No, you don't say. You really want to hear about my hospital stay and how I missed the NFC Championship game and how important it was to me since I'm not just a Green Bay Packers Fan but I'm also one of the teams over 35,000 owners. Well, ok, I'll give it a shot.
Here's the short of it...
5:18 PM Friday evening: arrived home, grumbled at daughter who was on couch watching television. Went upstairs and went to bed.
5:24 PM Friday evening: last conscious thought was "I feel like crap."
5:20 AM Saturday morning: alarm wakes me up, body feels like it's been used as a pinata at the Marine Corps birthday party, shower does little to alleviate pain. Getting dressed in dark I realize I just may not be able to walk down the steps.
6:00 AM Saturday morning: wife takes my temperature, informs me and the world it is 99.8 degrees and I can't work. I make feeble attempts to the contrary. I fail.
8:00 AM Saturday morning: phone calls made to work, the black veil of sleep descends on me like a pride of lions on a downed gazelle in the Serengetti.
5:44 PM Saturday evening: manage to move my bone bag from second floor bed to first floor couch snagging 2 popsicles, 3 excedrin and a glass of water on the way. I RULE!
6:15 PM Saturday evening: I realize the movies in my head are better than the ones on television and succumb to them.
9:35 PM Saturday night: attempt to move flesh covered pain up to bed took 10 minutes. More popsicles, pain killers and sleep.
6:00 AM Sunday morning: pain is a bitch of an alarm clock, sweat does not mean I've showered and popsicles are getting old quick. These are all conclusions I quickly make as I eat more pain killers. I seem to have gotten a faulty bottle of pain killers because they're not working.
6:01 AM Sunday morning: Prayer to God "Please kill me and stop torturing me. I live at $()# LSKGJ ERO VOKIERO. Your faithful servant Skip."
12:16 PM Sunday afternoon: Prayer didn't work, Still alive. On couch. Packers on tv in 3 hours. I hate popsicles. Pain killers bottle is empty which is good cause they didn't work anyway. Head still hurts, body hurts. but Packers coming on TV!
1:00 PM Sunday afternoon: I forsee a hospital trip in my near future cause theres a guy on my porch swing in a black cloak.
1:45 PM Sunday afternoon: at hospital, can't open eyes, machines going BOOP and BEEP, some guy put stickers on me, getting poked, swallowing pills, bodily fluids forcibly removed from body. That'll teach my body to piss off the doctors!
2:15 PM Sunday afternoon: still in pain, more BOOPS and BEEPS, one machine insists I'm dead, more bodily fluids stolen from me at needle point, more pills, some guy fills me full of something he calls X-rays, eyes refuse to open.
5:20 PM Sunday afternoon: I learn my Nurse's nickname is Grace, it's a nickname given in irony, but in her defense she injects me with a beautiful liquid known as Dilaudid, it raced through my system obliterating every ache, pain and hangnail on my body. By the time it reaches my forehead its stronger than the entire Picatiny Armory during WWII. My 3 day old migraine doesn't stand a chance. I can finally open my eyes in the blacked out room.
6:45 PM Sunday evening: released from hospital, go home. Packers are in Super Bowl. Doctor's note says no work til Thursday.
11:00 PM Sunday night: Pray to God "Please don't. Your faithful servant Skip."