I went to the hospital last night.  It was a horrendous unpleasant experience that I hope never to repeat but was, unfortunately, necessary.  A couple of days ago the general aches and pains that I had dubbed "normal" began to grow constant and decidedly more persistant.  The day before yesterday it got to the point where I was shaking it hurt so much and I could barely walk.  It started from what felt like a tennis ball pushing on my spine and spread outwards like a wildfire, taking over every limb until I was in tears.

So my mother and my friend Scott took me to the hospital.  My girlfriend went home to take care of the animals and get some sleep - she and I agreed that she wouldn't have been able to handle sitting around in the hospital for hours on end, it would have been too stressful on her.  It was a relatively swift check-in and they sent me over to the minor injuries ward at around eleven o'clock.

At quarter to three in the morning I finally saw the doctor.  The poor man was the only doctor working on a holiday weekend and was being run off his feet with everything going on.  I discussed my symptoms with him, which by that point had extended to nausea and difficulty breathing - we agreed that it was most likely the stress from the pain that was causing those.  He had no idea what was going on.  He says they're very unusual symptoms, that all over pain is not very common and that I should go home, rest for a couple of days and see my doctor if they persisted.  He gave me some t3s which I stopped taking after they made me violently ill three doses later.  Luckily they helped dull the pain after I took the first dose and I got a few hours sleep before Scott and I headed out to help a friend at his cafe.

I'm still in pain but it has returned to the point it was before, a dull roar that I can deal with.

What I really wanted to talk about was how lonely the emergancy room seemed, even with Scott and my mother there.  Because all the time, the only thing I could think of was "I wish he was here..."  The first thing I wanted to do when I finally agreed to go to the hospital was call him and tell him I was going.  Hear his voice and know that it was ok.  Scott thinks that I miss what I wanted him to represent and not what he actually was.  I guess they should know, they dated him too.  They say I deserve better, that I deserve someone who truly cares about me.  That I deserve friends and partners who treat me with love and respect.  For the first time in my life, I think maybe they are right.  They treat me better than any friend, or even any partner, I have ever had.  They are the first person in my life who's never made me feel an inch tall, never made me feel like I am less of a person when I am afraid or upset.

And yet... I wanted him there with me that night in the hospital.  I wanted to curl up in his arms and hear his voice telling me it was ok, press my face into his chest and know that I was safe.  I loved him.  I still love him.  Everyday I wish it would stop.  I go so many long stretches without needing him at all, without barely thinking about him.  And then something happens and I am a mess again, I can't sleep, can't breath... can't function.

All I can hope is that he is happy... that the man he loves will never ever hurt him or let him down, that they will care for each other deeply and fully and unconditionally.  That the man he loves will love him as much as I do.  As long as he is happy with his decision... I can be too.  

But it hurts... once in awhile when I'm not even thinking about it, it hits me and it hurts.