So... I think it was last... winter? Maybe late last fall. I checked myself into UNC for observation, because I was really concerned that my antidepressants weren't doing the trick and I was stressed the hell out.

I ended up getting there after five, and for some reason that meant I had to spend eight hours in the ER, most of that time with violent offenders. That was super fun.
Around midnight, the only bed I could have had opened up in the ED ward, and they took me to my room where my "roommate" was asleep -- though I had no idea there was actually a person in the room with me. The next morning, I already knew I was in absolutely the wrong place, as they were treating me for an eating disorder which I didn't have, and they were actually not giving me any of my medications, which, just in 24 hours, made me an anxious, exhausted, depressed, and irritated wreck. I demanded that they release me, since I checked myself in voluntarily -- but because they'd put me in the ED ward, they wouldn't let me leave until like 6 that evening. I was pissed off.

Anyway -- the girl I shared a room with for six hours was about 80 pounds and 5'9. I think that's what it was. She couldn't move on her own -- she was essentially a skeleton already when I saw her. It was terrifying.

Apparently she died in May.

I don't know what made me think of that.

i spent yesterday afternoon/evening in student health with an IV in my arm.

stomach flu!

don't touch anyone at UNC, you'll catch it. i was like the 30th person they'd seen just that day.

okay CHRIST ON A FUCKING CRACKER.

mark has had a sore throat for three days. incl. what is still my today but is now technically 24 hours ago. so, yesterday, he was a hell of a lot worse, and there was a *hole* in the fucking back of his throat. I have no idea how else to describe it. he went to class and got out at like 8:30 last night, and basically sounded like he had Down's. this is what they call "hot potato mouth," apparently. because it makes you sound like you have a mouth full of hot potatoes. no joke, that is a professional medical term. (it's kind of hilarious to hear, though)

now, i had already convinced him to make an appointment with his regular doctor, which was an incredible feat in itself. people who work in medicine do not take care of themselves. it's 100% ridiculous and 100% true. but when he came home and eventually stopped swallowing his own saliva, i was all, "okay, we're going to the ER now." "ahhh... fine. just after this episode of star trek is over." (which is what he said, but not what it sounded like)

we got to UNC at about 11:30, at which point he couldn't speak coherently and i was pretty much freaking out (which was under control fairly quickly -- thanks, anti-anxiety meds!). got him in, they started fluid and antibiotic IVs, then got a CT scan. took him back to his room, and once he was halfway through his bag of antibiotics/steroids he was pretty much asleep. i was pretty much not for eight hours.

so, here's my main problem. they told me it would take an hour to get the CT results back, but they already pretty much knew 100% that it was a peritonsillar abscess (aka tonsillitis on crack), which generally requires some minor surgery (cutting and draining and aspirating and things that make me feel a little nauseous). so he got the scan at like 2, and 3:00 rolled around, 4, 5, and finally I was like "okay, where the hell are his CT results?" so, the nurse tells me that they've been in for two hours, but the ENT specialist who we saw when we first got there is apparently a complete flake and doesn't respond to pages; he just comes in at 6 AM instead, when it's, you know, more convenient. for him.

so jackass finally comes in and evaluates him and decides that, even though the infection had gotten to other tissues in his throat around his tonsils, he was just going to give mark every antibiotic/steroid ever, and then have mark see a different ENT specialist on friday, whether mark felt okay or not. then it was all, "okay, bye!"

we got out of there like an hour ago and i am so fucking pissed off.

and, admittedly, some of this is because mark got to sleep most of the night while i was trying to curl up on two chairs i'd pushed together beside his bed. and it could not have possibly been a degree more than 65 in that room. i got four blankets -- two for mark and two for me. but he had the whole bed thing and i cannot tolerate cold, so i was just wired all night on a combination of discomfort, 100% unadulterated and distilled concern that mark was going to die (this happens), adrenaline, and a significant drop in core body temperature.

if i ever have to be on that flip-side experience of the ER again, i'm going to have to find some way to at least get a bed.