ER Diary - PortlandBarFly.com
By John Chandler
Sheesh! A few lousy abdominal pains and the next thing I know I'm strapped to a gurney heading for Frankenstein's laboratory like Lou Costello. But how did this happen? Will my body reject the baboon heart?
5:52 p.m.: I get dropped off at the Emergency Room to ask about getting some blood work done. My guts have been churning like a dryer full of pudding for two weeks and my back feels like someone left a machete in it. I deal with a bit of preliminary paper work and then they ask me to "fill the bottle." I give them the classic comeback."You mean, from here?" I ask. No one laughs.
8:34 p.m.: I've been sitting in the waiting area for 2 1/2 friggin' hours. Maybe if I dumped ketchup on my head I could get a little action. I've been here longer than the guy across the room who looks like Popeye's pappy, but they take him ahead of me because he has a limp. Curses! The nurses seem unmoved by the fact that my back hurts so much that I'm lying on the floor with my feet up in a chair. It's marginally more comfortable than just sitting down.You know what else sucks? I have to hold onto my urine sample. No one wants it. I feel like an unwed mother. My pee and I are getting awfully grumpy.
8:55: I'm waiting for a doctor in an examining room, dressed in the most undignified apparel ever conceived: the backless hospital gown. Even Tom Brokaw would like a doofus in one of these ass-drafty frocks.
9:21: A nurse sticks her head in the room and asks, "Why is your pee brown?" How can I realistically answer that question? Yellow is out this season? I just had a cup of hot chocolate? It's not really brown; it's more of cinnamon-amber?
10:08: Batteries of questions touching on topics like drinking ("Oh, once in a while I'll have a wee nip.") to drug use ("Who? Me?") to how I'm going to pay for this hospitalization."Uh, do you have any odd jobs around the ER that need doing?" I ask. No one laughs.
10:50: Ultrasound. They're taking pictures X-ray pictures of my stomach, liver and gall bladder. "That's probably the burrito I had for lunch," I announce, pointing at a submarine-shaped glob on the screen.
DAY TWO
12:05 a.m.: The doctor tells me that tomorrow I'll have a "procedure" done in which a tube will be thrust done my throat to find the gall stones that are currently clogging my large duodenum. Then they'll make an "opening" and suck out the offending obstructions. Piece of cake!I'm so tired I'm practically hallucinating. My back pain has been so severe that I haven't slept in three days. Nursie finally tucks me into bed, and I close my bloodshot eyes.
5:31 a.m.: Sleeping in a hospital is like trying to relax on a stool. It can't be done. No sooner are the lights out when a slew of nurses parade into the room every 20 minutes or so to adjust your I.V., take your blood pressure, get another blood sample or ask more questions about your medical history. The morphine helps, but not enough.
3:37 p.m.: Waking up from anesthesia. Procedure went fine and I'm pain-free for the first time in weeks. One of the nurses says, "You were saying all kinds of funny things on the table." My philosophy has always been that if I don't remember it, it didn't happen.
8:14 p.m.: I haven't eaten in over 36 hours. They'll only allow me ice chips to chew on until my fever goes down. I consider grabbing my chart and erasing "ice" and substituting "potato," but I figure I'd probably get busted.
DAY THREE
3:22 a.m.: My eighth blood sample is being taken. The nurse needs to hit three different veins to find one that's still pumping. Now I know how William Burroughs must have felt. "I think I'm about a quart low," I tell her. She doesn't laugh. Pretty somber bunch, these nurses.
7:46 a.m.: I get a breakfast of clear broth and orange Jell-O, but it tastes like steak and shrimp cocktail to me. Christ, I almost ate the goddamn tray I was so ravenous. "Could I have some more clear broth, please?"
11:38 a.m.: Man, my B.O. would knock a buzzard off a shitwagon, so I get my first shower in two days. I have to sit on a chair and use the removable showerhead. I then slice the shit out of myself while trying to shave. I notice my skin is less yellow today. That's probably a good thing. Yesterday I looked like a lemon.
1:26 p.m.: Glorious freedom! But at what cost? No drinking for two months. No pizza for the foreseeable future. No dairy. No red meat. No tacos. No egg noodles. No chocolate. No fried food. God, what's to become of me?
