Vicodin and Temper Tantrums

The week started out pretty okay...  Then went into the crapper pretty fast.

I found myself in a city two hours away with a freaking gallstone attack.  If you've had one, you know the fun of which I speak.  If you haven't had one, you do not want to know the fun of which I speak.

I don't even want to talk about the details because I've had to repeat them several times already to my boss, clients, loved ones, and the nurses/doctors.  I'm rather tired of talking about the details.  I'm rather tired, actually.

And not entirely proud of myself.  When I got to my doctor's office, I had the preliminary bs with the nurse.  She was not one of his two regular nurses.  In fact, I think she must be the spare that is kept in the back of the clinic to do paperwork because compassion and common sense are not in her skill set.

First she weighs me -- which always makes me hate the nurse for thirty seconds.  Although -- today -- showed I'd lost some weight.  yay.  Before she takes my vitals, she wants to know why I'm there.  Again, I don't feel like sharing all the details since all you need to know is that, by the time my fanny is in that chair, I've been dealing with this pain for ohhhh .... 33 hours (which I told her) and I've slept for maybe ohhhhh .... five hours during that 33 hours (which I told her).

Onto the vitals and the interrogation:

Nurse:  Wow.  Your blood pressure is high.  Do you take blood pressure medicine -- should we be looking at that, too?

SS: [sliding my bleary, red rimmed eyes to her and trying to desperately telepathically communicate to her that she is a stupid bitch]  I do not take blood pressure medicine.  Do you see that on my chart?  And wouldn't I have elevated blood pressure because I've been at a level 8 pain for 33 hours?