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Another notch scratched on my belt.
The future just ain't what it used to be.
Once again, I've encountered health problems.
If it wasn't enough to have failing knees, a memory less reliable than that of your average goldfish, and a somewhat constant stream of aches and pains..
On monday night, I roll into work in my shiny new car, feeling allright with the world. As I get out of the car, I notice that my back is tightening up, and it's slightly painful to breathe.
Every step towards my desk is worse. My back is clenching tight, each breath getting tighter. It feels like somone is ripping my muscles off my spine and ribs.
I stagger into the office, procure a couple of painkillers from a coworker, and collapse, gasping, into my chair. Another coworker slides me a muscle relaxant.
Forty five minutes later, and the painkillers and muscle relaxants are doing ********. I say ******** it, I can't work tonight. Call in sick, get a ride home, collapse panting on my bed and pass into a dreamless sleep, still in my clothes.
Tuesday afternoon, I woke up feeling a little better. There's a deep itch in my chest, and I can only breathe in about 10-20% of normal. Thank my atheist, non-existant gods for health insurance. I finally give in and go to the urgent care facility.
They turn me away, telling me to go to the ER across the street.
Check in at the ER, where a smarmy nurse keeps interrupting me, not letting me tell him what's wrong. Get checked in. Put on the gown. The new nurse likes my tattoos. She thinks my cheshire is the coolest one she's seen. I try and smile and get along, but it's hard when each brief suck of air feels like a challenge.
The second nurse is a goddamn incompetent. He's an aging hippie. All long hair in a ponytail, just a few steps shy of wearing a Grateful Dead tour shirt to work. He taps my arm with a needle to take blood and prep me for an IV. Except, he's not really paying attention. My viens stick out like traintracks, I've been told I've got heroin-friendly arms. He misses the vein, and istead, taps an artery.
I spurt blood all over the little room, the bed, the gown. Make a ncie puddle on the floor. He's chuckling and trying to pass it off, like it's all really okay. It's not reassuring to have your nurse give a yelp of surprise and let out a spurt of blood. That's just not something I like happening. That's like your tatto artist saying "whoops". Or your hair stylist. Or dentist. (All three of which have happened to me.)
The doctor finally comes in, preps me for an X-ray, and they roll me on out. !5 minutes of "move your shoulders this way, turn, face the camera". While an older female nurse pokes and prods and fondles my chest in vaguely unsettling ways.
Wait for results. Endless waiting. Wait to get uncomfortable. Then wait some more.
Doctor strolls back in with the results.
Oh good, news I've heard before.
I've collapsed my lung. This time, the left one.
He looks mildly surprised when I laugh at the news.
From here on, it's old hat. Shots of lidocaine in my chest. Big ******** needles in between my ribs. Pushing a tube down into my chest.
After the surgery, once the lidocaine wears off.. I realize how ******** painful that was. They decide to counter that with a triple dose of advil. This is akin to urinating on a forest fire. It does nothing, and vaguely pisses me off.
Two hours later, they send me home. Stuffing a small bottle of vicoden into my hands before ushering me out the door.
Fast forward through four days of doing nothing while taking painkillers and trying not to move too much.
Tube came out on friday.
Going back in on next tuesday to see if my lung has fully inflated again. If not, I get another chest tube, higher up this time.
As noted by somone whose opinion I trust..
I'm sarcastic, snyde, and blunt. I limp, and am about one bad winter away from needing a cane. I pop vicoden on a regular basis. If I had a medical degree, I'd be Dr. House.
Once again, the time has come for soem R&R.
I require high alcohol content choclatey drinks, four cartons of cigarettes, the new Need for speed racing game, some good pizza, a refill on my vicoden, and gratuitous, borderline illegal, dirty monkey sex.
Aren't you glad you're not me?
 Twistex · Mon Oct 16, 2006 @ 06:08am · 8 Comments |
