For some strange reason yesterday, I woke up with some back pain. It was treacherously reminiscent of the 3 awful days of food poisoning that I endured when I was still new in hong kong and when the food poisoning was severe enough to induce referred pains to my back. What the fuck, right? In any case, I wasn’t dying of pain so I largely ignored it and continued to eat normally. And by that I mean, I ate a fuckload.
I got home after some drinks and tapas and b-school networking and tried to read (difficult when you have a wine buzz) while eating a pot of maggi (yeah, I know, from detox to wine, proscuitto and maggi, how the mighty fall). My back was starting to hurt like a motherfucker. I gave up and hit the sack with my trusty hot water bag. I couldn’t sleep. By 1am, I could barely breathe and I was screaming in pain. The neighbours must have thought I was having some pretty awesome sex. If only.
I figured if I got myself to puke, I’d feel better, emptier. But that didn’t work. I wondered if I was having a heart attack (there are connections okay?).
Here’s the problem when you’re living alone. You don’t like getting sick and if you do, you generally have loads of OTC meds at home that can fix the usual suspects. Then again there is a small part of you that does not want to die alone in their sleep. And if you’re like me and have lived in the places you have, you have met doctors who have diagnosed a bug bite as “could be lime disease”, tummy ache/indigestion as “could be appendicitis” or “could be that you’re overweight”, a flu as “could be asthma”, sinusitis as “could be brain tumour” (I swear to God that all of those have actually happened to me). These doctors will have created a wee hypochondriac inside you. That wee hypochondriac wants to see the doctor at 1.00 am because it’s slightly better than dying at 1.00 am.
So see a doctor I did. I slowly went to the atm, and then onward to the hospital. They were very nice to me. The doctor was a chilled out young guy. He said it was severe muscle stress from being stressed at work and wearing high heels. I interpret this as hours of work plus hours of study = nearly 17 hours per day on a chair in a hunched position. Fair point, Doctor Cool. I was still a bit paranoid and I asked if he was sure. He then offered me what I call the “hypochondriac package” – “we can let you stay here and run tests/MRIs, etc or you can choose to see if you feel better with the medicines”. I chose to go home.
So the nurses then gave me a shot of ketorolac (that awful painkiller that you shouldn’t have too much of) and some other painkiller tabs and some bengay. I may head down there tomorrow to see the physiotherapist just to make sure this sort of ridiculous physical cockup does not happen again before the exam.
I went to work at noon and in flats. I am still hurting a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I just need to clock in some physical activity, preferable one that doesn’t involve alcohol and/or men. Weekend’s almost here but aside from Thursday’s lebanese supper with the girls at the Marriott, I have made no plans. Operation lockdown should start on Monday, May 28th. Stay tuned for the second installment of cfa2 live-ish-blogging.
1.06 am. This is Jups signing out. Good night.