You are all so fucking lucky. I try out dangerous pills so YOU don't have to. Then you can laugha at me, secure in the knowledge that you are too smart to do anything that stupid.
I tried some diet pills, called The Burn, which should have been warning enough. I felt fine for two days. Last night - Lost. My. Shit.
My heart was racing, pounding in my chest. I was having trouble breathing. My stomach was cramping. I was so wired I couldn't even read, let alone sleep.
I took the pills in the early afternoon. At 6:00 AM, I was still in pain, and getting really scared. I called my parents, told them I was going to the ER.
TV lied to me. No, I didn't expect to see Dr. House, or Dr. Cox, or even those assholes from Grey's Anatomy. But anyone who ever entered this hospital never wanted to be a doctor. The nurse was pretty short with me, since she was convinced I was a moron. I spent about an hour repeating my name, date of birth, and complaint, and also being moved to specific locations throughout the ER.
Eventually I got my own room, and a robe. They gave me an EKG, and I got to have the fun experience of being topless in front of a total stranger. The man in the room next to me had a serious injury, and kept farting loudly. I don't believe the two were related. Someone fell out of their bed.
As I stated before, I did not expect Dr. House, and I did not get Dr. House, which is probably good because it confirms that I am an idiot, not a lunatic, and also because I was so humiliated by my own flaming douchery that if House HAD shown up, I would have rather committed hari kari than admit what I had done.
I've given it a lot of thought, and decided that my doctor was definitely a Wilson.
I was/am OK. The pills were made up of enormous quantitites of two types of caffeine. I already have an anxiety problem, and ingest ridiculous amounts of coffee and soda. He told me to go home, rest, and avoid caffeine or stress.
At this point I'd like to add that I'm at work.
My Dad drove in from Jersey to make sure I was OK. So he got to witness the Great Vomit Tour Of Downtown.
I was sick outside a car garage.
I was sick in my apartment.
I've been sick at the office - twice.
You name it, I'll stain it.
I still have my bracelet from the hospital, as proof I am not, in fact, hallucinating.
I've been falling asleep at my desk, fighting waves of nauseau I cannot describe. I've spent most of the day hunched low in my seat, clutching my belly and trying to find something to stare at that would not make me pass out.
Good News: Except for the ocassional flutter, my heart is back to 'normal,' and I can breathe with relative ease.
Bad News: My stomach is rebelling against the system, lobbying heavily for its independence. Which frankly it can fucking take, as far as I'm concerned; I'm really sick of sick. And excruciating stomach pains. And hospitals.
So, dearest readers, here is what Elle has learned for all of you today:
* Don't take diet pills. Be fat and happy, or work out and shut your fucking mouth.
* Stress is bad. Lots of stress is very bad, and makes your heart flutter in the non-romantic way.
* Hospitals are not cool in any way, shape, or form, and I am totally justified in hating all of the non-fictional hospitals in the known universe.
* Caffeine is a powerful, wonderful thing that has royally skull-fucked me, and which I no longer like. Until tomorrow.
* The internet is not a reliable source of medical information. Asking one of the guides from ChaCha will probably not increase your chances of survival.
* Getting sick outside a car garage is not serious enough to warrant missing work.
* I do generally the same amount of work whether or not I'm in excruciating, soul-stomping, mind-humping agony.
* I can make it from my desk to the toilets in under a minute.
What would you do without me?
Your fearless pioneer and explorer,
- LV
I tried some diet pills, called The Burn, which should have been warning enough. I felt fine for two days. Last night - Lost. My. Shit.
My heart was racing, pounding in my chest. I was having trouble breathing. My stomach was cramping. I was so wired I couldn't even read, let alone sleep.
I took the pills in the early afternoon. At 6:00 AM, I was still in pain, and getting really scared. I called my parents, told them I was going to the ER.
TV lied to me. No, I didn't expect to see Dr. House, or Dr. Cox, or even those assholes from Grey's Anatomy. But anyone who ever entered this hospital never wanted to be a doctor. The nurse was pretty short with me, since she was convinced I was a moron. I spent about an hour repeating my name, date of birth, and complaint, and also being moved to specific locations throughout the ER.
Eventually I got my own room, and a robe. They gave me an EKG, and I got to have the fun experience of being topless in front of a total stranger. The man in the room next to me had a serious injury, and kept farting loudly. I don't believe the two were related. Someone fell out of their bed.
As I stated before, I did not expect Dr. House, and I did not get Dr. House, which is probably good because it confirms that I am an idiot, not a lunatic, and also because I was so humiliated by my own flaming douchery that if House HAD shown up, I would have rather committed hari kari than admit what I had done.
I've given it a lot of thought, and decided that my doctor was definitely a Wilson.
I was/am OK. The pills were made up of enormous quantitites of two types of caffeine. I already have an anxiety problem, and ingest ridiculous amounts of coffee and soda. He told me to go home, rest, and avoid caffeine or stress.
At this point I'd like to add that I'm at work.
My Dad drove in from Jersey to make sure I was OK. So he got to witness the Great Vomit Tour Of Downtown.
I was sick outside a car garage.
I was sick in my apartment.
I've been sick at the office - twice.
You name it, I'll stain it.
I still have my bracelet from the hospital, as proof I am not, in fact, hallucinating.
I've been falling asleep at my desk, fighting waves of nauseau I cannot describe. I've spent most of the day hunched low in my seat, clutching my belly and trying to find something to stare at that would not make me pass out.
Good News: Except for the ocassional flutter, my heart is back to 'normal,' and I can breathe with relative ease.
Bad News: My stomach is rebelling against the system, lobbying heavily for its independence. Which frankly it can fucking take, as far as I'm concerned; I'm really sick of sick. And excruciating stomach pains. And hospitals.
So, dearest readers, here is what Elle has learned for all of you today:
* Don't take diet pills. Be fat and happy, or work out and shut your fucking mouth.
* Stress is bad. Lots of stress is very bad, and makes your heart flutter in the non-romantic way.
* Hospitals are not cool in any way, shape, or form, and I am totally justified in hating all of the non-fictional hospitals in the known universe.
* Caffeine is a powerful, wonderful thing that has royally skull-fucked me, and which I no longer like. Until tomorrow.
* The internet is not a reliable source of medical information. Asking one of the guides from ChaCha will probably not increase your chances of survival.
* Getting sick outside a car garage is not serious enough to warrant missing work.
* I do generally the same amount of work whether or not I'm in excruciating, soul-stomping, mind-humping agony.
* I can make it from my desk to the toilets in under a minute.
What would you do without me?
Your fearless pioneer and explorer,
- LV
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