This is not me. I think I'll go out and buy a pink bra, though.

Last night at 2:00 a.m. a big wave of pain washed over me while I was at the bathroom sink fiddling with the childproof cap on my pain pills. I said the “F” word, and the next thing I know, I’m lying down with my head on the floor of my closet and my husband’s looking down at me.

“I just took half an Ambien and one Tramadol,” I said quickly. Because I thought it was a good thing for him to know. In case an ambulance driver or an ER doctor asked him, or I stopped breathing, or something.

“What the heck am I doing here?” I said next. Because I was done cussing, apparently. “Did I faint?”

“Yes,” said my husband. The “F” word woke him up, but he was expecting a “Shit!” after he heard the pills drop into the sink. The silence worried him, so he got up to check on me. I didn’t realize my cussing is so predictable that the lack of it would worry him enough to take action. The dog was not fazed by the cussing or the fainting, however, and slept through the whole thing.

“You’re so lucky you didn’t hit your head,” he said, as he leaned over to help me up. I think I was lucky there were clothes all over my closet floor to break my fall.

Let this be a lesson to all of you. Never clean your closet when you’re sick.

So anyway, I called the doctor at 8:00 a.m. today. I was scheduled for an ultrasound to check on this unexpected, ongoing pain after my little Hysteroscopy, D & C,  polypectomy a few weeks ago. But the pain and fainting were just too ouchie to deal with for one more day.

Turns out, from the ultrasound and doctor’s best guesses, I had a cyst that ruptured. And it hurt for a a long while before it exploded, but now it should be okay. Phew. Mystery solved.

Bodies are weird.