Due to my schedule, I eat late; after 10PM. My doctor said this is not a problem, as long as I don't go to sleep afterwards. I never go to sleep afterwards. I am usually up(doing something) until 6 or 7AM.
Anyway, I made a pot of Lima beans for dinner. I love beans: Lima, red, black, pinto, black eye peas - whatever. I made them like my mother used to: two chicken thighs, a half teaspoon of chicken bouillon, seasoning salt, black pepper, red pepper, three shakes of hot sauce, diced onion and garlic. Good stuff. Creole-style.
So I eat three bowls with cornbread on the side. Again, good stuff. I'm talking to my friend from Montana, who is requesting I put something on the website about gangs on the Reservation. I'm researching videos to include when BLAM! It felt like I was having a heart attack. My left side, underneath my breast was in pain; serious pain. I figure it was gas from the beans, but I don't have anything to make myself belch. The more water I drink, the more painful it is. This goes on for hours. Finally, I decide to call 911. The sheriff's department transfer me to the fire department. The chick at the fire department asks for my address and telephone number 3 times. Upon her fourth request, I yell: "Damn. Are you thick? I could be dying over here." I hang up. She calls back twice, but I don't answer. I figure it's only gas and I will live through it.
Twenty minutes later, I panic. My chest is hurting bad. I call back. That thick chick answers, and I hang up. I lay down. I'm hoping the pain will go away, but I'm very uncomfortable.
Suddenly I hear cars and walkie-talkies. There is a loud bang on my door. It's the sheriff. Two sheriffs. I didn't know they had that many out here. They ask if I called. I say yes. They ask if they can look around my 5th wheel. I tell them to go ahead. I am doubled over in pain. I lay back down and enter two firemen. Outside the door, I can see three men from the paramedics. One, a Curly look-alike asks do I want to go to the hospital. I tell him I want to make sure I'm breathing okay. He snickers to his partner" "She wants to make sure she's breathing." I snapped. I called this punk every asshole I could think of considering the circumstances. "Of course, I'm breathing, dumb asshole," I yelled. "I want to make sure I'm breathing okay." The exchange got heated.The sheriff was trying to calm me, while that country Curly look-alike took my ID from him and was looking at it. I stood up and snatched it from him. "You don't need to look at my ID like that," I said. I told him to get out of my house. The other Medic said: "He's my partner. He's got to stay." Really? I told all of them to get the shit out of my house. "Get out of my space," I yelled. I put my signature on the Release, stating I refused services. On the bottom, I signed, Medic was rude, pressed the OK button on the laptop thing, handed it to him and slammed my door.
I called my doctor this morning. He said it was probably indigestion. I made an appointment. My chest is still sore.
