I’m Insured!

Posted on July 23, 2013


I hate being sick.

That is a dumb thing to say isn’t it?

Who the hell doesn’t hate being sick?

Have you ever met anyone who said, ‘Ya know, spending the entire night on my hands and knees in front of the toilet wasn’t so bad.’

It all started on Saturday 7/13, that’s when the ham and cheese sandwich and barbeque chips I had for dinner made and unceremonious, unscheduled and quite explosive exit from my guts just before midnight.

I’d sleep a few minutes, wake up, run for the bathroom, spend several minutes on all fours, heaving and coughing and choking, then I’d rinse my mouth, crawl back into bed as quietly as possible (so’s not to disturb the missus) until another spasm would wrack my bloated belly.

Then the process would repeat itself.

All night long this went on.

The next day was worse.

By noon on Sunday there was nothing left in my innards but the innards themselves, my rumbly-tumbly was roaring, still tossing my cookies every hour or so, even though I had no cookies left to toss.

Monday, I called in sick at work, something I am loathe to do as even one unpaid day off work is enough to push the Sliger family finances to Def-Con 2.

But there was no way I could make it, my pale, bloated achy body could barely manage to crawl to the bathroom, a cross-town transit – followed by 8 hours in my cubicle, was out of the question.

After my third night hugging the toilet bowl, surrender was my only option.

This gaping wound in my guts was not going to pass, it was not going to heal itself, I was out of choices, I had to get some professional medical help.

And I have health insurance now.

Instead of battling the crowd at EA Conway, my area’s charity hospital, I took my brand-spankin’ new health coverage to my nearest emergency room.

Health insurance, like adult diapers, senior citizen discounts and AARP, are one of the many things that suck about growing older.

But I’m damned glad to have it.







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