I left work early yesterday because I just HAD to know if my rib was broken. It is. I couldn't understand the doctor so I'm not sure if she said my third or my tenth rib. It's pretty low and around the curve of my body so I'm guessing tenth. It's not important but it sure smarts, as it has been for the past week or two. They gave me a rib brace and a prescription and sent me on my way, advising me to ice it when I can and take Aleve when I'm not taking the Vicodin. Nothing more I can do. Stupid p-monia is wrecking me.
After I left the clinic, I called my mommy to give her the 4-1-1. She had some 4-1-1 for me. My grandpa died. I hadn't see him in while and maybe I actually didn't know him very well. But I feel rotten. And I know my mom is sad which makes me feel even worse. No one wants their mom to be in pain and I didn't have a good way of telling her I was sorry when her mother died. I'm trying to do better this time around. Not much I can do when the funeral's in Florida. Heaven's Waiting Room, or so they say.
So yesterday was pretty much a rotten day. The Pussyfoot Girls cheered me up by being their silly selves and embracing my PFG name change to Patty Cake. I don't want to be sour anymore. I want to be adorable and adored. I don't know how that will work out but I do know this: my friends and my fella have been their for me with this whole rib and grandpa thing. I appreicate it, everyone. Please know that.
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