After wandering outside in shorts and a tank top to knock the snow off of our DirecTV receiver, I came back in to hear the following commercial advertisement: “Restasis is not for patients who have had herpes of the eye.” 

Even at my absolute rowdiest, I was never rowdy enough to be at a real risk for eye herpes.  Never.  What kind of shenanigans do you have to get up to to get eye herpes?  Butterfly kissing an inner-city prostitute?  Looking REALLY CLOSELY at Lindsay Lohan?  Lending your mascara to the makeup artist responsible for making sure Pit Bull’s pubic hair stays well-groomed?

I don’t know.  I’m kind of miffed with the entire medical community right now.  Because I had my DP session this Monday, and I didn’t enjoy it near as much as you would think.  Why?  Because I woke up while they were balls deep in my arse, so to speak.  After explaining patiently to them that I had an unreal tolerance for most medications, and them promising they’d knock me out good and proper, I still woke up with a camera alllllll the way up my dark star.  The combination of Versed and Propofol was not enough to keep this girl down.  It killed Michael Jackson, but it couldn’t even keep me quiet for 30 minutes so they could assail my neverland ranch.

I did fine during the endoscopy portion of the event.  At least, I think I did because I don’t remember it.  But I woke up HOWLING when they were tromping around in my confederate lands (the south).  I remember that quite clearly.

( * ) <----A picture of the entrance to my confederate lands. They increased my dosage, and I went back to sleep for another 15 minutes, then woke up feeling like I had spent the last 30 days as Bubba’s bitch in a federal penitentiary. As it turns out, my ass is completely normal (as one might expect in someone who went to the doctor FOR HEARTBURN), and my esophagus is a hot mess of abused tissue that may or may not be Barrett’s esophagus.  I’m waiting for my biopsies to tell me what’s really going on in the area of my eatin’ tube. I took the nugget trick or treating that night, and haven’t really eaten much since then.  I’ll get back in the cooking saddle this weekend.  Although I will have some food to post tomorrow that I’ve been saving for a moment when Emmett isn’t trying to grab my attention by bashing his tiny head on things and yelling like it’s my fault.

1 thought on “Prison”

  1. I can't believe I'm laughing out loud at your pain, but that is in fact what I'm doing, your description of the procedure is just too damn funny. Bad me….bad bad me. I hope they at least gave you a lollipop when it was all over.

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