Yep, that’s right. I went all the way to the Bruno Mars concert, walked from the parking lot to my seat, and had to leave because Hilary the Hernia decided she did not like that at all. So, we can add long walks not on the beach in 90-degree heat as something I can’t do while I’m on medical leave, apparently. But I managed to buy the hat before that all happened, and it’s not stupid, but you know.

The worst part is that the day started out great! I had a good day. The cleaners came, and I went back to sleep for longer than I planned. Then, I showered, went to the sewing store to work on my quilt (yes, I’m quilting now–a subject for a different post). Got home, ate. My friends picked me up. We had a lovely chat on the drive to the venue wherein I updated them on my ER visit. They did a little pregaming. We went to the merch table. Then, we went into the stadium. DJ Pee Wee (aka Anderson Paak) was on the 1s and 2s, so we turned up a little at that. Near the end of his set, I felt the tightening around my belly button and the little lump. I started massaging it. No bueno. Thought going to the bathroom would help. It did not. Headed back to my seat. Sat. Did not like that. Met my friends coming back from the bathroom and said I needed to leave.

I clearly did not feel well because RAYE was starting, and I was so excited to see her and also I couldn’t stay to watch any of her performance and was fine with that. I mean, in the back of my mind I was not fine with it, but at that moment, I saw her perfectly coiffed reddish-brown hair on that Jumbotron and could only shake my head at the fact that I wasn’t going to see the entire performance. In fact, her voice provided the soundtrack for the rest of my exit from the venue.

Anyway.

We made our way to the exit–also far. Well, first they offered to get a wheelchair for me, but sitting does not help, and I wanted to leave, so we headed to the rideshare area. It was also far because…stadium. I said I needed an ambulance because, again, sitting is not the wave, and I knew I needed to lie down. Also, the doctor told me that if I have pain again, I need to go to the ER.

One of the security guards gave us a hard time when my friends said I needed an ambulance. I DO NOT KNOW WHY. But the woman had a real pissy attitude. At that point, I said, let me just leave and call the ambulance. It’s not that hard. I told my friends to go back to the concert because I would be okay, and someone had to enjoy the show. My friend did not want to leave me, but I assured her I would let her know if anything changed and to please go.

A different woman–maybe an event staff supervisor?–came and found me, asked me what was going on. She also asked me not to exit completely, that she would call the medics and they could look at me and transport me if need be.

The medics came, took my vitals. They asked me if I wanted to sit. Still no. The ambulance came. “Do you want to climb into the back or do you want us to lower the stretcher?” By that point, I did not care because the pain had started radiating.

Thankfully, because of my visit to the ER, I knew what to do so asked the EMT to lower the stretcher so I was lying flat and to give me an ice pack. I asked if they could take me to my local hospital (which is very far from the venue). They said no, they were taking me around the corner to some hospital I never heard of.

The hospital was in the hood. Basically, the difference between that hospital and the one I went to before is like the difference between Seattle Grace and the hospital that (spoiler alert!) killed Derek. There was a man yelling and cussing at the top of his lungs right outside the holding area. Everything was gray and dull.

Filled out some paperwork, got more ice. Called my mom. Waited. They wheeled me into the waiting room, said they needed to be on their way, helped me into a chair. Everyone stared at me. Sat, talked to my mom some more. Got up to move my seat. Realized the pain was gone, called a Lyft and left because (a) I felt better, (b) I wanted to go home, and (c) I did not want to be there. If I were at my local hospital, I might have stayed, but…no.

Got home, got fussed at by my daughter and friend. My friend demanded to know how many steps I had taken. “Four thousand steps is a lot for someone who is supposed to be on medical leave,” she declared.

IT WAS ONLY WALKING, I tried to explain to everyone.

Clearly, though, I overdid it.

I’m supposed to leave Sunday to go to my 30th high school reunion and my friend’s dad’s funeral. My daughter told me I can’t go, said I need to stay in the bed. She and my friend said everything hurts more on a plane, and that’s not a risk I want to take.

Texted my longest running friends the next day, told them what happened, said I might not be able to travel. “You need to be on bedrest,” one said.

Called the doctor’s office. Asked about post-op recovery. Asked whether or not I could travel. “You can’t push, pull, or lift anything, and it depends on whether or not you would feel comfortable sitting that long without the hernia bothering you,” the nurse said. I do not know how I would travel without pushing, pulling, or lifting anything. I also don’t know if five hours on the plane would bother me or not. My friends told me to stay home.

So now, instead of my Victorian rest cure just being post-surgery, it’s also while I wait for surgery. I am not a fan. I’m going to miss both the reunion (which I was actually looking forward to) and the service, so I’m bummed about that.

I am not bedridden. I’m going to get my hair done tomorrow, but yes, I am taking it easy now. I did stay in the bed all day today, but that was mostly because I’m sad about the fact I don’t feel good. And also, I needed to take it way easy after yesterday.

So, now, truly I am in my Victorian rest cure era, sigh.