Worst Vacation Ever

Last Wednesday, I set out for the wilds of Connecticut for a vacation. You may be thinking, Connecticut? But why would anyone ever go there? Ok, it was for a convention. I'm a model train geek, and I was willing to travel 3 hours for this once a year event.
Wednesday night, I was feeling kind of tired, but since I didn't sleep the night before (I was too excited--remember the part about being a geek?) I thought it was ok. Had trouble sleeping, but again, thought all was well.
Thursday seemed a little better. I slept sitting on a chair, but at least I got some rest. I went to one event, and felt pretty good.
Friday was laid back, and I really thought it was going to be fine.
Then about 7 at night, all hell broke loose. I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I was sweating like at a police checkpoint with a dead hooker in the trunk of my car.
Emergency services showed up, meanwhile the hotel manager was busy chasing me and the old Lady with some sort of waiver protecting the hotel from damages. If room 131 was going to henceforth be known as "The Death Room," at least Sam the night manager would have his paperwork in order.
The staff at the hospital was great. Nurse Heather, who could have been a model, teamed up with Dr. Cutie Rodriguez, to help me breathe, and bring down the blood pressure.
Without boring anyone with details, it turns out that my previous doctors had not only given me the wrong meds, but had forgotten one key element. A diuretic. I spent the next 4 days peeing. 4 liters a day!!!! I lost 36 lbs as I peed at a Guiness record setting rate. Richard Simmons, kiss my butt.
I was released after 5 days, and feel better than I have in years.
It looks like this vacation, while a disaster, did have some good come out of it. I'll be writing boring blog posts for a while yet. In the words of Mark Twain: "The report of my death was an exaggeration."