Cliffs at the bottom, fuckers.
Let's hear it TW, I deserve it. Crawled out of bed early Sunday morning to take the family out for the day shopping. The wife took the car in to get the oil changed while I was getting ready. I took a nice, massive shit and hopped into the shower. A few seconds after the water hit my fat ass, I got a small pain in my jaw. I get them occasionally, nothing abby-normal in this happening. Being the pessimist that I am, the first thought in my head was "Here comes the big one."
Within a few seconds, I get slammed with a massive hammer in the jaw, along with my left arm going completely numb and my breath damn near leaving my body. Oh shit. I hop out of the shower, towel off, throw on some shorts, shirt and shoes and call the wife. "Bitch, either I'm having the worst panic attack of my life, or I'm having a heart attack." The wife tells me that they have the car up on the lift and have just drained the oil, she'll be there as soon as she can get them to pour more in and lower the fucker. Guess I'll be dead by the time you get back, tell my daughter I love her.
I sit down and try to calm down for a minute. Things get a touch better, then my entire body starts shaking like I just sat on a sybian, and the fist of doom grabs hold of my heart and squeezes the living shit out of it. Full panic mode kicks in. Being the dumb ass I am, I figure it will take the ambulance longer to get to me than if I drive myself to the hospital, which is only a couple of miles away. I stagger out to the car, and hit the road, burning tires out of the drive. The thought that I could die behind the wheel and kill someone else on the road never enters my mind. That's just the kind of asshole that I am.
To make a long story a touch longer, I've spent the last two day in the hospital, being poked and prodded once every couple of hours. No sleep to speak of the first 24 hours. Every time I doze, someone comes in to check on me or to take blood. Early today, my pcp decides, after seeing that I didn't actually have a heart attack, that I need to head an hour away for a nice heart cath and workup. "Can the wife drive me there doc, we know just where it is?" Nope, ambulance time baby. After the long haul in the ambulance, lying on my back and trying not to vomit the whole way, I get to the heart specialist and get my junk shaved by the nurse. Off into the OR I go, with a nice team of friendly nurses and doctors, all of whom enjoy twenty minutes of staring at my cock and balls (surprisingly, no giggling is heard) while they thread a nice long cath into my leg, an inch away from my dong.
Luckily, I am awake (drowsy meds, as the nurse called them, never kicked in) and get to watch the entire process on the screen. It's odd watching the dye pumping through your veins, waiting for the moment when it stops flowing and the blockage is revealed. As it turns out, my heart is 100% healthy and all looks good. I get a nice plug and wait another hour and a half for the doctor to sign my release. Here I sit, TW, wondering what in the fuck happened (likely a combination of not taking my blood pressure meds and who knows what the fuck else) and fearing that I am going to get a nice blood clot, tear the artery or have a stroke. I haven't had a shower in two days and I smell like a homeless womans cunt.
I'm a man, a fat man, and sometimes I need a little kick in the ass to remind me I am not immortal. I got that this weekend. I don't drink, don't do drugs and only smoke an electronic cigarette (possibly without nicotine now), so I have a head start on most of the assholes who get the rude awakening that I just received. Time to get my shit together, start eating right and back to the gym for my old five days a week, 2 1/2 hour workouts.
TL;DR: Fatty thinks he's dying, plays pin cushion for two days, and finally gets his head screwed on straight.
Let's hear it TW, I deserve it. Crawled out of bed early Sunday morning to take the family out for the day shopping. The wife took the car in to get the oil changed while I was getting ready. I took a nice, massive shit and hopped into the shower. A few seconds after the water hit my fat ass, I got a small pain in my jaw. I get them occasionally, nothing abby-normal in this happening. Being the pessimist that I am, the first thought in my head was "Here comes the big one."
Within a few seconds, I get slammed with a massive hammer in the jaw, along with my left arm going completely numb and my breath damn near leaving my body. Oh shit. I hop out of the shower, towel off, throw on some shorts, shirt and shoes and call the wife. "Bitch, either I'm having the worst panic attack of my life, or I'm having a heart attack." The wife tells me that they have the car up on the lift and have just drained the oil, she'll be there as soon as she can get them to pour more in and lower the fucker. Guess I'll be dead by the time you get back, tell my daughter I love her.
I sit down and try to calm down for a minute. Things get a touch better, then my entire body starts shaking like I just sat on a sybian, and the fist of doom grabs hold of my heart and squeezes the living shit out of it. Full panic mode kicks in. Being the dumb ass I am, I figure it will take the ambulance longer to get to me than if I drive myself to the hospital, which is only a couple of miles away. I stagger out to the car, and hit the road, burning tires out of the drive. The thought that I could die behind the wheel and kill someone else on the road never enters my mind. That's just the kind of asshole that I am.
To make a long story a touch longer, I've spent the last two day in the hospital, being poked and prodded once every couple of hours. No sleep to speak of the first 24 hours. Every time I doze, someone comes in to check on me or to take blood. Early today, my pcp decides, after seeing that I didn't actually have a heart attack, that I need to head an hour away for a nice heart cath and workup. "Can the wife drive me there doc, we know just where it is?" Nope, ambulance time baby. After the long haul in the ambulance, lying on my back and trying not to vomit the whole way, I get to the heart specialist and get my junk shaved by the nurse. Off into the OR I go, with a nice team of friendly nurses and doctors, all of whom enjoy twenty minutes of staring at my cock and balls (surprisingly, no giggling is heard) while they thread a nice long cath into my leg, an inch away from my dong.
Luckily, I am awake (drowsy meds, as the nurse called them, never kicked in) and get to watch the entire process on the screen. It's odd watching the dye pumping through your veins, waiting for the moment when it stops flowing and the blockage is revealed. As it turns out, my heart is 100% healthy and all looks good. I get a nice plug and wait another hour and a half for the doctor to sign my release. Here I sit, TW, wondering what in the fuck happened (likely a combination of not taking my blood pressure meds and who knows what the fuck else) and fearing that I am going to get a nice blood clot, tear the artery or have a stroke. I haven't had a shower in two days and I smell like a homeless womans cunt.
I'm a man, a fat man, and sometimes I need a little kick in the ass to remind me I am not immortal. I got that this weekend. I don't drink, don't do drugs and only smoke an electronic cigarette (possibly without nicotine now), so I have a head start on most of the assholes who get the rude awakening that I just received. Time to get my shit together, start eating right and back to the gym for my old five days a week, 2 1/2 hour workouts.
TL;DR: Fatty thinks he's dying, plays pin cushion for two days, and finally gets his head screwed on straight.
