“Gee,” you’re all wondering. “What on earth could have distracted Brooke from her now (pathetically) weekly posting??”
Well, when I should have been searching the dark scary corners of my brain for material for a new post that was hopefully not wedding related (there’s only so much relatively interesting information to share about the planning process), Army Boy decided that it would be a good time to get deathly ill.
Actually, this IS wedding related, as the onset of his illness occurred right before we were scheduled to go out and eat at the hotel where we’re getting married. He reported having a “funny stomach” as we were heading out the door, and by the time we’d finished the delicious appetizers and moved on to the main course, he was looking a little pale. We ended up ordering dessert (tiramisu and dark chocolate raspberry torte, please) to go and heading for a home a little earlier than planned.
He went straight to bed, and I expected him to awaken the next morning looking refreshed and feeling better.
No dice. He was pale and listless, had no appetite and was referring to his stomachache being in the area of his bellybutton.
Now, I’ve watched enough ER to know that abdominal pain beginning in the area of the bellybutton is an indicator of… *drumroll please….* Appendicitis!
I snuck away while he was napping in the afternoon and talked to the ever-helpful Web MD to check on his symptoms. While he had some, he wasn’t running a fever or having other nasty GI symptoms other than pain, nausea and lack of appetite. I kept my suspicion to myself, but thought that a doctor visit Monday would be a good idea if he didn’t improve.
Apparently our family doctor shared my concerns, and after a round of tests and an exam, we were told “it MIGHT be his appendix. Keep an eye on it, go to the ER, follow up, yadda yadda…”
Fast forward through an ER visit, a CT scan and another normal round of bloodwork, and it’s not the appendix, thank the sweet innocent Baby Jesus.
That’s not really the crux of my latest update though. Oh no, it’s not.
See, as we were sitting in the waiting room of the hospital imaging center, watching the latest round of smut TV about Halle Berry’s custody battle with her (apparently racist?) baby daddy, Army Boy directed my attention to a sign on the wall.
“Attention Hospital Patrons:
Due to recent satisfaction survey responses, the following programming will be blocked from viewing.
~The Jerry Springer Show
We appreciate your feedback and will continue to yadda yadda something about your hospital experience.”
My first thought was “OF COURSE. Because we’re in CONSERVATIVE COUNTY, PA, where God Forbid someone should have to hear the heathen Maury Povich as background noise while they’re drinking a barium smoothie and waiting for a cat-scan.”
My second thought was “What the hell?!!? Why wouldn’t you want to see people that have it so much worse than you while drinking your barium smoothie and waiting for a CAT-scan? I mean, yeah, that stuff tastes nasty, but at least you’re not sleeping with a woman who’s actually a guy/midget/circus performer. And aren’t you intrigued to find out WHO that girl’s baby daddy is, even though they’ve already tested the 36 other guys she slept with in the possible week period when she was ovulating? I mean, DAMN, that girl has some STAMINA. Who wants to live in a world without “Can I have the envelope, please?!!?!’”
Apparently people in Conservative County, PA. That’s who. Although Halle Berry’s Baby Daddy Drama was playing out before my eyes at that very moment.
All this to say that if I am asked MY opinion, you’d better believe that they’ll receive a strongly worded letter about how utterly offensive I find the Quilting Channel.