When your body says it wants apple juice, give it juice. Seriously.

So, last Friday, I woke up wanting Apple Juice. Like fucking mad. Couldn't put my finger on why, I just wanted some goddamn apple juice. I went to the store, maybe twice that day and I even went past the juice aisle, took a gander at the prices and decided against spending two bucks on a pathetically small amount of the overly sugary stuff and instead went on to grab double the amount of store brand generic cola for half the price and went on my merry way. Did all the rest of my Friday stuff and then had a lovely evening with my Valentine watching Thor: The Dark World and stuffing my face with Reese's Hearts. 

 

Woke up the next day to nothing completely out of the ordinary, except for some cramping in my lower abdominal region. Considering I was about a week out from my sorta monthly visit from Aunt Flo, the PCOS fairy, I brushed it off thinking that had to be it... Spent the rest of my day lounging about with my Gryffyn and eating some ridiculously tasty queso blanco. From Applebee's. Don't judge, it's about the best queso one can get in our little corner of almost upstate New York. 

 

Later on in the day I started to feel some chest pains that were kind of like an echo to the cramps. The cramp would lessen and then my chest would start to feel like it was being stabbed from my uterus. Again, I'm no stranger to really weird pains coming from my girly bits, so I again shrugged it off. Except I shrugged it off with vodka because that's usually my go-to for these types of fun reminders of being a chick. 

 

Woke up at 2am with even worse cramps and chest pains, got myself into the hottest bath I could stand and then stayed there until EVERYTHING from my neck down was slightly numb and likely second-degree burned. Finally got myself back to sleep and then woke up on Sunday morning feeling exactly like I did at 2am. Did I mention I still really wanted some apple juice? No? Well, I did. Even more than on Friday. I still couldn't wrap my head around the excessive cost of it though, and since I couldn't think of a single reason why I'd be craving it like this, I just ignored the craving. 

 

Later on Sunday some friends came by and there was meat. And there were Mike's Hard Lemonades and Angry Orchards Apple Ales or WTF-ever those things are called, and throughout the night I felt less and less crampy and eventually it seemed like I was fine. 

...Until I woke up the next day. By mid-day Monday, I was in so much pain I caved. I was certain I'd ruptured a cyst, (Not exactly an unfamiliar feeling, but even with my ovaries as oft-covered in cysts as they are, it's not exactly a pain I can identify at random). My Ob/Gyn, being the goddess that she is worked me in for an ultrasound an hour and a half later. So we went and I was invaded by the overly large ultrasound device that seems so damn small but feels nothing like how small it looks only to be handed the news that my ovaries are actually in stellar condition cyst-wise and then I got the look from my doc. 

 

"You know what I'm about to say, don't you?"

 

"Not really, no..." The only thoughts in my head being that of of course I've got stomach cancer or my uterus is about to explode or that maybe all those jokes I've made about it feeling like Kuato is about to come out of my abdominal area are actually coming true, oh my god, OH MY GOD, OHMYGERD!!!!

 

"Head down to the ER. I'm thinking either your appendix has ruptured or your gallbladder is giving you some ish..."

 

I immediately calmed at the knowledge that I wasn't about to give birth to an alien that likes to have cryptic conversations with the Governator, and I headed down to the car all the while enlightening my fiance of the bits of knowledge that he might need handy if I did end up in surgery. I puke in the car on the way home, I might cry if they give me a shot in my butt, and please, oh dear god, back me up when I say I need a sedative before they put me under cause I will massively freak out if they don't!!!!

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