I haven't been feeling too well lately and I've also been eating a lot of bananas and oranges. (I'm turning into a chimp.)
Anyway, I exerted myself in therapy and neglected to drink enough water. Stupid people trying to sound knowledgeable about something other than Dancing With The Stars call drinking water "hydrating," but no matter; I didn't do enough of it.
So the doctor assigned to me, Dr. Dube (pronounced "doo-bee" because I think he's smoked a few too many) told me that my heartbeat indicated I was having a coronary - again, stupid-speak for a heart attack - and that I had a 50% chance of dying so they had to get me to the hospital "stat." That's stupid-speak for toot sweet, mucho pronto, mach schnell and right away. So here I am, writing down info how to see to it that your cousin gets my house and stuff, then I was loaded into the ambulance like a deer tied down on some moron's hood.
In the ambulance, they told me the 50% prognosis was questionable at best. I asked if, on the off chance this was my last ride if they could PLEASE stop playing the fucking Christmas music. Fortunately, they complied. But while they had me, they tried to draw blood while the ambulance - I found out stupid-speak for that particular piece of junk was "the ambo" - was jouncing over city streets that had holes bigger than those meteor craters on Mars. Needless to say, they weren't succesful after multiple stabbings.
Then when I got to the "E-Room" - stupid-speak for the Emergency Room - the nurses tried again. These women are vicious and sadists. They jabbed the back of hy hand, tha inside of my wrist, my forearm (twice) and the crook of me elbow. I looked like St. fucking Sebastian (look him up). After a few tries I suggested they try my right arm, since it's as dead as Julius Caesar. No soap. Apparently it's "unethical" to take blood from a paralyzed arm. "Why," I asked, "because it can't feel pain?!?"
Well, they got the blood and then asked ne for a urine sample. "Why do you need piss when you already have blood?" No answer. Good thing they didn't ask for a stool sample; I would have busted a chair over somebody's teeth at that point and said, "There's your fuckin' stool sample!"
After two hours on a gurney that had a bar perfectly placed to mangle my ass they said I could go. But not before the nurse had to tell me she was "a Christian" and didn't appreciate my swearing by using the word "a-s-s". I told her she was lucky they let me go then because I was about to say "f-u-c-k."
So today the doctor came in to see me and find out how I was. I asked if he got his docterate in wood shop, pointed out that if I had a sick hamster I wouldn't let him treat it, and asked if he was an actual Polak or just an honorary one. I realize there's a certain Slavic component to your makeup, and I apologize. But you get the concept, I'm sure; there's enough Salami there to overcome the people of the steppe in your genetic pool.
So that's how I am, happy as a wet cat.