to ache.
Dealt with it for 2 days, called the doc again, got immediately in, got immediately sent to a lung doctor, got immediately sent to the hospital for a CT scan, then sent for more chest x-rays.
All this time I'm thinking I'm gonna die and Carter's gonna be mad and my kids are gonna have to get a new mama and this is just NOT WORKING OUT FOR ME!
Until doc #2 calls me at 8pm with the results.
His words: "Suzanne? Hi, this is Dr. Lung Man. You're not gonna die."
Suz: "Really? Well, that's good news."
Doctor: "So do you have all the kids in bed yet?"
Suz: "Seriously? Did you just ask that? RESULTS, LUNG MAN, RESULTS! No small talky talky."
Doctor: "Cracked rib. It's gonna hurt, like bad, real bad, for a long time."
Suz: "Long? How long? Like a couple of weeks?"
Doctor: "I wish. LOOOOOONG time."
And all I could think about was my ruined softball season that hasn't even started. Somebody call me a waaaaaaambulance.
So he gives me meds. Serious meds. S.E.R.I.O.U.S. meds. I go down for another 24 hours to visit the friends in Hades with, yet another, violent reaction to the meds. SF'10 Part II.
Finally, I am back among the living. Not so much the living AND breathing though, since I'm trying to withhold breathing as much as possible to keep the rib from busting on outta my skin.
But hey, at least I'm drug free.
In the words of Dominique Wilkins, Atlanta Hawks superstar, circa 1985, "Give hugs, not drugs."
Just don't hug too tight. Hurts the ole ribaroosky.