i woke up this morning with a bit of an ache. i thought, "wow, did mckid kick me in my sleep?" (he tends to sneak into my bed around 2am most nights). i go about my morning getting ready for work and mckid's first day of 'formal day' kindergarten (on fridays they wear dress pants, oxford shirt, and black dress shoes. a bit much i think, but hey, they teach old fashion manners, which i love) and all's fine.
i get to work, start my day of emails, messages, meetings and budgets when my rib starts bugging the heck outta me...then my breathing gets short...and the pain increases. with each intake of baby breath the sharpness of pain under my left rib threatens to steal the wispy breath away. crap. i have no idea what's causing this. one coworker sees my distress and threatens to call an ambulance. i may die today, but i'm not going to be gossip for the water cooler crowd. i adamantly refuse an ambulance.
my bro-in-law, who happens to be a fairly high up mucky muck where we both work, takes time out of his morning to drive me to the local ER. now this guy drives a porsche, but he's in the slow lane behind a truck driving like a grandma, calmly making idle chit chat. he asks if i'm okay and i say, "yep, but i think you should drive a bit faster." it reminded me of when i was in labor and i yelled at the hubby to "run the yellow light!!! just get me there! Don't you dare stop this car!"
ekg...xray....some doc poking at my rib, getting me to scream for my mommy. his prescription? motrin and ben gay. i can't lay back because it feels like my rib is poking something vital, i can barely walk and i get motrin? shhhhhim mee neee cricket.
and to top off the day i get to hang with the bad ex, his looney mom, his new wife and mckid at a back to school bbq picnic dinner. i wouldn't miss mckid's function even if i had severed an arm, so there i was jacked up on motrin and smelling of ben gay eating tacos with the man of my nightmares, watching mckid run around having a blast on the lawn with his new friends and flirting with the 2nd grade cheerleaders.