cartoons of me dying by the hands of Dr. Satan

I am writing from my deathbed, also known as my couch.

I went to a dr today, and he pretty much, sort of, really, kind of, KILLED ME. (With excruciating pain and torment. I think he might be Satan.)

So, to backtrack, I've been ignoring something for about, oh, 3 1/2 years. Partly because before Husband got his new job we had the worst health insurance EVER.  And partly because I had to fix my eyes first.  And partly because I was hoping that if I ignored it long enough, it would just GO AWAY.  Like magic.  Or a stray dog.

But no.

Pretty much it's just gotten worse. And worse. And really super worse. And basically my whole abdominal region is thoroughly messed up. Probably I'm the champion at messed up abdominals. I should really get a medal or trophy or something. Instead, all I've gotten is pain, sickness, pain, more sickness, pain, pain and mostly a whole lot of pain.

And the past few-ish months it's gotten to the point where life pretty much sucks the big rocks. And I don't even like to move my body. Or think about moving my body. Or think about thinking about moving my body. And then, when I actually have to move my body (which happens on most days) I find myself in super mega pain, and want to murder puppies and strangle unicorns and then die.  And stuff.

So I saw a surgeon today, because most of the pain is being caused by a hugely ginormous hernia right in the middle of my stomach that has a wad of unprotected intestines protruding from it in a massively vulnerable state (medical TMI, I know).  So the surgeon needs to fix that, so I can go on fixing other crap that needs fixing until one day I'm a normal human being again.

AND NOW I've drawn helpful illustrations to chronicle the rest of my day (because while on my deathbed I was perusing hyperbole and a half, which I haven't done in awhile, which is sad because it's hilarious, and also which always inspires me to draw my own pictures).

First the doctor wanted to make sure he had the right spot.

He may or may not have been using his elbow, sprouted horns and/or called up hellfire.  I'm not really sure because first I was blacking out from the pain and then my natural "fight or flight" instincts started kicking in.

Except, in real life, the pain was just too much.  I couldn't even get my sword out, or kick him, or anything, because I was too busy doing this:

  

And then I had to crawl ALL THE WAY back to my car (which was really far because I couldn't find any parking spaces anywhere remotely close to the building).

And then when I got home I put on my comfy pants (which are actually the pants I wear all the time, unless I have to leave my house, since leaving my house requires real pants).  And the rest of the day I've been on my deathbed (couch) doing this:

And this:

And this:

And, you know, perusing Hyperbole and a Half and then drawing pictures on my ipad.  But mostly, I've just been dying.

ALSO, it's really comforting to know that Dr. Satan will be cutting open my innards in two weeks.  I'll probably wake up impregnated with devlish spawn embryos that, upon returning home, will burst out of my chest like in the movie Aliens.