I'm lying in an emergency room bed waiting to be "officially" admitted to the hospital. It's 3:30 am. We've been at the hospital about four hours now. They've started me on blood thinner through an IV drip. Surprisingly there's not much activity in the ER this morning, except for the crazy guy two beds away from me.
Gina is convinced that she draws the crazy. There was the guy in San Diego that followed us from the train depot up Broadway until I stared him down. There were numerous episodes in Old Town Pasadena and even when we visited San Francisco. She uses this particular occasion as verification — he's crazy, and he's close. Never mind he was there before us. She's convinced. He's loud, he's walking around even though the nurses tell him not to, he has to go to the bathroom, and he just won't quiet down. Now he's singing. Every time he walks past the bed I'm in, he stops and stares at us. I keep falling in and out of sleep.
She's been up all night with the broken Gnarly Old Guy.
Code Blue on the second floor. The ER nurse comes over and tells me that's the floor I'm going to, but they can't move me during a code blue. Oh — a bed is coming available? I'm still a little looped from the earlier hydrocodone, but it's starting to wear off, and that clown with the knife is back. I'm also on oxygen, and it hurts to take deep breaths, so my breathing stays shallow to avoid the pain. Gina tells me later that when I fall completely asleep, I can still snore as loudly as ever though.
5 am.Next thing I know the nurse is there, putting up the side rails and pushing me out of the ER to my room. We got to the floor and rolled into a single room — luck is with me. Rolled into position and everything locked in place, my floor nurse introduced herself and the student working with her that morning. She explained a few things; for instance, I might not have this room for long. She asked if I was in pain.
"Yes."
"How bad on a scale of 1 to 10?"
"8."
She asked if I wanted another Hydrocodone or perhaps Morphine instead. Morphine — ugh. I loathe the stuff, the feeling it gives as it's pushed in and the instant stupid feeling that comes over me. No thanks. The Hydrocodone just makes me not care about the pain and lets me sleep. I'll take that, thanks. She brought me the meds and now it was just Gina and me sitting in a hospital room.
We chatted for a little while. She was dragging — she needed to get home and get some rest. It was a work day for her, and she'd been up all night with the broken Gnarly Old Guy. She told me she'd be back a little after lunch to see how I was doing. She left me with my cell and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I asked her to bring my iPad back, and she was off.
The long middle
The next few hours became a mind-numbing repetition of events. Hospital food, sleep, room cleaning, vitals, meds, sleep, hospital food, sleep, room cleaning, vitals, meds. At some point the Doctor visited to tell me again that I had a blood clot in my lung and there were going to be a few more tests. But first I needed to be on blood thinning meds — I was off the IV meds by now — and he asked what my insurance would cover. Like I had that stored someplace convenient in my weary brain. I told him I wasn't sure, so he was off to investigate. He never returned that day. Shocking, right? The nurse was there in about ten minutes with my first dose of Warfarin and a shot of Heparin that went right under the skin in my stomach area. We were having fun now.
Gina returned shortly after lunch and brought me thick socks for my freezing feet, my iPad, and a large cup of Starbucks coffee. The hospital coffee is the worst sort of dark water with no flavor.
Later that afternoon another Doctor, a Hematologist, came by. We talked briefly about what happened, how it may have happened, and what he wanted to do. He was going to run every test known to the human race for cancer — just to rule that out completely. Later that evening they took the blood from me. I wondered how much was left after they filled a basket with vials of it.
The next 18 hours were pretty much the same routine as before — food, vitals, meds, sleep, room cleaning. I got to watch a couple of movies; they had some decent entertainment. I got in some reading on my iPad. Gina and Ariana visited early in the evening, and we got to share in the day's events for Ariana.
Getting out
By the next morning I was over it and wanted to escape. I was finally released later that afternoon, and I was home. Weary, sore, and glad to be out of the hospital. Instead of taking it easy for a couple of days I tried to get back into some routine — and I regretted it by the second day. One of the results of the blood clot was a partially collapsed right lung. I wasn't on oxygen, so I got winded easily, the pain came back with a vengeance, and I was falling-down tired. Gina told me to stay in bed for the next three days and keep myself medicated for the pain. I did it, and it put me on the right road to recovery.
It's been a little over two weeks now since discharge and every day is better than the last. I'm pretty sure the sedate lifestyle I was living was a major contributor to this happening. I'm standing and walking more than before, we're going to yoga again to loosen things up, and I'll be starting an exercise routine to trim down and keep this from happening again. I'm clear on all of the cancer screenings — this is a great relief for both Gina and me. This event has given me pause. I need to change things up to keep me active and engaged. Part of that self-imposed therapy is this blog.