I woke up thinking that there was no way the pain could get any worse. My stomach was in knots and I had tossed cookies for the third time in the longest hour of my life. Since it was my first semester in college I had no idea what steps to take next; so I called my mother. I told her the truth – I had partied the night before but not very hard. She had no advice for me. Still my stomach made me feel like I was dying rather than hung over. I got up to try and use the restroom when the pain went from bad to worse.
It was at that point that I decided to face my fears and just go to the hospital for a quick check up. After calling campus security to take me to the hospital I told my girlfriend what was going on.
"I hope you'll be okay baby, call me when you get out?"
"Sure. It's nothing I promise – can't be too careful."
The car ride to the hospital was embarrassing to say the least. Here I was, some stupid freshman that campus security had to tote around to the doctor because she wasn't allowed a car on campus and couldn't handle her alcohol. I was sure that I would never have another sip of alcohol for the remainder of my life. What made me most uncomfortable was that the security officer taking me to the hospital was a man. He wasn't old but wasn't young either and he kept glancing at me trying to make small talk. The small talk was fading fast as I began having trouble with my breathing. When would we get there? How far away is the hospital?
I learned ten long minutes later that the hospital was not far off and I was just being impatient. I gave the attendant at the counter my insurance information and she called my mom (who was surprised to hear I'd actually stepped foot in a hospital) to clarify all of the information. Now it was time to play the waiting game. I sat in the waiting area and watched as everyone ahead of me got treated and my pain worsened with each second. Finally I was called, and I went with a nurse to the back end of the hospital.
This was my least favorite part of going to any doctor; being weighed. I came in at a whopping 220 pounds, 5'4", as I'd been since I tuned sixteen. I had short brown hair, hazel eyes, and not much interest in the way of fashion. Everyone looked at me like a freak. I could tell what they were thinking.
"It's people like her who give America a bad name and an obesity stamp."
"She'll never get laid looking like that."
"I wonder if she tried to drink herself into thinking someone would go for her. College girls can be so naïve."
I've heard it all before. I'm bigger, I'm not exactly pretty, and people just don't want me. That's why I had a girlfriend. She was the only one who would ever want my body... or so I thought.
After running some tests I was surprised to find that what I had was not alcohol poisoning at all, and I would have to stay for more tests. I was given drugs for the pain, and that's where things started getting groggy. Painkillers hit me pretty hard in any normal circumstance, and this was an extra dose to make me feel pretty numb all over. Needless to say I was pretty loopy.
A male doctor came in and introduced himself as a recent graduate from my school. I thought it was pretty neat that I was meeting one of my own kind... it even made me feel comfortable and more relaxed in such a dismal place.
"I just need to check a few things. Can you tell me what the pain felt like in the beginning?"
