Yesterday was my 21st birthday.
It was the second time I have spent November 6 in the hospital.
My husband dragged me, kicking and screaming (“NO! It’s my BIRFDAY. I will NOT go to the hospital!”) and whining and crying. I was throwing up blood and for SOME reason he thought he should be worried. Silly boy. They prescribed me Zofran. I just threw it up five minutes ago. Zofran loses.
Anyway. After five hours they let me loose and Nate took me to the Mall (and bought me ice cream and cookies!!) and then out to dinner. Then we came home, I called my mommy because I missed her, and then I opened presents. My mom sent me two new shirts which I am ecstatic about because I have been wearing the same two shirts since September. She also sent me a bunch of Stitch stuff from Lilo and Stitch. Yay! My grandma sent me some monies so I can buy pants to go with my shirts, and a skirt so I don’t have to wear pants to church anymore. And Nate bought me a Mormon Tabernacle Choir CD, which I am confused about since I have made my hatred of MoTab known to him several times. But that’s all right.
All in all, it was a good birthday. Except for the hospital part. Although I did get lots of pity and sad looks from the nurses. And now I have a cool hospital bracelet. Anyway, Nate says we will try to have my birthday again on the 16th, sans hospital and with more cake.
The doctor asked me if I smoke or drank. I felt like saying “well I haven’t had a chance yet, but if you’ll let me out of here I’d love to start.” Hee.
