Sunday, 4 March 2012

Get me to a nunnery. I need some sleep

For the past week, I've experienced the most excruciating pain on the right side of my neck and up towards my right ear. Last night, the pain was an eight.

Not to worry, it isn't the old ticker. I have a chronic injury in my neck, in part, the result of having two pugs as nocturnal ear muffs.

Occasionally, I also "throw out" my neck by talking, sneezing or coughing.

It's strange, I know.

The whole past week has been a nightmare. I've acquired my first cold of the year, which pisses me off as I am the hand sanitizing queen. When I go to the gym, I wipe off the machines before I settle on to them, then I wipe them again after I've sweated a couple of quarts, then I sanitize my hands as I'm walking out the door.

Doing a little detective work, I've surmised that the cold came from the car dealership that employs Scott and the morons who sneeze without benefit of elbow, then wipe their toxic snot on the door nobs that Scott handles.

This cold is a unique variety with the really sticky phlegm that can't be blown out of your nose; it prefers to squat in my sinuses and resists any means of human expulsion.

Like human Krazy Glue.

As a last resort, I'm getting out the Nettie pot today and waterboarding myself with saline solution.

I can't stand one more night of the snot squatting on my back teeth, adding to the pain of the pulled neck muscle.

I've also got a tickle, one of those horrible little flutters on the left side of my neck, reminiscent of the olden days when my brothers used to tickle Me Elmo and make me crazy. The tickle cannot be ignored, not even with hours of meditation and diaphragmic breathing.

It must be resolved through coughing which in turn aggravates both my sinus congestion and the pull in the right side of my throat.

So my nights go something like this.

I lull myself into a gentle sleep only to be awakened violently by convulsive coughing caused by the tickle. I swallow a cocktail of Buckley's mixture and Perrier water, then clean up the pee that has pooled around my ankles.

Pretty soon I'm going to need adult diapers.

Will I really?

It Depends. Haha.

I digress.

The Buckleys and the Perrier finally calm the tickle and I gratefully find myself asleep again only to be awakened at approximately 3 a.m. but the most horrendous pain which shoots up my neck, into the jawline and into my ear.

I dash to the bathroom, pop open the Motrin and swallow it like hillbilly heroin then try to go back to sleep to no avail. Ten minutes later, I'm up chugging the Gaviscon, hoping their motto applies.

Gavison and it's gone.

Yes, please.

Eventually, I pass out from the pain with the pugs curled around my neck like travel pillows.

I find myself in a blissful place for about two hours when it's time to get up.

Go to the doctor, you say?

I went to the doctor and he threw two packages of Advil at me.

Nothing to be done.

I went to the hospital and found myself amongst twelve drunks with traffic injuries, a granny who fell out of bed and broke her hip, and hurling public servants with the flu.

After six hours, I'm told to go home and self-medicate.

The only cure for my various maladies is time, Buckley's, Motrin and Perrier.

My nightly ritual.

I hate my life right now.

I believe the only solution is to cut my head off.

Or, as a preventative measure, stop talking altogether.

For which the world and my husband may find themselves forever grateful.

Get me to a nunnery.

I'll take the vows, God dammit.

I need some sleep.

Can I bring the pugs?

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