Julia's First Hospital Trip!

  Okay, not my FIRST first. I mean, I was born in a hospital. And I probably went to one when I got my arm pulled out of its socket when I was four, but I don't remember that, so it doesn't really count. So last night FELT like my first real time at the hospital.

 The story isn't all that interesting, actually. It mostly consists of a lot of moaning, crying, and writhing in agony at the hospital for a couple hours while McKay was being incredibly wonderful and supportive, then being told my "numbers" (numbers? What numbers?) weren't bad enough to bother the ultrasound people, so they gave me some strong meds that I almost puked up, and then they sent me home. Hurrah! I then moaned, cried, and writhed in agony at home for a while, then took a shower which calmed me down until the meds kicked in and I could finally sleep.

  This morning my body was like, "Pain? What pain? Are you sure you didn't make all that up?". But I'm now terrified to eat anything with any fat in it in case it was my gallbladder acting up (which I have a long family history for). Luckily I just so happen to already have a doctor's visit scheduled for this afternoon, so I'm going to ask about possibly getting an ultrasound there so I can know for realsies whether I should stay away from pizza for the next four weeks. Which would kinda suck, since we usually have it twice a week (once homemade, and once from Little Ceasar's. Cuz we're healthy like that).

  Thus concludes my not-so-exciting-on-paper story. Dang, it sucks when something feels ultra-dramatic to you, but as you're writing it, you realize it's just not all that interesting to read on your blog. It's like that old adage, "If there's a party and no one uploads pictures of it onto Facebook, did it actually happen?"

Yeah. DEEP.