Let me relate to you the last five days. This is not a tale for the squeamish.
Thursday, 4am onwards.
Woke up feeling sick and thinking in French. Yes, French. I must have been delirious, or something, 'cause all I remember was thinking, 'qui ma fille est comme ca,' and the next think I know I was having major upchuck issues over the loo. Mother comes in, groans, tells me to breathe, goes back to bed. I go back to bed. I lie in bed feeling sick. I am sick all over bed. I run to bathroom. Am sick several more times before crawling back on my hands and knees to my room. The next thing I know, I wake up at 5pm, realise I have missed my best friends birthday, cry, be sick, then fall asleep again. My wall still has an interesting splatter pattern across it.
Friday, 7.30am onwards.
Mercifully, I have managed not to be sick just yet. My mother takes my temperature, pokes me and decides I absolutely must see the doctor. We phone doctors, who tell us we are to see one Dr. McClane. We check into reception. Receptionnist puzzled when my mother claims we are booked in for one Dr. McClean. I snigger whilst flicking through a particulary mind stimulating copy of, 'Where is my Tractor.' We see doctor. I am poked. I must go back if pain becomes 'localised.' I may have a 'viral' infection of the stomach, causing 'immflamation.' I am pescribed 'medicine.' I return to my house where I decided to post this blog. The internet is off. Luckily I have several anime episodes on my computer, and treat myself to a marathon (I still can't keep food down.) After this, I attempt to do some of my English Essay. I drop notes. I stand up. I fall over. I find out what 'localised pain' means.
My mother, god love her, panics, and we run (well, I limp) straight back to doctors McCleans and his surgery of dental wonders (a morbid attempt at a joke there). This time we see an old Irish guy. I am poked. He looks all serious. Five minutes later, I am rushed to casualtly with suspected appendicitus. I can hardly walk at this point. I am submitted to more poking by three different doctors, and I am jabbed with needles, given painkillers, etc. We wait. I thought it was only a few minutes, but it turns out the Aladdin clock on the wall was stuck. I figured this out after an hour, as I'd previously been trying to avert the gaze of Aladdin and his stupid girlfriend. Drugged up to the eyeballs in a room with decapitated tigers on the wall, I whimper as we wait hours and hours for them to tell me, that, in fact, I have kidney trouble. About five hours after we arrive, we are finally discharged with yet more medicine. By this time, I want nothing more than to shoot Aladdin.
Saturday, 10am onwards.
My mother is heard to say, 'she's had a hetic few days. Let's let her sleep.' Three minutes later, the customary slam of the bathroom door, and later, the clanging of pots. I stumble downstairs. Am drugged. Go back upstairs. I spend most of the day watching old Inuyasha and Avatar episodes whilst I try to get the internet running. I then pick up my History essay, but the retreat to my bed, as I can't risk vomiting all over it.
Sunday, 12pm onwards.
Ah, the sweet bliss of an uninterrupted sleep. However, I still feel sick, as well as waterwork trouble, and so I stumble downstairs, am drugged, and spend the rest of the day attempting to write my English essay. Need an extension. Hopefully being in hospital with Kidney troubles will sway my case a bit.
Monday, 7.30am.
Still feel awful, but I think I shall be in tommorow. So far, no sickness or diabolical pain, but the number of medicines I am on should do the trick. Feel ill, and guilty. I havn't done my English essay (hey, I did try!) or my History essay. I will spend the next few form mornings and lunchtimes trying to catch up. Goodbye sickness, hello lots of school work.
