duhpursuit

Wednesday afternoon, I was admitted to the hospital. Nothing special. Just some palpitations and chest pain. No biggie. My cardiologist said I might be having a heart attack. Nothing to worry about.

They asked me if I wanted them to perform “heroic measures” to save my life if my heart stopped. Just curious. Taking a survey.

They tried three times to get the IV into my right arm. Once on the left. Twice in my right hand. Five times a charm. They told me they usually only have trouble getting IVs into drug addicts. Scarring in the veins. Good information.

They put me in a room with a poor woman who was scheduled to evacuate her bowels. Which she did. For three hours. Boisterously. 7.2 magniturd.

I sat in the lobby until she finished. They finally moved her to another room and de-stinkified the place so I could come back in. Meanwhile, a woman who came to take my blood asked me if I would come into the room so she could (for the third time that evening) draw some blood. I told her either she could do it somewhere else, or get vomited on. She chose the former.

I hadn’t brushed my teeth in two days. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t washed my face. I hadn’t slept. They said I was lucky to have bathroom privileges (the alternative would have been to shit in a pot next to the bed). They said I was lucky insurance agreed to pay some of the cost. Lucky that I’d met my deductible. Lucky I got a discount and only had to pay $120 a night.

At 11 am on Thursday, the hospital doctor said he thought he might be able to send me home.  Sometime between 11 am and 6pm, when he returned and said I could go, I woke three times to talk to three different doctors about why I’d been admitted to the hospital.

I was served three meals. 1) A ham and croissant sandwich with mayonnaise, two chocolate chip cookies, a bag of potato chips, and sweet tea. 2) Scrambled eggs, a sausage patty, buttered toast, whole milk, and oatmeal. 3) Chicken with gravy, stuffing with gravy, green beans with gravy, a buttered biscuit, a piece of pecan pie, candied fruit, whole milk, sweet tea.

If I wasn’t a cardiac patient going in, I might have been one going out.

I now have seven holes in my arms. I have had to explain the circumstances of my admission into the hospital to six different people. It felt like I was on trial. Accused. Interrogated. It felt like I was part of a herd of cattle. Cart them in. Take their money. Cart them out.

They say that I experienced normal sinus tachycardia. Their way of saying, we don’t know what’s wrong, or possibly, it’s all in your head. I’m starting to think I’d be crazy to believe them.