revisiting the big 4-oooh, part 2

Vacation update, part the second, wherein our heroine does indeed return home more or less in one piece, but manages to keep finding danger. 

After a sleepless night with my frenemy google to give me immediate access to all global, urchin-related horror stories, and no end in sight to the reinvigorated pain, I was seriously freaked out. Saturday morning, I discovered the difference between girlfriends with girlparts and girlfriends with boyparts. My girlfriends who are actually boys all agreed that the best thing to do was ride it out. (not a one of them thought it might be a good idea to see an actual doctor, either there or here). The real-girl among them turned out to be the sole voice of reason. 

That morning, her voice tinged with horror, she yelped “why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday when I talked to you from LA?! I would have met you at the airport and brought you to the ER!!! Find your insurance card. We’re going to urgent care.” 

My feeble protests of “how urgent can it be? It happened a week ago?” were met first with silence, then with “We’re going. Right. Now.” She might now be my mom, but she sure used that mom-voice you dare not disobey on me. 

I’m pretty sure I would have been even more entertaining at the ER had my stressed out body not given into a raging sinus infection which in turn triggered a migraine of biblical proportions. Still, I'm guessing I gave that doctor the best cocktail party story ever. 

He walked into the room reading my chart, paused, looked up at me, looked back down at my chart and then deadpanned: “I understand you fell into an, um, bed of sea urchins in the south pacific *dramatic pause* twice...”  

*insert crickets here*  

“Why?” he asked, with that drawn-out yyyyy that can only say ‘you look like a smart human being that would ordinarily stay out of harm’s way. What gives?’ 

I left with scripts for a cocktail of antibiotics and prednisone to speed the healing process (they seemed to only slightly relieve the swelling and redness) and vicodin for the pain. By the end of the day, I regained limited use of my hands again, which was a welcome relief. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to realize I probably shouldn’t be mixing all of that with champagne. 

Later that night at a "surprise! you can't run away for your birthday and not expect us to lay in wait for you to celebrate anyways even if it's a week later" dinner, my friends put a 40 candle-bedecked cake in front of a tipsy, jet-lagged, sleep-deprived girl having her first experience on vicodin. At the end of our dinner out Saturday night, I may have, perhaps, just a little bit, set my hair on fire blowing the candles out. 

Just a little bit!! but still... FIRE!!!!

So much for the perfect vacation in paradise, huh? i guess the universe was telling me turning 40 isn't anything compared to celebrating with pointy, slightly poisonous, sea creatures. given the option, i'm picking 40 over the urchins.... 

and a footnote, just in case you ever find yourself just off the coast of a beautiful island in the south pacific: Leave sea urchins alone! Don’t swim with shoes on! (and for good measure: keep all flammable parts of you away from open flames!)