So Andrew is back in the hospital again.

But before you freak out on me, he’s here for some testing and not an emergency situation.

Still though, it kinda sucks, so don’t stop feeling sorry for me yet.

He’s having what’s called a Phase 1 EEG.

For those of you with kiddos who have been diagnosed with epilepsy or who have had seizures in the past, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

For those of you that don’t, tough patootie.

Wait. I don’t mean that.  That was so rude. I’m sorry. I’m a bit punchy from being cooped up in here. Also, my doctor put me on the South Beach Diet, which means the only stuff I can eat  from the hospital cafeteria are the plastic utensils. And no amount of Ranch dressing can make that bearable. Trust me. I’ve been trying since Monday.

So, an EEG is basically a test where they hole you up in a room with a pissed off child who has dozens of electrodes glued to his scalp and secured with approximately 12 yards of gauze.

Doesn’t he look like a soap opera victim?

I keep thinking he’s going to turn towards me and announce that his name is Raul and he’s my long lost brother/mother/evil twin. It’s kinda unnerving but also intriguing. I can’t wait to find out what happens next!   

He’s tethered to the bed by this Avatar-like thingy (and yes, shut up, that’s the technical term for it) and can only move a few inches in each direction.

I know they say they’re testing for seizures, but I truly think they’re doing a secret study on what makes parents go postal.

And I’m about to go all kinds of Priority Mail on this place.

We’re supposed to be here between 5-7 days but Raul is already staring to get feisty.

Which means tonight should be fun, since they’re going to purposely sleep deprive him and eliminate half of his seizure meds.

Apparently hospitals double as insane asylums now because the doctors around here are certifiable.

But listen, I have to go.

Raul is waking up from his nap and I think he’s got something important to tell me.

I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it’s something along the lines of

“Get me the #$@#!! out of here.”

I hear ya Raul.

I hear ya loud and clear.

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3 Replies to “These are the Days of Our Lives”

  1. Geez, man, that blows! Sending you virtual chocolate cake (no calories!). Try to breathe as regularly as possible, and hang in there. This too shall pass, eventually, and then (in about 2,000 years) will only be one of those, “hey, remember when…?” kinda things.

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