From The Bed

It's after 9 am here this morning,
and I'm still in my mis-matched pj's in bed.

I'm not sick.
I don't have a flu or a cold
a broken-anything
for what I would call a "good excuse"...
but here I am.

Remember when I had that surgery last April,
the "uterine ablation"
where my insides were toasted like a bagel
and supposed to be the end of all future
baby-makin' productions?
Yeah.
My motherly body isn't havin' any of that.
It's revolting that idea in a very big way.
So, I'm on bedrest.
I called my doctor's office yesterday
to make an appointment,
but the triage nurse surprised me
by saying,
"Oh, dear, you're hemorrhaging. You need to go to the ER."

It's not that I was not aware of what was happening,
that's why I called the doctor's office.
But seriously,
I didn't feel like my condition warranted a trip to the ER.
I called my husband at work,
told him what was going on,
and he left to come home.
I called a friend to pick up Dara from school,
as I knew if I did go to the hospital,
she'd still need a ride home and to work later.
My awesome friend is also my Relief Society President--
(the women' auxillary in the Church),
and without asking,
she also brought in dinner last night.

Anyway,
I wasn't feeling light-headed,
I drank more water,
took some iron supplements
and was
"timed-out" by my family to my bed
for not choosing to go to the ER.

Why didn't I go, they asked.
I hate the ER.
I hate the waiting.
I hate the $200 co-pay.
I didn't want to hemorrhage in the waiting room.
None of that sounded good to me.
So, I waited it out.
I took care of my own needs and see if my body responded.

Well, the fact that I'm typing proves
I ain't dead.