(Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense. It’s been a long weekend.)
Sometimes, you’re at home from work (or in my case, working from home) and you’re doing the procrastination thing in front of the television. You flick through the millions of channels you seem to have, but still find nothing on. So you watch one of those reality shows, like Cupcake Girls, Extreme Couponing, Holy Shit, It’s Honey Boo Boo and the likes (yeah, I may have overdosed on TLC this weekend).
(More after the jump. Not that this is a long post, it’s just a bit bleh, so feel free to skip if you’re so inclined.)
Or if you’re of a less nervous disposition than I am, you watch those hospital documentaries, where the doctors go about their business making people healthy while the camera rolls.
And you sometimes cry, you sometimes balk at how awful the situation you’re watching is turning out to be. But it still feels like you’re a bit drunk. Like you’re watching people through the tinted glasses of a few too many gins. Sure, it’s reality TV, but it can’t be that much of a reality now… right?
Come with me, as I try to make this godawful metaphor thingamabob make sense.
I’d been feeling a bit under the weather for a couple of weeks now, mainly due to stomach cramps and bad reactions to food. I wasn’t paying that much heed until, at a very inappropriate moment, my body started shouting at me.
We were at the cinema, watching Byzantium. A third of the way through, my stomach started hurting again. And this time, it was fucking seriously hurting. Like being stabbed from within hurting.
I did something I would normally never do and pleaded to ILB to take me home so I could get some rest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be. The ambulance was called. I collapsed on the floor. Paramedics, waiting rooms, blood tests, hours and hours of waiting and vomiting and more waiting.
And then being sent home at two in the morning, dosed up on glorious, wonderful codeine.
There was a point during those long hours where I had a small transcendental experience. It felt like I was at home, watching one of those shows, but… well, from inside my television. Like I was in a little booth, just out of sight, watching nurses and doctors and patients scurrying about. And me, sitting there, holding ILB’s hand and thinking that something awful was going on inside me.
It was a bit like being drunk and watching myself on TV.
I don’t know. The metaphor might not have worked, but it still felt like not really being there in the moment. I’m okay now, if you were wondering. Immensely tired, but slowly regaining a bit of puff.