So we’ve already defined 72 hours in military medical terms. It works out to roughly 33 days. So let’s define 5 days in military medical terms.
I went in to be turned into WundaThumpa at 8 this morning; it took about 2.5 hours from start to finish. They said, pretty much to the word, “It will take 5 days for your doctor to get the results; you can call her then and find out.”
Four-thirtyish the phone rings; I’m huddled under blankets in bed because I’m still chilled from being nearly frozen to death in the Room Of Radiotherapy And Puckered Nipples and don’t even hear it, so the Spouse Thingy answers.
It’s my doctor.
She has the results.
Already.
She is amazed and astounded that I got the test the day after she ordered it; she expected it to take up to 30 days (because she has been around a while and knows how long chit takes.) She is also amazed at the results.
I have a perfectly normal gall bladder.
So you know what this meant, right? It meant returning to McD’s and really having fries. Fear-free fries. Greasy, fried, so-not-good-for-you fries. And I was not afraid of them. I enjoyed them. Immensely.
And I am now so over the compulsion. I love fries, yes, but now that I can have them….eh, no big deal. The easiest way to get me to want something is to say I can’t have it. If I can have it…it’ll always be there another day.
So the working theory on What Is Wrong With Da Wabbit is back to the ER doc’s notion of it being an ulcer. I’ll take Prilosec every day and we’ll see. That may manage the pain, and if it never comes back, we have a winner. If it does come back, they may grab a garden hose and shove it down my throat. They say its to see what’s in my stomach, but I really think it’s just Something To Do To Shut The Patient Up. And because they think it’s really, really funny.
So.
72 hours=33 days
5 days=5.5 hours
Ya gotta love military math.
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