Why am I up?

Let me tell you. So this weekend is Guelph's homecoming. Nothing really compared to the K town experience, but that doesn't stop us from having a different kind of adventure. So my friend Alanna came up from McMaster for the weekend, for the Ultimate Frisbee tournament Guelph is hosting. Derek, Graeme, Frankie (Derek's girlfriend) and I thought we'd show her a good time in Guelph after the game . . . We were here studying when in stumbled Graeme, complaining of abdominal pains that had him breathing heavily and doubled over. The WFR instinct kicked in and we started asking questions, knowing abdominal pain is the most nebulous thing, and so hard to diagnose. We got him to try to eat something, but walking around made it hurt that much worse. . . This is when we knew something was wrong. We called Telehealth ontario, a service whereby one can get free advice from a medical professional over the phone on what the bes tnext step would be, and the nurse on the phone agreed with us - get him to the Hospital ASAP. So there we were, Graeme, Alanna, Derek and I, sitting in the emergency room. They bumped Graeme to the front of the line, and for an hour and a half or so the three of us waited in the emergency room, looking at all the sad faces around us, wondering about our friend. Finally we got word he was going to be there for awhile, so after exchanging cell numbers with him (just in case he needed anything) we were off to salvage a few hours of fun just to say we did. We headed out to the ebar, drank and danced, and walked home. Stumbling it at 4:00 AM? Bad idea. Hours later (7:45 or so) Graeme called from the Hospital. He just wanted to be picked up. Derek and I groggily walked to the car, and in the harsh light of the cold autumn morning we drove through the deserted streets of Guelph. I walked in to Emerg, jumped the line, walked into the doors and found Graeme. He had been on morphine for his extreme pain, which apparently wasn't enough, and on top of it all, they had no idea what was wrong. The treatment at Guelph General was certainly sub par, as his IV drip slipped out twice as he bled onto himself, with only so much as an "Oops, I think that's okay now" from the nurse. He didn't get a real bed, or a blanked, just a cold examining room all night, and after all he'd been through all he wanted was to get home. So they pulled the IV out and he grabbed his perscription for T3's and limped to the car with us, pissed off, painful, groggy and tired, sent off with no more instruction or diagnosis than "It's not appendicitis, come back if it still hurts in 24 hours. I felt so
sorry for him. As soon as we got in the door Frankie was standing there with an apologetic "Sorry, I wish I was kidding" look on her face as she told us the Hospital had just called, they needed him back for an Ultrasound and blood tests, right away. Balls. So we got back in the car, beat our best lap time to the hospital, and I dropped Derek and Graeme off while I looked for a spot to park. No sooner had I paid for an hour of parking, Derek was walking toward me saying "He just went in, he said just go." So here we are, totally sleep deprived, wondering what the F shot is going on with our friend.

Alanna has to go play frisbee now.