>Toot Toot!

>I, Persnickety Hall, have quite a fabulous talent.

Really. I do.

I have the amazing ability to self diagnose health problems that may arise. If fact, my tract record is two for two. I know! With these kinds of statistics I should be the ceo or vp of SOME company.

Even Husby thinks so. And that’s no small task.

Perhaps I should back up a little bit and share my mind blowing knowledge with you all.

Google. The magic lies in Google. If I’m feeling sick or have a pain somewhere that’s really bothering me I grab my laptop or blackberry, sometimes both, and do a search on the crap that is my health.

Now, usually this happens in the hours that I can’t seem to fall asleep. Those same hours that Husby is passed out next to me. Snoring in my face, hitting me in the head with his elbows, wedging his knee into my back, smothering me with his armpit and passing enough gas to make even Walter The Spaz gasp for air.

Sorry folks. I know its a scary picture but I’m just being honest with you.

By the time Husby has woken up I’ve made a summarized list of the things wrong with me and what I need to do to go about feeling better. Then I get a lecture from Husby about how I need to lay off the Google and stop being so paranoid.

The last thing I diagnosed myself with was gall bladder disease.

And now I have four incision wounds, six prescriptions and a butt load of medical bills to prove how right I was.

Oh yeah, I also no longer have a gall bladder.

While I was laying on a hospital bed waiting for the info I needed to schedule my surgery, Husby walked over and said “Maybe you should make a career out of this diagnosing thing. Ya know, just Google whats wrong with people. I think you could be really good at it.”

All the validation I ever needed from him. Two for two.

On a positive note, being stuck in bed barely able to move and pumped full of pain medications has sparked a new writing bug up my bum.

Speaking of my bum, there’s nothing like walking in on your Mother Dear while she’s chatting on the phone to your Nana and Pops and hearing her inform them that you’ve finally had a bowel movement. If only you could have heard the joy in her voice.

It was almost cute. Almost.


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