Tuesday morning found me popping a Xanax and taking my funny little toes to the podiatrist where after 2 incredibly uncomfortable numbing shots and 40 minutes of God only knows what, I was finished and waddled out...
And all was right in the world until the numbness wore off and then HOLY FUCK it hurt. Also, CAN'T WALK.
So, um. Bad.
Yesterday, after a night which afforded me about 3 minutes of sleep, I called the doctor and asked for some heavy hitter pain killers because Darvocet is clearly for toddlers and a Vicodin script was called in and I was all HOORAY until I accidentally took 3 instead of 2 and found out, over the next 6 hours of continuous vomiting, that I am allergic to Vicodin.
So, um. More bad.
By the 8th dry heave of doom (into plastic grocery bags because I can't rush to the bathroom in time... up yours canvas market bags... can't puke into those, can I?) Hugh insists that we call someone... a doctor, my mother, my girlfriend, anyone, to tell us if this is normal and I opted for the doctor who called in yet another script, only this one for anti nausea medication... we squeaked into the pharmacy mere moments before it closed and by "we", I clearly mean, "Hugh", because let's not forget, I can't walk.
I can hobble.
But not that well.
And I opted for this. I chose this. I was all, 2 days of discomfort, no worries, but I honestly don't think I will be able to walk like a human (maybe an early human)... let alone drive anytime soon and this sucks ass... I am stuck on the couch trying not to eat or drink anything because I don't want to have to get up and early human my way to the bathroom...
It might be time for this: