You might not believe how happy I am these days to be alive in the world. (Jackson Browne fans will notice two song titles in that sentence ….. which is most likely purely intentional in a hidden message kind of way ….. or something like that.)
You know ….. It occurs to me that "Or Something Like That" would make a good song title. Maybe like a Jazz Standard from the 1950's. Or a lyric fragment that a current day Singer/Songwriter could work some word magic with. Anyway …..
I know it's irrational but over the past three weeks my mind has managed to convince my soul that there was a darn good chance that I was dying. And I've been walking around for a few weeks with that idea overpowering and dominating my thoughts.
Three weeks ago I went to see the on-call doctor to get a sore on my lower leg looked at. (At the time I couldn't get an appointment with my newly appointed primary doctor until June 1st.) Something I assume, in my responses to the doctors questions or my general physical appearance led to my being sent to have blood drawn. A day later I was informed by phone that I was negative for diabetes BUT "severely anemic" and that the primary doctor now wanted to see me "right away." (It didn't help much a day later to receive a second phone call that I was also negative for hepatitis.)
Looking back, those two words "right away" is what set me off. The word "severely" also had a part in that.
I came away from my appointment with the primary doctor wanting me to see a gastroenterologist for a consultation "as soon as possible." That took place a few days later and led to being told that he wanted me to have a colonoscopy and endoscopy ….. "sooner rather then later" to find the cause of the severe anemia and why I was losing blood somewhere "and fix it." Five minutes later I was informed of the time and place for those procedures ….. The urgency of it all and my own reading between the lines became frightening. Not to forget the looping video being played in the gastro doctor's waiting room about colon cancer.
Things and appointments were spinning by my eyes too fast it seemed. I was having trouble processing all this new information. I found myself wishing that it was all just a bad dream that I was unable to wake up from.
During this preliminary process, my thoughts raced back and forth between the mostly dominating idea that they are going to find something that's too late to fix and the occasional calming idea that I was actually having this treated and fixed. Oh and there was that urgency thing always present.
Two days ago I found myself being dragged by a friend to the hospital to have those procedures done.
It wasn't long before I was all hospital gowned up and hooked up to IV's and just moments from being put under when the anesthesiologist inquired about my hemoglobin count and a race to get the official information. Too low she said and too much of a risk for a heart attack if they proceeded at that level. We need to admit you to the hospital for blood transfusions and raise the count before doing this. My first hospital over-nighter since birth ….. I don't actually recall that stay but at least my mom was with me then I assume. But since she was such a great mom I feel pretty certain that she was there with me, holding my hand.
I did discover how comforting a nurse's hand on your shoulder can be.
A sidenote before I forget. I read that eggo waffles are a good source of iron so my toaster has been getting in a little overtime work lately. No butter and syrup just the naked waffles.
So it was off to the waiting room of the ER to be admitted. I'm told that my niece who had been waiting to take me home was a little nervous upon learning of this new development. My phone had been ringing and not recognizing the number, I had blown off the calls. Turned out it was my sister who my niece had called to inform of the changing circumstances. This is the same niece who a few years ago (it seems) called me on Christmas Eve while I was sitting in the Houston, Texas airport, eastward bound, to ask if I was coming over for Christmas. Damn near had me in tears that day. She's all grown up now, driving cars and in a few days, graduating from high school. Time flies as they say.
I sat in the ER looking around at all the other people waiting to be seen. People who looked in far worse shape than myself. People in obvious pain and distress. People with needs greater than mine. this place must be crazy insane busy to keep some of those people waiting.
The last time I was here was Christmas Eve, 1979 or 1980. My father had been having trouble breathing and asked me to take him for a drive but refused my attempts to take him to the hospital. Finally I told him that I didn't care what he said, I was driving to the hospital. He relented in silence. It was a heart attack. He passed away seven months later. Actually now that I think about it that was the second to the last time I was there. The last time was when I shot a two inch staple through my thumb while handling an electric staple gun at 1:00am on a Sunday night at work after a sleepless weekend of work and playing in a slow pitch softball tourney. (That seems strange to me now because we were usually eliminated from most weekend tournaments by 9:00am Saturday morning after getting stomped on Friday evening and then again early Saturday morn.) The nurse that night enjoyed a good laugh. Not at my discomfort but at the brand name on the gloves that they had to cut off my hand .... Big Dick Gloves. That was in 1982.
Eventually I was taken to a recliner in the hallway of the actual emergency rooms where it seemed that I was asked about 3000 questions by a nurse who really seemed to know her wide ranging stuff mixed with an infinite compassion for those in need. I began hoping that she would be working around-the-clock all weekend. I thought of a couple friends who before retirement served as nurses.
