After a 25 hour episode of vomiting, severe stomach pain, sleeplessness, and discomfort, followed by a set of percocets and two hours of fitful sleep after vomiting till blood erupted, mixed with blood, I called my doctor, who instructed me to go to the ED for fluids. He told me last night to vomit; it would make me feel better and I could sleep and heal. So I induce vomiting with a spoon handle, vomited majorly every two hours like clockwork, until 7:07am, when my left arm was a mess of a prickly heat, and I felt pain in my lungs. Pain I thought was caused from emesis in the lungs, because I was in every weird position imaginable when I was throwing up. I wasn’t quite that lucky. Heart attack. At thirty years old. Mild, but still, a heart attack. My heart is only working at 70% now. I have permanently lost 30% of my heart function because I wanted to feel better last night. Or at least that is what I am being lead to believe. The last four messages that I left for the doctor who recommended that I induce vomiting has not returned my calls. I sincerely hope that one cannot have a heart attack from simply vomiting too much in one night. I think I threw up a total of ten times between 10:28pm last night at 7:07am today. The last being in the basin in the bathroom, where I saw the blood and bile. Before I had been vomiting in the dark in the bedroom trash can.

I get to go home Friday, if I’m lucky. No colonoscopy for me, for now, but I’d rather drink a million galleons of MoviPrep than be told I had a heart attack, to get my heart working again. They aren’t sure if my meds caused the attack, or if the vomiting did. I was vomiting so hard last night, it was just awful. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I would drift off into blissful sleep, the stomach pains would return. I’d grab the trash can and throw up. Every two hours until about 4am, then it was every hour until 6:40am, and finally every few minutes until 7:07am. Dennis slept on the second floor. I was making too much noise and shaking the bed. The dog took off and slept in our adjourning bathroom. My back was one mess of prickly heat that matched my arm. The underside of my night shirt was my Kleenex after every episode. I will never eat hotdogs again. The bitter taste of bile is still in my mouth. I didn’t take a bath last night. I reek. The bedroom we share reeks of dead hotdogs, bile, blood, MRSA, and a slew of other nasties. Dennis promised to clean it up while I’m in. I told him to burn that garbage can. It will never smell like anything other than dead hotdogs ever again. I don’t want to spend our last few nights together in a hospital room. At least they are not talking about open-heart surgery anymore. I may get out of this easier than I thought.

Also, I have an off server blog, for when the server this site is on falls down again. And it will happen again.

I’m physically sick of this whole internet scene/thing. I want to just trash everything and say fuck it. If it weren’t for my customers and blog readers, I would. I would just delete all my pages, email accounts, Last FM, FB, MS, Twitter, Flickr, YouTube, everything and never return. But I can’t let this be about me. I don’t care about me. But I care about others. I am scared shitless that I am going to die. I am afraid of death in general. I don’t want to die. When these things happen, that’s all I can think of. This is it, you know?