I managed to sleep for four hours Friday night before extreme rib pain woke me up. It’s always worse when I’m laying down. It took ten minutes for me to muster the courage to sit upright, and when I did it felt like my chest was being ripped open.
Sometime on Monday I have to return to St. Vincent’s Hospital in downtown L.A. for two MRI tests: one of my brain, with and without contrast (to determine if I had a stroke) and another of my abdomen and pelvis to conclude whether or not I suffered spleen trauma when I collapsed on the sidewalk near my home. These trips back and forth to the hospital and my doctor’s office are costing me money I do not have to burn: I have to take cabs as the Metro bus line, my usual mode of transportation, is not viable with fractured ribs, particularly when the lines I take are often SRO. I’ve already cut into my rent for February and the landlord has given me until Monday to cough up the $500 or begin facing late fees.