I just got back from the hospital. Lame lame lame lame lame. I mean, if you didn't get the picture from the first five times I said it, the whole ordeal was completely LAME.

I woke up at around seven to make sure that Aston had a ride to school. My mom was up by about eight, and I kept telling my mom, "He's gonna be late, he's gonna be late," because I'm always pessimistic like that. Anyway. In the car, Aston, my mom, and myself started discussing Aston's Yosemite trip, since he's going tomorrow. God, everytime I think of Yosemite I think of almost dying, but then that freedom I had just walking around the woods was always a close second. I know it's hard to believe, but I really do care about my brother. He's still recovering from his deathly cold (his coughs were so bad it kept me up because they freaked me out), so my worry-meter was at an all-time high. I told him not to go on the Half Dome climb if his illness returned. I told him if he does go, make sure everything he's wearing is COMPLETELY waterproof, because it just really sucks if it's not good enough. I told him to bring some medicine, just in case he gets sick. Just don't let the bears get it.

My brother ended up getting to school with five minutes to spare. My mom's good at close calls like that. Because we had so much time to spare, she took me to IHOP so I could get some food in my stomach. I'm still kind of weary about eating, but luckily, it all stayed down without too much of a problem. Nicki had to go to school next. His class starts at 0918, and we were still at the IHOP in Daly City by the time it was 0900. I swear to God, our timing was miraculous. All of our watches were synchronized differently, so I thought he was already late, and mom thought he was still really early. When I took him into his classroom, it turned out that we were right on the dot -- the clock just ticked onto 0918. Close calls, man. My mom is the master.

After checkpointing at the shop for a minute, we were on our merry ways to the hospital. I don't really remember too much about that trip, except I was wondering why the steel lock boxes at Yosemite were able to keep the bears away from the food in them. Once we got to the hospital, we looked for parking, which was very boring. I saw that many people have no idea how to park when they go to the hospital.

I couldn't see Dr. Ong, which didn't make me feel very relaxed. She might've talked a lot, but she was a nice person who wasn't loud and annoying. I had to see a nurse before I could see an actual doctor. Sue, the nurse, did a bunch of diagnostic tests on me, including the finger pressure thingy, the blood pressure thingy, and the weight stuffs. Goddammit, I gained a lot of weight. I need to start bicycling. Stupid cars, it's all their fault. Anyway. So again, after I told her the symptoms and after she listened to my heart and my breathing, she kind of freaked out and said that I was wheezing a bit. She took me to the clinic where people go when they can't breathe. I mean, not people. Children. And I swear to God, it was one of the most depressing things I've ever seen in my life. This little three year old had a mask on because he couldn't breathe. It was attached to a tank of some sort -- I guess it was delivering oxygen or albuterol -- but Jesus, it really scared me. Made me feel dizzier than I already was. What killed me was that he was just playing around with the wires and looking around at all the cool stuff around the whole place. The room was decorated with X-Men, Disney princesses, Batman, Spiderman, Madagascar, random plushies, and the little kid was just totally amazed. Like he stepped into some kind of medical Disneyland that he never knew existed. The whole thing was sort of amplified by the fact that his bed was positioned right in front of the television, which was playing Chicken Little. Oh boy.

The nurses did a helluva lot of tests on me. I had to take four puffs of albuterol, and God, I really hate that stuff. It always makes my heart beat too fast and it makes me dizzy and more confused than I usually am. By eleven, I had no idea what I was feeling. I just knew that I couldn't lie down on the bed because it made me feel like I was choking to death, and I couldn't sit up because it felt like I was choking to death, and if I stood up my legs felt too tired. It was frustrating as hell. After two freaking hours of taking four puffs of albuterol and listening to a baby crying her little lungs out in the other room -- something was seriously wrong with her, and that made me depressed, too, because the mum was also sobbing as she tried calming her baby down -- my secondary doctor, Dr. Fisher, came in. Holy hell, she scared me. She's nothing like Dr. Ong. I swear to God. The first thing she said was, "Hello Robbin. So you need to get a few shots. No, I'm not kidding." Lightning fast. I just sat there, completely stunned. I swear, that's the only reason why I hate going to the doctor. I never think I'm going to get a shot when I first walk in, but no, I'm always wrong. Apparently, since I turned seventeen, I need to get my second Hep B shot and a menangitis shot or something. Either way, it sucks. I hate getting shots because I vomit and I faint and it's just completely uncool.

Dr. Fisher said that my asthma is no longer exercise-induced. Oh no. Not anymore. You're a big girl now, she says. So I guess your asthma grew with you. Now I've got yellow-alert asthma, which means I'm going to be on meds for a while. Yay for Yuu² on meds! Jeez. "Yellow-alert"? That sounds really lame. And she talked to me like I was ten. She kept saying, "You're a big girl now, so you're going to have to take all of this medicine on your own, okay?" GOD. OKAY. I KNOW HOW TO FREAKIN' TAKE MEDICINE. Why are all the nurses and doctors pissing me off? What happened to good, wholesome doctors, like Dr. Magruder and Dr. Ong? Holy hell, man.

The good news is that I'm going back to school tomorrow. Hurray for total confusion and catching up on missing work! I finished almost all of my pre-calculus homework, too. Wewt, man. I just need to do today's and I'm set. Well, yesterday's, too, but I started on it, which is better than not doing it at all. I can't believe I already forgot all of this conic crap. Eh, it's okay, I guess. I hate conics. I think I'll spend the rest of my day NOT doing homework and just playing Final Fantasy VIII, because I can. Oh yes. I'll catch up eventually. There goes the procrastinator in me.

I'll be back tomorrow. Hoorah!