Sheesh! A few lousy abdominal pains and the next thing I know I'm strapped to a gurney heading for Frankenstein's laboratory like Lou Costello. But how did this happen? Will my body reject the baboon heart?
5:52 p.m.: I get dropped off at the Emergency Room to ask about getting some blood work done. My guts have been churning like a dryer full of pudding for two weeks and my back feels like someone left a machete in it. I deal with a bit of preliminary paper work and then they ask me to "fill the bottle." I give them the classic comeback."You mean, from here?" I ask. No one laughs.
8:34 p.m.: I've been sitting in the waiting area for 2 1/2 friggin' hours. Maybe if I dumped ketchup on my head I could get a little action. I've been here longer than the guy across the room who looks like Popeye's pappy, but they take him ahead of me because he has a limp. Curses! The nurses seem unmoved by the fact that my back hurts so much that I'm lying on the floor with my feet up in a chair. It's marginally more comfortable than just sitting down.You know what else sucks? I have to hold onto my urine sample. No one wants it. I feel like an unwed mother. My pee and I are getting awfully grumpy.
8:55: I'm waiting for a doctor in an examining room, dressed in the most undignified apparel ever conceived: the backless hospital gown. Even Tom Brokaw would like a doofus in one of these ass-drafty frocks.
9:21: A nurse sticks her head in the room and asks, "Why is your pee brown?" How can I realistically answer that question? Yellow is out this season? I just had a cup of hot chocolate? It's not really brown; it's more of cinnamon-amber?
10:08: Batteries of questions touching on topics like drinking ("Oh, once in a while I'll have a wee nip.") to drug use ("Who? Me?") to how I'm going to pay for this hospitalization."Uh, do you have any odd jobs around the ER that need doing?" I ask. No one laughs.
10:50: Ultrasound. They're taking pictures X-ray pictures of my stomach, liver and gall bladder. "That's probably the burrito I had for lunch," I announce, pointing at a submarine-shaped glob on the screen.
DAY TWO
12:05 a.m.: The doctor tells me that tomorrow I'll have a "procedure" done in which a tube will be thrust done my throat to find the gall stones that are currently clogging my large duodenum. Then they'll make an "opening" and suck out the offending obstructions. Piece of cake!I'm so tired I'm practically hallucinating. My back pain has been so severe that I haven't slept in three days. Nursie finally tucks me into bed, and I close my bloodshot eyes.
5:31 a.m.: Sleeping in a hospital is like trying to relax on a stool. It can't be done. No sooner are the lights out when a slew of nurses parade into the room every 20 minutes or so to adjust your I.V., take your blood pressure, get another blood sample or ask more questions about your medical history. The morphine helps, but not enough.
3:37 p.m.: Waking up from anesthesia. Procedure went fine and I'm pain-free for the first time in weeks. One of the nurses says, "You were saying all kinds of funny things on the table." My philosophy has always been that if I don't remember it, it didn't happen.
8:14 p.m.: I haven't eaten in over 36 hours. They'll only allow me ice chips to chew on until my fever goes down. I consider grabbing my chart and erasing "ice" and substituting "potato," but I figure I'd probably get busted.
DAY THREE
3:22 a.m.: My eighth blood sample is being taken. The nurse needs to hit three different veins to find one that's still pumping. Now I know how William Burroughs must have felt. "I think I'm about a quart low," I tell her. She doesn't laugh. Pretty somber bunch, these nurses.
7:46 a.m.: I get a breakfast of clear broth and orange Jell-O, but it tastes like steak and shrimp cocktail to me. Christ, I almost ate the goddamn tray I was so ravenous. "Could I have some more clear broth, please?"
11:38 a.m.: Man, my B.O. would knock a buzzard off a shitwagon, so I get my first shower in two days. I have to sit on a chair and use the removable showerhead. I then slice the shit out of myself while trying to shave. I notice my skin is less yellow today. That's probably a good thing. Yesterday I looked like a lemon.
1:26 p.m.: Glorious freedom! But at what cost? No drinking for two months. No pizza for the foreseeable future. No dairy. No red meat. No tacos. No egg noodles. No chocolate. No fried food. God, what's to become of me?
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