I've an an eventful week.
And I'm not even talking about the day my son got black play doh all over everything while I went to pee, making it look like BP had stopped in my house.
Side note...BLACK play doh? Or the white? Who thought these up? I go from thinking there has been an oil spill or my sons diaper is leaking poop to my cats hacked up something gross. Another side note, I have a cat who once hacked up an entire mole...whole...in the middle of my living room. Gross, yet impressive.
Anyway, none of this matters. I matter, dammit, so let's get to that.
How did you spend memorial day? Me? I spent the start of mine in the hospital. Everything is fine, no need to panic.
Around 9pm I was walking into a large chain store that will remain nameless. Partly because I don't want to name it because of the current situation (which I'll get to) & partly because I'm really ashamed to say I was there at all. But you should be able to figure it out because they are EVERYWHERE. And they are open 24 hours. And it's not a Target. It has walls. It's a mart basically.
My hints are really not obvious at all, huh?
Anyway, the husband takes Jules to the bathroom for a diaper change. I walk through the construction site that is this store in the middle of remodeling, going to the section Adam is going to meet me at. As I continue my walk, I lift my left foot up & my right foot, well, violently goes out from under me. I slip. I fall. I fall hard...damn hard. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I've really never fallen as hard as I did then. I go straight down, trying to catch myself, end up on my hands & knees but when you're 9 months pregnant your stomach sticks out further than your knees. I whacked the right side of my stomach pretty good. A couple employees are there at their job at the entrance doors, but they don't even do anything or say anything. A couple behind me freak out & ask if I'm alright. I tell them I am, left myself up & look around as I'm doing it. At that point, I see a few little pieces of cardboard on the floor, one a couple feet behind me. I guess then that I'd stepped on that with my right foot & when all of my weight was on it, it caused me foot to slide on the tile. Lovely.
Pain. I have pain. It hurts to walk, there is a stabbing pain where my stomach hit. I call Adam on his cell...twice...but he always has the damn thing on silent so he doesn't answer. I decided to talk a couple aisles over to where we are suppose to meet. He comes, I tell him what happened. Honestly, I want to walk it off & go on with life because I know I'll end up in the hospital & it was the last place I wanted to go. After a few minutes though I agree it needs to be done & I call my doctors office after hours number. We walk over the customer service after that, I sit down, & he goes to tell a cashier since there is no one there. I get a call back from a nurse & as I sat there on the phone I started getting people gather around me. I think I had like 5 or 6 people around me, I started to wonder if they are going to beat me up.
This isn't the amusing part of the story obviously, so I'll cut to the chase. Go to the hospital get monitored a few hours, get sent home. Though I have sore shoulders, bruises on my knees, & a stomach that still has a stabbing pain where it hit when I walk or do too much now. A report was filled out. An insurance company called after a couple days.
This is where the story gets amusing.
When I call the lady back, I tell her who I am & she blurts out all panicked, "THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME!" then keeps telling me she'll call me back in 15 minutes. Um, OK. She calls me back & since I tell her yes, I'd like this mart to pay my medical bill that I will receive because of them. Then the process starts. Oh, the process.
She goes through the first round of "why this could be your fault" questions. I will now say NONE of these questions or comments are a joke. Some will seem made up, but they are not. Do I wear glasses, am I sure I don't need them, do I use a cane, should I be using a cane for any reason? Who drove to the store? What had we planned to buy at the store? Where is that section? Then she debated with me about why that section shouldn't be there & I had to, again, remind her it was all under construction & things were basically a clutterfuck. Why wasn't my husband with me? When I noticed that cardboard, why didn't I pick it up & keep it with me? What did the tile look like that I landed on? I really babbled about that one because I just knew it was the generic tile found in stores. I wanted to just blurt out, "shouldn't you know what it looks like, haven't you ever been in one of these places?!" Of course like 10 minutes after this happened they ripped up the tile, so I don't think it matters anymore. If the hospital was really concerned, why didn't they do a pelvic exam? Since I'd had a doctors appointment since, why didn't he do a pelvic exam if I fell & had pain? I finally told her I fell on my stomach, not my vagina, so a pelvic really couldn't tell them anything, nor did I had symptoms to warrant them looking up my fun factory (OK, I didn't call it a fun factory). Do I think this mart is responsible? Do I really think they are? Why? Why do I expect them to pay a bill related to my pregnancy? Who drove me home right after we left the mart? That was a trick question, btw, because we went to the hospital right after the store. I laugh at your trickery, woman! She asked if my pregnancy was high risk, I said yes & she asked why. I fumbled around before finally saying, "it's considered poor OB history...ummmm...I had a full term stillbirth a year ago." Her response? "Oh, OK, good..."
