I spent the week in the hospital.

When I tried to get up from bed last Monday, the world suddenly spun and went black and I toppled to the floor. Timber! My left hand and the left side of my face went numb. Even while laying there, the world still seemed to spin wildly. After a few minutes I tried standing up again. Same result.

I'd fallen and I couldn't get up.

I thought I should go to the emergency room and get checked out. Ever since Harry Reid had his little incident, I've been subjected to PSA after PSA exhorting me to immediately seek help at the first sign of anything stroke-like, because -- according to them -- each second equals one more bit of dead brain. The PSA extols the new wonder drugs and treatment interventions that can save your mental faculties if only given quickly enough, not unlike immediately loading up possible heart attack victims with aspirin.

Here's where I start getting pissed.

The ambulance was reluctant to take me because they didn't think it was an emergency and weren't sure my insurance would pay for it. Fine %^$& off, I'll find my own way there.

They left me sitting in the ER waiting room for hours without anyone checking me out or apparently even considering stroke, despite my symptoms. Hello? What about the dead brain every few seconds? What about the mind saving drugs and interventions? Anyone? I guess the mother#%*!ers don't listen to the radio. This is the same brain trust that didn't suspect excruciating pain in the abdomen might be an appendicitis, even though it was the first thing that occurred to me.

I wanted to just get up and leave. If they'd taken one more person with a runny nose ahead of me, I would have.

I hate that *&^$@ing emergency room. You just sit in a tiny room for hours on end. If you're lucky, the doctor pops in maybe once or twice. The rest of the time is long bouts of nothingness interspersed with being wheeled off to an occasional test. You never really know what is happening.

At one point they injected me with something "for dizziness" that made me start sweating profusely and feeling... best description... "weird."

"Weird" doesn't satisfy nurses.

"What are you feeling?"

"Strange."

Oddly enough, that satisfied her. ?!?!?!?!

Eventually they admitted me "for observation," where I spent the rest of the week eating hospital food, watching reality show marathons on VH1, and worrying about my cat. The hospital stay was a lot like the ER visit, but with TV. They should put TV or some other diversion in those ER rooms. People in the waiting room get TV and they're not even having their wallets sucked dry.

I had my first MRI. For those who've never had one, it's like being mechanically wedged into a skin tight coffin which someone then starts jackhammering. I expected to meet a nice family of spelunkers squeezing their way through.

A day or two later they shoved me back in it for an MRA. Yeah, I didn't know MR's came in multiple flavors either. I wonder how many letters of the alphabet they can attach to MR. MRX, -Y, -Z, anyone? If they'd sent me down for an MR-epsilon I'd have known they were just jerking me around. That great sucking sound south is my insurance company going under.

The good news is all my tests came back negative. That's good. I've had stroke-like symptoms in the past that -- in the wake of all the PSA's -- worried me in retrospect. If I did ever have a "mini stroke" it apparently didn't do any permanent damage.

The bad news is all my tests came back negative. I'm still messed up and have no idea what is wrong. That is the way it always is with me, dammit -- a gazillion tests with nary a cause in sight.

So, now I'm home and exceedingly worse off than I was the previous week. I'm consistently dizzy. At least once a day the world spins and I flop over. I have to use a walker. I'm not supposed to drive. The cat throws a fit every time he gets a notion I'm heading for the door, apparently afraid I'm going to leave him alone again. Oh well, I got out of cooking for a week.

*SIGH* And I'd just convinced myself I might -- might -- make it through the holidays unscathed. Oh me of little faith.