Tuesday night I was at a rehearsal, when I got a call telling me to come home because he needed to go to the ER and wanted me there. So of course I'm thinking, "Man this is bad timing. I was making some really good headway in this rehearsal. Thanks a lot...."
No really I was more than happy to attend. After all, I would want the same treatment if it was me going to the hospital.
So arriving home, I found Jon lying on the couch, and we called an ambulance so he could stay in a comfortable position, and hopefully get through the waiting process quicker. From this point on we commence "Devin lurks in the background like a ghost and watches discomfort unfold."
From the corner I lurked in at home, I watched as the paramedics asked question after question. "Scale of 1-10, how much pain?" "What is your recent medical history?" "If a train leaves Paris at 4:10 going 150 mph, and is headed for Freiburg, but has to make a stop in...."
Finally we piled into the ambulance, where I lurked and was occasionally minimally regarded by one of the paramedics. Jon lay on his little stretcher, with his little sheet, and his many seat belts, and we rolled and bumped along. A few times the ambulance hit pot holes at a tremendous speed and I thought, "Good thing I am in an ambulance right now, cuz I just threw out my back. And I can't feel my feet. And my tongue is bleeding." *shakes head* that didn't happen. *nods...* yes it did....
As we pulled into the hospital, we were greeted by the ever so pungent and fantastic image of a homeless person bawling out one of the nurses, who I heard say, "Sir, that isn't very nice. You shouldn't call people stupid. No one is calling you stupid." The scene carried on behind me, as if it had been staged for those of us who were new to the hospital environment and needed a feeling of chaotic authenticity to punctuate the already uncomfortable experience. Another nurse proceeded to take Jon's information, and asked him many of the same questions that the paramedic already asked...which begs the question, why ask the first time if no one is going to regard the answers?
Then we were asked to wait. We waited a normal amount of time. The ambulance hadn't helped speed anything up, and I watched the other ten people in the waiting room with a strange fascination. None of the people were there for even close to the same reason we were. Finally Jon was called, and I sat for a long time talking on the phone and trying not to feel nervous. I wrote the following in my journal, after thinking about the possibility of appendicitis:
Today's imagining is the one that follows the story of the appendix. I like to think it had it's glory day. It was once a vital organ that flew in to the rescue of the early man, pelt cape flying magnificently. It was like a cure-all. Broken arms healed faster, colds were heated, and scrapes were sterilized with the power of mother's kiss.
After a few millenniums it found it was getting old and tired and was losing its touch. Sometimes Appendix would mend fevers, and break bones, instead of the opposite. So early man said,
"Appendix, you have been a loyal friend. You have taught me to heal. I want you to choose a new job. Something simpler and less important. You deserve a luxurious retirement."
So Appendix went about exploring his options. It thought providing internal heat was too time consuming, and aiding the tastebuds was too much of a tease. So it decided to settle down near the large intestine, and commenced it's long and easy life as a pack-rat.
And man hated it ever since.
After a few millenniums it found it was getting old and tired and was losing its touch. Sometimes Appendix would mend fevers, and break bones, instead of the opposite. So early man said,
"Appendix, you have been a loyal friend. You have taught me to heal. I want you to choose a new job. Something simpler and less important. You deserve a luxurious retirement."
So Appendix went about exploring his options. It thought providing internal heat was too time consuming, and aiding the tastebuds was too much of a tease. So it decided to settle down near the large intestine, and commenced it's long and easy life as a pack-rat.
And man hated it ever since.
I was finally called into Jon's little room, where he was lying, in a hospital gown (teehee, wish I had pictures). I was instructed by the very nice nurse to help him drink this icky stuff to make his insides glow for the cat-scan that he would be getting in a couple of hours. So every ten minutes I poured him this whitish stuff that smelled vaguely of milk and lemon, and I felt useful. Jon felt helpless. They gave him morphine. He felt helpless and slightly loopy.
We moved to another room. We don't know why. We were there for literally half an hour.