Then into a room where I was hooked up for transfusion number one. Followed a few hours later by my own newly assigned room and transfusion number two. A slow, six hour process. Of course I managed to get in a little NBA playoff viewing while all this was going on. My sister arrived and sat with me for awhile, took my keys, retrieved my Kindle reader from home, returned and sat with me awhile longer.
I was informed that since my colonoscopy was re-scheduled, I'd be getting a second helping of the "party juice" (a friends words) once the slow dripping transfusions were complete. And not the new and improved smaller dosage that I had suffered through Thursday evening while attempting to maintain and display a small amount of remaining dignity in front of co-workers but this time the legendary (seemingly ten gallon) big jug. At least they gave me a choice of flavors. Even throughout this process there was very little privacy. Someone was always knocking on the door wanting to take temperature, heartbeat and blood pressure. And I imagine, to make sure I hadn't escaped. And then to draw more blood.
There wasn't much sleep between midnight and 4:00am. I stood there on the fourth or fifth floor looking out my window to the empty sidewalk and street below. I wasn't even sure if the Yankees had won their Friday evening baseball game. The question, How the hell did I end up here went through my thoughts numerous times. How did this sore on my leg result in all this? Also …. "I sure hope this is a one-way view or tinted glass window" ….. for people in hospital gowns who without thinking, turn around and expose their backsides while standing there pondering life in that curtain-less window frame.
From now on I'm going to do as Warren Zevon advised and "enjoy every sandwich." I'd been doing that anyway since he uttered those words on the late night Letterman program but I'm planning to step it up, enjoyment-wise. ….. if only I could have a sandwich. Hell it was now over fifty hours since I'd had anything to eat and it was looking to be at least five or six more. I'd been informed that I was on the schedule for 8:15am, Saturday morning. A great way to spend your Saturday of Memorial day weekend.
The time finally arrived. In the prep room I inquired about the risks. I had made the mistake on Thursday evening of reading the Endoscopy information sheet the gastro doctor had provided a week earlier. Generally a low risk procedure but here's a long list of the things that could possibly go wrong. The one or two involving immediate surgery had caught my attention. I joked with the doctor that I wished it wasn't too late to back out of all this. He told me (and with much sincerity it appeared) that if I really wanted to I could get up and go home. But that the benefits far outweighed the risks. OK lets get it over with!! The anesthesiologist asked if I wanted something to relax. That sounded like the best idea I had heard in the past four or five years. I was wheeled into the room where the procedures would take place and next thing I knew, was being told it was over and everything looked good. What the hell? How? When did I get put to sleep? I recall looking at the clock …. a few minutes past 10:00.
One of the thoughts that raced through my mind in the moments before I was put to sleep was that I should write down my last spoken words before I went under. In the event that I didn't wake up and years later someone discovers my hidden attempts at poetry and they are labeled a literary accomplishment of the most extraordinary sensitive and perceptive manner …… and I become wildly famous after my time, in a posthumously kind of way. But then everything was happening so fast and my final words were probably something along the lines of "When can I go home?"
Back in my hospital room and in what seemed like the time between the bottom of the second and top of the third innings of a baseball game and then it was off again to get a ct-scan. The tour guide / hospital bed pusher turned out to be a fellow Yankee fan. It's amazing how much Yankee chat can take place while one is being wheeled through the halls of the hospital.
Given another "all looks good" on the ct-scan and wheeled back to my room. I was asked if I wanted something to eat. I was beginning to think they'd never ask. The nurse gave me a menu ..... all in Spanish. I could make out a few items but desired more choices. I asked for a English menu and she said that she'd be right back ...... Twenty minutes later and thinking I'd been lied to about the being right back part, another nurse stopped by and asked if I was hungry. I've heard the stories over the years about hospital food but the roast turkey and mashed potatoes with gravy that I ordered tasted like homemade manna to me ..... assuming of course that manna tasted great back in those biblical times.
I'd been advised that if I reacted well to the food, they'd let me go home. I was thinking 5-10 minutes of observation time. They were thinking closer to two hours. And that two hours ended up feeling like twenty-four hours. I was determined that I was going to react well. If I had that level of conviction of determination and positivism with other things in my life, I'd still be married and have several million (or billion) dollars. It's never too late to become a glass-half-full personality I suppose.
At some point during the observation period, they told me that I could get out of the gown and get dressed. By then, I had lost a great deal of my previously inherent shyness after realizing and accepting that the hospital staff were just doing their jobs and most likely didn't want to see my ass any more than I did and probably weren't sneaking peeks .... or maybe it was side effects of the two servings of poop juice playing with my attitudes?
Possibly it was my asking about a dozen times if I could get dressed ..... Anyway un-robeing and getting dressed was one suggestion that I was infinitely eager and happy to follow through on. Seemed like a good sign as well that I might be going home soon.
All I needed now was a ride. I knew that my sister was out there somewhere ..... and that my brother was on call and willing. And also for someone who knew what they were doing to take this damn IV out of the back of my hand.