She then told me they had to wait to get pictures & video in to see if it was there fault. Then she went into my outfit. My white shirt. THE PART IN MY HAIR. We spent 5 minutes debating if it was a side or middle part. So please lady, do not tell me you're not looking at SOMETHING with me in it since you're debating where you see the part in my hair.
In the end, she basically told me I was full of shit. That I must have tripped myself up or something because if you slip, you fall backwards, not forward like I did. I said that was true in some cases, depending on when in your step you slip, but she also needs to remember that I'm NINE MONTHS PREGNANT with a huge weight of baby on my front. That kinda throws your landing direction off.
She is suppose to call me back by Wednesday & let me know if they plan on covering the bill. I'm not holding my breath for that great of a response, but hey, I could be wrong. She could have tried to call bullshit to get me to "crack." Because, you know, dead baby moms go around throwing themselves down belly first onto hard tile just to sue people.
Oh, & I still have my bruises, my shoulders are still sore, & my right elbow started hurting a couple days later & still hurts when it's extended. And doing too much walking equals that damn pain again. So yay, now it hurts to get up to pee. And, again, I did this to myself? Suuuure.
The next story happened on Thursday. It's also given me reason to add a new label for post...crazy people. One I should have had all along if you ask me.
I get a knock on my door Thursday afternoon. Animal control.
Now, when you have around 25435 pets, animal control can be a bit scary. I was afraid someone reported me for hoarding pregnant cats. But he's a nice guy, tells me who he is & tells me they've had a complaint over my large dog, who is reportedly barking & biting at smaller dogs through my fence & someone is concerned he's a vicious dog. I think he means Murphy, because she's the dog who is like 55lbs of crazy puppy. I also instantly decide that the complaint came from crazy tarp lady, since her dogs go nuts at my dogs through the divides in her tarp & since the dogs are only in the backyard, that's the only other dogs they could have access to.
I tell him she's right here, since she was right by me at the door. He says, "No, actually, I mean your rotti mix." I stare at him. He continues, "your black & tan dog." I say, "Um, OK" & move more so he can see my other dog. I move Murphy so he can see my other dog. My black & tan dog...my vicious rotti mix.
First...do you know what a ROTTWEILER is? Click the link to find out. This will be here when you get back.
My dog is named Buddy. I call him Buddy Dog.
I warn you, what you are about to see could be graphic, as he is one beastly beast.
Yes, I'm doing this in parts to not scare you peeps.
THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING...PICTURES OF THE BEAST FOLLOWS!
Of course, I lie about that picture. He's usually in this position.
I know, this is pretty anti-climatic if you wanted to see a beast. Maybe this picture will make him look more badass.
I measured him.
He hits 16 inches if I'm being generous. There was a reason I wanted to call him Danny Devito, but he already came with the name Buddy. Original, huh?
If he stretches, he can hit 20.
He sleeps alot.
He only wakes up for some things.
Buddy isn't exactly our "big dog."
The guy then ask if I have another black & tan dog. I assure him I don't & offer to let him look in the yard or something. He kinda laughs & tells me it's fine, he'll dismiss the report as unfounded. I tell him the vet guess corgi mix, he tells me the colors are right for a rotti, but "everything else is just very wrong."
Yes, yes it is.
Buddy is a dog who sleeps, has no testicles, & wears a "fashion collar." He doesn't even eat hard food.
Run for your lives. You can tell by his face that he's very excitable.
He has a gut.
When you see something that looks like a viscous dog, please let me know.
Buddy wouldn't hurt a kitten.
How do I know?
There is a picture with a kitten.
I decided to take pictures of Buddy with bigger, more dangerous objects.
Like a pillow.
If hit the right way, they can hurt like a bitch.
If you own a purse, you know how dangerous they can be.
OK, he's not smaller than Elmo, but if you know Elmo you know there is a lot of psychological torment behind that little red guy.
Our laundry hamper.
This will stay in the way & make me mad at my husband because he won't take it upstairs, surely dooming our marriage much like Buddy Dog dooms humanity.
Eight cans of cat food.
Now, this doesn't seem deadly, but get cans of cat food out in a house full of cats & see what happens. You'll be lucky to survive.
A decorative pear my mother gave me.
Sure, he's not bigger, but it does out ugly him.
The new giant, tacky daisy in my bathroom.
Oh, he also sleeps there. With big, tacky daises. On a fluffy dog bed.
He is religious.
This means he'll knock on your door all the time to sell you his religion. Eek!
I guess he's viscous...
with pink toys.
I did mention he likes cake, right?
Personally I think Murphy is more scary.
She's constantly liking me, I think she's checking my flavor for eating readiness.
So I've decided that my neighbor is nuts. Officially.
And that Adam can't act.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go continue the count down until June 17th. And find some more floors to throw myself into.