They moved us to another, smaller room with a more comfortable bed, where I sat on a square foot of real estate, and Jon lay in anguish, wishing he didn't have an IV in his arm (keeping him hydrated and drugged). Minutes ticked. I lay my head down to try to sleep, and woke up and this time literally couldn't feel my toes. My tongue wasn't bleeding though. Discomfort doesn't begin to describe my night on that chair. Jon got no sleep at all, worried that he would jerk and pull the IV out. The cat-scan took five minutes, and we got the results FOUR HOURS LATER.
Meanwhile we were visited by a few nurses of varying degrees of attractiveness and pleasantness. The sounds of patients sleeping, and snoring, and farting, and moaning was very obvious through the curtain-walls. When I got up to ask for some water, the nurse directing me to it gave me vague directions from five feet away, while I groggily walked inch by inch so as not to miss the fountain and look like a dumbass. I looked like a dumbass anyway. Why couldn't she just take me to it?? Five feet, I tell you.
Finally 7:30 AM rolled around. We had been there since 10:45 PM. The doctor came in to tell Jon that nothing was wrong with him that was visible, and that he should just take anti-spasm medication for his bladder and percoset for the pain. He said we could leave. He hurried out of our curtained room, and on to the next patient who had shocked himself and was worried that it would somehow accelerate his leukemia. The doctor said that was unlikely, and that he could leave.
I have always liked the term, "dead pan." It makes me think of a frying pan, which in addition to having never been alive, is laying even more dead than usual. This is what I saw when I looked at the doctor. Gotta love the ER.
Also, I have never needed an Egg McMuffin and Hash Browns as badly as I did that day. Thank God for greasy horrible food to get us through the tough times.
Thank you Herb Patterson, inventor of the Egg McMuffin!
So updating Jon's condition, he feels somewhat better. Nothing is perfect. He is headed to his first day back to work tomorrow.
We still don't know what the actual problem is.
We moved to another room. We don't know why. We were there for literally half an hour.
They moved us to another, smaller room with a more comfortable bed, where I sat on a square foot of real estate, and Jon lay in anguish, wishing he didn't have an IV in his arm (keeping him hydrated and drugged). Minutes ticked. I lay my head down to try to sleep, and woke up and this time literally couldn't feel my toes. My tongue wasn't bleeding though. Discomfort doesn't begin to describe my night on that chair. Jon got no sleep at all, worried that he would jerk and pull the IV out. The cat-scan took five minutes, and we got the results FOUR HOURS LATER.
Meanwhile we were visited by a few nurses of varying degrees of attractiveness and pleasantness. The sounds of patients sleeping, and snoring, and farting, and moaning was very obvious through the curtain-walls. When I got up to ask for some water, the nurse directing me to it gave me vague directions from five feet away, while I groggily walked inch by inch so as not to miss the fountain and look like a dumbass. I looked like a dumbass anyway. Why couldn't she just take me to it?? Five feet, I tell you.
Finally 7:30 AM rolled around. We had been there since 10:45 PM. The doctor came in to tell Jon that nothing was wrong with him that was visible, and that he should just take anti-spasm medication for his bladder and percoset for the pain. He said we could leave. He hurried out of our curtained room, and on to the next patient who had shocked himself and was worried that it would somehow accelerate his leukemia. The doctor said that was unlikely, and that he could leave.
I have always liked the term, "dead pan." It makes me think of a frying pan, which in addition to having never been alive, is laying even more dead than usual. This is what I saw when I looked at the doctor. Gotta love the ER.
Also, I have never needed an Egg McMuffin and Hash Browns as badly as I did that day. Thank God for greasy horrible food to get us through the tough times.
Thank you Herb Patterson, inventor of the Egg McMuffin!
So updating Jon's condition, he feels somewhat better. Nothing is perfect. He is headed to his first day back to work tomorrow.
We still don't know what the actual problem is.
Hey, I know! A write TV show about the ER called ER. Errr, already been done huh? I bet it was good.
ReplyDeletei just wanted to say that i heart your usage of clip art/ insertion of the picture of the guy who invented the egg mcmuffin
ReplyDelete