10.17.11

Monday Dare: Hospital gowns are a good look on me

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn about its origin.

This week: Try to get the fuck out of here. (Yes, this is a cry for help. RESCUE ME.)

I’ve always, ALWAYS wanted to start a post with:

Greeting from the pristine sands and calm, crystal-blue waters of the Maldives, which is totally unlike that unfortunate two-year-old’s birthday pool party you invited me to last weekend where everyone had to leave the pool for thirty minutes because little Ellen took a shit in the shallow end.

All I have for you today is:

Greeting from the ICU!

I’m not sure if anything I’m saying here is actually making any sense. To my brain, yes. But because thoughts have to cross so many channels to get onto the screen, I’m not that confident. Also, my inability to move more than three inches may have something to do with it. There are no less than 15 things attached to my body. I only know this because I tried to use the restroom earlier and well, I’ve decided it’s probably best to pee on myself from now on.

Friday night, when I was home alone, I started getting severe hives on 30% of my body. They were bothersome, but I didn’t think too much about them. Then, I started to feel my airways swelling and constricting. I decided to drive myself to the ER. Within minutes of getting IV steroids, norepinepherine, and antihistamines, I started to feel better.

Saturday night, I felt my eyes starting to swell shut. Oh fuck, Really? Although it was really itchy beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, I had a make a choice: Finish watching one of my favorite episode of Frasier or go to the bathroom mirror to assess the damage. I chose the former.

By the time I moseyed on over to the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. My entire face was covered in hives, my lips had swelled to more than twice their size, and my right eye was almost completely shut. I had hives over 90% of my front torso as well as my backside. Then it progressed to the legs…all the way down to the bottoms of my feet. Even on my scalp, y’all.

I’ll be forrealz. If it wasn’t for the small fact that I had a hard time walking on my soles covered with hives, I’d probably be giving you a shout-out from my desk today as usual.

After being admitted to the ER, I’m now getting the same course of treatment as last time, but it hasn’t been very effective. The hives are spreading, and some are forming on top of others. They itch like hell and they hurt like hell. Internally, I feel like my air passageways are constantly crowded and closed and several organs are tender to the touch.

So here I am in the ICU. With a bunch of old peeps. I don’t know when I’ll be going home, and this scares me, but I’ve made it my personal goal to get it crunk up in here. Sick people will enjoy Wiz Khalifa as much as I do. I’m sure of it. 

Have you or a friend ever been through a medical mystery? Have you ever been hospitalized?

P.S. I’m super chatty on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. There are tons of pictures on FB that never make it onto the blog: Gangster Easter eggs, Flying Trapeze Pictures, Family Pictures with Harv and Cal, Reader Gifts…..a whole shitload of coolness. Just “Like” the page, and you’ll never miss an awkward moment or random thought again.
image courtesy of someecards.com and the sharp eyes of Jill Seiman



October 17, 2011
10.13.11

On the bright side- Only one of us went to jail

I once got kicked out of a courtroom. I don’t know what your measure of success is, but for me, when I can scratch things off my bucket list without even trying, I know I’m really winning at this thing called Life. Getting escorted out of a courtroom wasn’t even on the list, but afterwards, I thought about it, and it seemed pretty awesome. So I wrote it in between #23 (buy a New York Times in New York) and #24 (eat fried butter), called it #23.5, and immediately scratched it off.

Who am I to deny myself a freebie, y’all?

Why was I even in the courtroom? Identity theft.

If you’ve ever been the victim of identity theft and you’re reading this right now because you’re not in jail for slicing the thief in the Achilles tendon with a sharpened credit card they’ve taken out in your name, then I commend you. You’ve taken the high road and someone should recognize that kind of effort.

I received a cell phone bill for $865.23 from Cell Company C. Here’s the thing- I use Cell Company A. Because I like to be all detective-y and shit, I pulled up my credit report, made a few phone calls, and discovered that some unsavory person had used my personal information to open cell phone, satellite TV, and home electricity accounts, and had also taken out multiple credit cards in my name.

Because Felicia in Long Beach, CA (that’s right…I Name and Shame) had used my information to open services for her home that required an address, I was able to contact the local police. The detective’s advice was to sit tight and let them handle the situation.

But I couldn’t. So I called Felicia pretending to be a service provider.

Me: Hello, this is Satellite Company. We’ve been having issues with subscriber services in your area due to inclement weather. Could I please speak with the account holder?

Felicia: Gyeah, that’s me.

Me: For security purposes, could you please state your full name and the last four of your Social?

Felicia: Elizabeth Jayne Liu. 1234

Me: You’re Elizabeth Jayne Liu?

Felicia: I just told you I was. You want me to repeat it again, lady?

Wait just a minute…am I on the phone pretending to be someone else, and the person I’m talking to is pretending to be me? 

When they raided Felicia’s home several weeks later, they found stolen identity information for more than 50 people. I pressed charges. Not because I was angry, but because…aw, fuck it, I was angry. I did it out of spite.

I attended her hearing. I wanted to see what this Felicia looked like, and I wanted her to put a face to one of her victims. I sat several rows behind her, staring her down. For some reason, she felt compelled to turn around every two minutes, and there I was just staring. Okay, fine, I was staring and mouthing words and making hand gestures, but silently. Finally, she whispered to her public defender that I was making her uncomfortable.

I was escorted out of the courtroom for my hostile behavior. If I knew that was going to happen, I would have taken the opportunity to be a lot more hostile, but I guess we all regret things in life, yes?

Felicia avoided eye contact as she left the courtroom. I felt sort of bad that she got jail time and a huge fine, but then I felt sort of happy. Then I felt really awesomely happy. Because clearly, I’m a terrible person that needs one-on-one sessions with Gandhi or Mother Teresa about forgiveness and loving your enemy. But since they’re both dead, I guess one-on-one sessions with them would be sort of weird.

I hope Felicia learned her lesson. Also, I hope she stopped wearing Apple Bottom jeans.

Have you even been the victim of something illegal or just plain unsavory?
image via knockknock.biz

 

October 13, 2011