OK, so hands up who knew then end of my week could not have been without a trip to the hospital

It was the second trip in one day that caught me by surprise.

So Saturday involved GOING OUT!

It was a surprise 40th for my new (yay!) boss and dear friend from work.
She had NO IDEA.

Friends of theirs own a harbour cruise business, so 20 of her nearest and dearest hit the harbour for a night of drinking, eating, drinking, drinking, drinking and a bit of dancing. DANCING!

And lo, it came to pass that one very drunk kim from allconsuming got home in one piece.
In a taxi.
Like normal GROWN-UPS.

Cue Sunday morning.
Due to my standard recovery practice if a substantial consumption of alcohol has taken place, I woke at 6am feeling fine.
Granted a bit woozy, but fine.

Then I noticed a rash around Grover’s ear.
And lifted his shirt.
And almost lost the entire contents of my alcohol addled system.
The poor little mite was covered from head and at an ever increasing pace to his toes with a violent red rash.
So off to the hospital we went.
We eventually they consulting physician informed me it was a generic (or was that generalised?) rash and that unless he suddenly flared with a temperature it was probably the culmination of the den of iniquity illness our house clearly currently was.

(For a recap – there was the gastro of last weekend; Chef’s leg getting worse; Oscar’s leg getting infected and Grover fighting something since Thursday)

So home we went.
And by now, the pain through my lower back and hips was such that I couldn’t really lift my legs properly.
And so I had a little pity party all to myself about how one evening of not very exuberant dancing had resulted in my putting my back/hips out.
But then I got a really bad headache.
And the sore right boob from missing all those night feeds Grover is so enarmoured with moved from being tender to agonising.
And then I got the chills and my temperature was something like 39.5C.

So when Chef got home we went to the medical centre, who weren’t seeing anyone anymore, because even though it says it’s a 24 hour medical centre, apparently 24hours ends at 6pm on a Sunday.
So we went back to the hospital.
And waited.
With me shaking and shivering and trying really really hard not to vomit.
And then they finally saw me.
And the midwife on duty deemed that I did not have mastitis because the breast was not red and she couldn’t feel a lump.
I explained I am quite partial to a good bout of this hideous affliction and that it was not uncommon for me to get the flu-like symptoms before my boob went all red.
And there was most definitely a lump – extending about 10 whopping centimetres across the top of my boob.
And yes, my breasts are EFFING HUGE.
Which is apparently why Chef married me.

Anyway, I slept some more as they waited for the doctor to see me.
Who came and saw me and said
“I’ve no idea what mastitis is, never seen it, wouldn’t know it if it hit me in the eye and x (the midwife) doesn’t think you have it”

They graciously gave me a script for antibiotics anyway.

I feel like going back today with my GLOWING and LUMPY right breast and saying – see! it wasn’t just a bad hangover, it really was mastitis.

Anyway, I feel like absolute trash.
So what better frame of mind to yell at my children about what pigs they are and how disgusted I am by their complete lack of hygiene or cleanliness or ability to think of others.

Misery folks, total and abject misery.

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