Sunday, October 14, 2012

Pretty sure this is how it ends...

One day, as I was walking home from class, I became vaguely aware that my insides were planning an attack. I don't know how it started, but something was definitely strange, and it was burrowed deep inside my chest. Suddenly, before I could cry a feeble plea for help, my innards had set my world on fire.

Now, I'm not in the medical field. I've never taken an anatomy class in my life. In fact, I'd be a little stressed out if my life depended on accurately pointing where my kidneys are.

So let's just say that tiny balls of burning hate were rapidly fermenting somewhere between my ribcage and where I imagine my stomach probably is.

This was made infinitely more annoying by the fact that I had just finished taking a midterm and was basking in the excitement of the banana and jar of peanut butter waiting for me at home, which I could no longer fantasize about as I had lost the ability to walk without falling oh-so-romantically into the arms of the nearest stranger.

After one sharp blast of fiery pain that could very easily have been an alien bursting from my chest, I decided medical attention was probably something I should consider. So I sludged quite pathetically to the student health center.

After filling out some paperwork with self-diagnosed symptoms and some very vague analogies, I was led to an examination room, where I would wait for the doctor to simply confirm what I already knew: mutant fire ants had burrowed deep into my insides. I would either die a martyr or breed the ultimate demise of the human race somewhere in my chestal region.

So I waited. I waited for about 10 minutes when...

Hold up.

That can't be right.

Sure enough. The pain was gone. Seriously. It poofed. It poofed out of my body, and I felt like nothing had happened. No alien infestation, no hate monsters, no mutant fire ant colonies spelunking in the cavern of my soul. Nothing. Just the goop that's supposed to be there.

I didn't...I didn't really know what to do. I mean, when you feel fine, you don't have to go to the doctor, right? You shouldn't waste their time, right? They've got other stuff to do, other dragon wounds to stitch up.

But you're already there. You're in the office. They know you're there. You can't just...leave.

Or can you?

I mean, they don't know your name. They don't know who you are. How would they know if you just walked right out the door and never looked back? How would they know!

If they catch you. If they catch you they'll know.

Hey there. Where are you going?

Um. Yeah, my thing went away.

I'm sorry?

I had a pain in my chest sort of like someone was giving my insides an Indian burn, but it's gone now, so it couldn't've been so bad, right?

I guess not.


Do you get heartburn?

Not...not usually.

It was probably heartburn.

Well, that can't be right.

If you have any more problems let us know.

Trust me. You'll be the first to know. Right behind the team of strangers I assemble to carry me over here.


All that being said, I refuse to believe my injury was simply "heartburn," and, I'll be honest, I'm a little offended by his accusation that I can't accurately assess pain.

Thankfully, my inner chestal region has been fire-free for almost 3 years now. And, guys, assuming it was heartburn, I've had late-night-pizza on multiple, very sad occasions since then. I'm gonna be just fine.

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