Another Night In the Hospital

I'm never sure if my life is supposed to be tragic or just a huge joke.  I know I haven't written here in ages, but I realized if I don't start getting some of my feelings OUT, I'm going to explode, which will drive the people around me away, or I'll open my eyes and realize that there aren't many people left in my life TO drive away because I've already driven them away with my whining and complaining.  I think I still have some people left who care about me, so I guess it's the exploding thing I'm more concerned about.  But back to the joke thing.  Finding humor is so difficult, so when I do, I really need to shout it from the rooftops....or in a blog or something.  My husband and I, like many people, I'm sure, watch Survivor.  We don't watch it on Thursday nights when it comes on, because that's the night that my friend and I go shopping.  We watch it on "on demand" on cable usually the next night.  Well, we were watching the one were the guy fell over and his the medics came and were checking him out and his heart-rate dropped to fifty-something while he was in the middle of a challenge and Jeff Probst said that he had never been so scared in the history of the show Survivor!  Or some such prattle.  Okay, Jeff!  I was more impressed with the show when the people had to walk quite a ways when they got to their island and the men were dropping like flies.  I found that one to be rather interesting.  But back to this show.  I said to my husband, "Gee, my heart rate's been down to 50.  Does that mean Jeff would be totally worried about me?"  My husband made some snide comment about how the guy in the show had been working hard for 15 days and my heart-beat would've been down to 50 on Day One, and we started arguing about it, not very seriously, but still.  Then, Sunday night I wasn't feeling well, I had chest pains, I was having shortness of breath, and it reminded me of an incident in the past, even though it was years & years ago, I had kinda/sorta just fallen off our bed and stopped breathing and enjoyed an ambulance ride that I don't really remember to this day and a week in Intensive Care, where they never did figure out why that had happened.  So Sunday we thought I should go to the Emergency Room, which I did, and upon arrival, guess what my heartbeat was?  Forty!  All I could think of was that I totally blew that guy on Survivor away and that Jeff Probst should be talking about ME!!  Isn't that weird?  I had a really nice male nurse who checked my records at that hospital and found that I'd been there and had a 47 before!  I didn't even remember that one.  I wasn't even thinking of the possible consequences of that.  All I could think of was that guy on Survivor.  Russell!  That's his name! I hope he's okay.  But it took 15 days, all those challenges, storms, starvation, etc. to pull him down, and I'm in my house in my p.j.'s feeling sorry for myself, and my heart-beat goes way lower than his.  Is that fair?  I don't think so.  I already have this problem with men being stronger.  I can't even believe I just said it like that.  Just so matter-of-fact.  It's been one of my deepest, darkest, secrets, yet I just said it, no problem.  Maybe this blog will be good for me.  Or maybe sitting up all night in the hospital thinking is good for me--no--scratch that one!  My poor husband was so tired.  I finally convinced him to get on the bed with me so he could get a little sleep.  As soon as the doc came in that admitted me, I just lied and said I felt better so I could go home and he had no problem with that, so off we went.  They'd done enough testing for them to know that I wasn't having a heart attack, which was what I'd been afraid of, what I'd felt like.  With that out of the way, the pain I'm left with, that they can't do anything about, I'm better off at home anyway.  So it just turned out to be just another night in the hospital.  Oh boy!  I wonder if I googled that guy from Survivor I could find out how he's doing.....who knows?  All I know is I'm sick of being sick.  But if it's my only option to stay here, then I'll take it, obviously.  I know it's up to me to make more of my life if I want more but when you feel like you-know-what 99% of the time or MORE, you just get sick and tired of it sometimes.  Especially when it feels like those people around you don't care.  They're still too afraid to be alone with you....oh my!  What will they do if something should happen??  Call 911?  Please?  Just take me out with you once or twice!