As
always, dear readers, I am constantly looking for ways to continue to enlighten
your life with useful information even at the sacrifice of my own personal well
being. As they say, it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Anyway, came
back from a meeting on Thursday and started feeling really bad. I mean, really
bad. Throwing up, can’t eat (now this is serious) …this goes on and on and
on. Finally, on Sunday morning about 2am…. We can’t see that I’m getting
any better so we get up, get dressed and get me to the emergency room. Thus the
basis for yet another column begins.
A light mist was falling, it was
dark (after all, it’s 2 in the morning) when we arrived at the drive way to
the emergency room. The air was filled with electricity (possible lightning?)
with the tragic stories of lives in trauma. As we rushed into the waiting room,
we passed other suffering humans sitting in chairs trying to answer those
questions of desperation asked by the admitting clerks…."Have you met
your deductible on your policy yet?"
Yes, it’s the cold harsh world of
the emergency room, or ER as those of us in the know call it. We arrive about 30
minutes after the bars close, which seems to be the ER’s busiest time of the
night. People are sitting around with long faces mostly trying to figure out how
to get back to their cars since the ambulance brought them there. No, I’m just
kidding. These are hurting people. This is true human drama. People who have
probably gotten into some serious fight or argument over a serious
misunderstanding of a philosophical difference of one kind or another. In fact a
couple of the philosophical differences are standing over in one corner crying.
It looks like someone has torn their dresses, and they keep crying
out…"Do you think Bubba and Joe Bob are going to be OK?" It probably
started over some discussion of relativity. As in "is she still his
relative?"
In no time at all, we got to go into
an exam room and then the real fun begins. For one thing, I hate needles. I
especially hate when they are being poked into my body. The only thing worse
than this is when the nurse can’t find the vein and has to move around all
over the place. In this case, my place. The room gets hot, the room gets cold.
I’ll do anything to get this over with. Just give me drugs, stop my pain, and
let me go home. What’s the use of having medical insurance if you can’t use
it anyway? They finally get the thing in, draw out their normal gallon of blood
for the test and start me on an IV. I’ve always wondered what they do with
that excess blood they draw out? I mean we all know that their tests just use a
couple of drops so why do they take so much? If you notice they all get
defensive when you ask this question. Must be some big secret here.
After a while I get settled down and
can almost hear the drip of the IV, except for the moaning and groaning of some
guy in the next room. I don’t know what was wrong with him, but the nurses
were all laughing about it, whatever it was. My wife says that only men moan,
and that women suffer pain much better. I think it’s because God allowed them
to endure more since they have the babies. Men just don’t have that natural
immunity like women. We really suffer when we’re hurting. Finally they get a
lot of fluids back into me. The blood tests come back and say it’s some kind
of stomach virus. We get some prescriptions and head home. It’s now 6am. Now,
here’s the funny part…before I leave the emergency room they tell me to be
sure and eat nothing but clear soups, water and fruit for a couple of days. So,
it’s Sunday morning. I eat broth till it’s coming out my ears. I take the
pills, and guess what, nothing happens, I’m still sick and it isn’t getting
any better.
This is not funny. I’m imaging
death and dying, and not necessarily in that order. Sunday night passes, no
sleep. Up on Monday and make appointment with the family doctor. I’ve packed
my bags, knowing with a degree of certainty that I’m destined for an extended
stay in the hospital. Probably some exotic new illness.
After a brief examination the doctor
comes back into the room. "Tell it to me straight Doc, I can take it …how
long do I have?" He turns around and looks me in the eye and says…"I
think you can make lunch if you try."
My mind races, lunchtime is only an
hour away. My life starts to flash before my eyes. No, not really, but you’re
supposed to say that in times like this. Somehow I didn’t think it would end
this fast. "That quick?" I ask.
"Yes" he