The day before my 22nd birthday I ended up in the emergency room. I was in agonizing pain until I willingly let them shoot me up with a morphine-like substance. From there, my best friend helped me plug my nose so I could hold my breath to see the oxygen levels on the monitor go up and down.
They told us to stop fucking around and he pumped me with more medication so I could chill out.
Of course this doesn’t go without a story.
See, I live alone, which automatically gives me permission to be a hypochondriac. But when I’m rolling on the floor like a slug with no one to call but myself, life gets scary. I started thinking of all the reasons why my stomach and back hurt so bad. I was having shooting pains up my back like a mother fucker. I panicked and a thought struck my head:
I fucking purchased raw cow’s milk at the co-op like some super-uber-annoying-health freak-non-gmo-organic-hypochondriac monster. I knew this was the culprit. I was dying of ingesting raw milk. The microbes were penetrating through my organs and I was going to die a sad and lonely life.
I thought of the commercial you see on TV where the old lady is crippled, rolling on the ground with no one to call… but suddenly she’s got a little beeper in her hand and the ambulance comes in a jiffy to save her life. Why didn’t I purchase this? Shouldn’t this come with every apartment you rent-out alone?
God, all my friends told me I would die of some uber-hippie bullshit. Like ingesting some eucalyptus essential oil, eating over-fermented kimchi, or just dying for being so goddamn healthy.
“Well, this is it,” I thought. It’s just so typical of me to get raw milk poisoning. I mean, who else would this happen to?
Naturally, I call my best friend, Virginia. She’s my go-to for everything. She knows I am ridiculous and if anything it gives her a story to tell her boyfriend, who thinks I’m the biggest nut-job this world has ever seen.
So I call Virge:
H: “HEY. Don’t laugh. But I think I have been poisoned by ingesting raw milk.”
V: “Han, are you fucking kidding me?”
H: “No V, I know you think this is some typical shit, but I legit am being poisoned by the cows. This isn’t a joke. Can you come get me?”
V. “Seriously, Han? I’ll be there in five. But this is some bullshit.”
Of course, I interrupt her romping sesh with her boyfriend like a sad, lonely, raw-milk infested, single girl would do. I wobble to her car screaming in agony as she decides it’s time to take me to the emergency room.
Oh GOD, how embarrassing. I could just see it on the front page of the Onion, “dumb girl dies of ingesting raw meellllk” I tried to buck up, but I couldn’t! I really did need to go see someone, I had never been in this kind of pain before. I couldn’t breath during the contractions and jesus, I did not look pretty. I was kind of making these weird orgasmic-noises but my body was in such an awkward position with my face all scrunched up and sweaty that I’m sure I was turning heads and making old guys stare, but not in a good way.
After a 45-minute wait in the emergency room, which by the way— This WAS an emergency that wasn’t taken like an emergency (BIG shout out to the U.S. health care system) I was wheeled into room 21, shot with an IV, pumped with some medication, and drooling like a bastard.
I told them, “IT’S THE RAW MELK!!!” but they kept telling me, “No. You crazy bitch, you have a kidney infection. Glad you got it in the earlier stages, this shit gets crazy.” Exact words, professionalism at it’s finest.
Anyway, turns out I can still drink my raw milk because it IS good for you, but I have purchased some uber-organic non-sugar added cranberry juice for $10/bottle in exchange for that raw milk this week.