Druglord

I probably should have saved the shitty valium title for today’s pathetic diatribe but hey, whatever. I could be my very own title Nazi but I’m choosing to let this morning’s morphine injection rule my thoughts. Which means everything is followed with a ‘meh, whatever’ and then a disgusting giggle or dopey smile.

If you’re me, and you’re not, obviously, because I’m me, then you hate when people start conversations with sentences like “When I was on morphine this morning….” because that means you’re obligated to mentally sigh and say “Oh my! Why were you on morphine this morning?” It’s like people so desperately want to divulge their personal business but they don’t want to come across as the grandmotherly-type who talks about her bowel movements. So they dangle the carrot and wait for you to bite, and you do, but not because you want to. You bite because society has dictated certain behaviors as acceptable and you’re too much of a pussy to stand up to The Man.

The morphine came from a gallbladder test this morning, only I wasn’t aware there was a chance that morphine could be involved. So when my gallbladder proved mighty elusive and cantankerous, the nurse in pink scrubs came in with a shot of morphine to move things along. This information would have proved useful previous to the morphine insertion. If for nothing else, it would have saved me the mild embarrassment of rambling nonsensically about kitty cat heaven and my inexplicable dislike of peanut butter. And Amanda would have been much more prepared when I called her from the nuclear medicine lab to come get me, because as I was talking to her I was imagining that my voice sounded much like butterflies. Like that scene from The Green Mile where the guy spews forth all manner of creepy computer generated bugs. Only way less creepy, because butterflies are sweet and gentle. Unless you read books by Laurell K. Hamilton, and then the butterflies are mean little fairies who nibble off bits of flesh.

Back to the whole point of this, which is valium. Valium is useless. I’ve gotten higher pumping gas than swallowing four of those orange tablets in a six hour period. Ugh, and now I’m realizing that I never explained the reason for the spasming esophagus and the need for valium. I only alluded to contacting aliens via a radio transmitter, and this is not near enough explanation for someone as verbose as me.

The radio transmitter was implanted, not by aliens, but by my doctor. Who may or may not be working with the aliens. They’re supposed to sedate you while they slide the camera down your throat, cut off pieces of flesh for biopsies and then staple gun this eraser-sized contraption to your esophagus. Only as I’ve previously learned, I have the world’s highest tolerance for valium and demerol. So after my second injection and pleading, tear-filled eyes aimed at the doctor, he slid the camera out of my throat and patted me on the cheek, saying he was very sorry but he just couldn’t give me any more. My blood pressure was too low, so be a good girl and this will all be over in a second. Most of the time when women hear this phrase they end up pregnant. I got a pissed off esophagus. Same thing.

Normally this procedure is completely painless. You wear a pager on your right hip to receive the (alien) transmissions about ph levels for 48 hours. The transmitter falls off five days later and gets eaten by stomach acid. Or something. I also had a catheter inserted into my right nostril with a tiny ph-measuring bulb that hung by my tonsils. Not really that comfortable, but not painful, either. And it was definitely attractive having a plastic tube taped to the side of my cheek. I’m surprised the people at work didn’t have sex with me right then and there.

But obviously I’m a human reject, which means I spent last Wednesday night cranky and miserable. Upon calling the doctor the next day, he was only mildly sympathetic, stating that he had suspected I would be uncomfortable. While most people breeze right on through these tests, my symptoms indicated an extremely sensitive upper GI area. *insert technical doctor jargon here* As such, I was probably in quite a bit of pain.

I’m not sure what’s gotten into people lately, but there have been several times in the past few weeks where I’ve had mental screaming matches with myself about how very useful certain information would have been previous to these events.

To compensate, Senor Doctor called in large bottle of valium at my local Walgreens. Super, I think. I will take the valium and go into a lovely pain-free trance-like state. But four pills and six hours later found me sitting on my couch, wishing death upon the entire world. Still in pain, still cranky and slightly homicidal.

As such, my holiday season was spent popping valium. Lots and lots of valium. It takes four pills at a time to make me relaxed, and another two if I feel like sleeping.

The alien transmitter fell out late Tuesday evening. I feel much better now. Also, I have a new cat. Her name is Sugar Monkey. Or maybe Gidget.