Despertar

in another chapter of san frantastic awesomeness

I had to spend five hours in the emergency room last night. Go, San Francisco General Hospital, go!

The Giants game that I was so looking forward to (sarcasm sarcasm sarcasm), that turned out to be little more than cold winds and a series of lines in which we had to stand waiting to spend thousands of dollars on bad food, was mercifully cut short when I got my tempromandibular joint stuck around a fucking hot dog.

I tried to coax it back into place for the better part of two hours. Normally I can relax the spasming muscle with a hot compress, or, if worse comes to worst, I can open even wider and sort of bang it back into place.

Not so, last night. I was there for a total of six hours, from nine to three, during which they gave me painkillers, Valium, and, ultimately, a local anesthetic by way of a needle in the mouth. All the while making this huge spectacle out of me, how did this happen? "Eating a hot dog?" No, seriously, eating a hot dog. I could read their minds, but no, it wasn't a failed blow job. This has only ever happened to me once during fellatio, and he didn't even notice.

Anyway, though, I'm okay now, and none the worse for wear, minus a pretty gnarly head-and-jawache.

And I didn't have to see the end of the Giants game.

Our healthcare system is the worst, though. The worst.