Saturday, October 17, 2009

but still pretty stupid

Since I finally went to the hospital, I've been on narcotics. This is highly satisfactory to me; it takes my quasi-unbearable headache and brings it down from being the only thing going on in my life to background noise. I can read (although I feel too stupid to read a new book; I'm rereading old books I love, which is a much better pastime when you are sick). I can play a little Warcraft with the sound down or off. But the medications don't exactly bolster my IQ. Yesterday I couldn't manage how to put my pearl nose screw back in (I took it out for the cat scan). After some ineffectual jabbing with it, I decided to leave the problem for another day.

Meanwhile, the husband is talking to me as though I had a functioning brain. I pointed out to him a message I got with a doctor recommendation, and he starts haranguing me about what is my meaning. "Why are you presenting me with this information?" Umm, maybe because you spent a whole day allegedly trying to find a new doctor for me? At one point, when I was half-asleep, he snapped the voter information brochure at me quite firmly. "There's an election coming up, and I don't know anything about it." He affixed me with a bit of a glare. (In the division of marital duties, it is my job to research all elections and provide a suggested How To Vote guide).

I feel a little more at home conversing with Ray Charles, my weird little cat. He gives forth with a long and whiny mmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrooow, and I say, "Baby!" We go back and forth like that for some time: mmmmrrow "Baby!" meeeeeeowwwww "Baby!: mmmmmmyowwww "Baby!"

Meanwhile everyone in the family was very well impressed by all the lectures we received about how I should have been taken to the hospital sooner. As a result, everyone is continually asking me all the time if I need to go to the hospital. Especially if I make the mistake of complaining abut the pain, we're bound for a big round of "Are You Sure You Don't Want to Go To The Hospital?" It's much easier just to stay with Ray Charles. Mmmmrrrrrrrroooow. "Baby!"


Joyce said...

awww i like that story. baby! you have had quite a drama this week! exciting!

Joyce said...

um but not like good exciting. sorry, that came out wrong.

Missy said...

Ray Charles would be a good match for our cat, Licorice. She is fond of lying on the black kitchen rug (ensuring I will step on her at five a.m.) and she has poor eyesight (we think.) She can't back up and move to the side to go outside; she has to turn around, walk back several steps, and then go out the door. Unlike Ray, though, she howls like a banshee if you hold her more than a nanosecond.

I am glad to hear you are feeling better, but is the pain going to go away at some point?

(())) Hugs Missy