OK, so, I'm no expert, but let me ask you this: Does it seem right to you that when you are being prepped for a medical procedure where something will be inserted into your neck that you are asked to remove your underwear?
It just seemed a little weird to me. So I told the nurse she could just forget it.
"Are you being difficult?" Karen asked me when I refused to step away from my drawers.
I was just glad there was no paparazzi around. I may not be a former dictator, but I am hot in a pair of Fruit of the Looms. Imagine Barney Fife in his scivvies. I was struggling, having nightmares while awake, about lying on a mobile hospital bed clad only in one of those meaningless, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination cotton wraps that wouldn't fit around a copy of Bill Clinton's autobiography. People would be gettin' out of my way in record time when they saw me bein' wheeled down the hall.
"No, I'm not being difficult, but I am NOT taking my underwear off for this woman. I don't even know her name."
The prep nurse chimed in about this time and said, "I promise I won't laugh next time I see you in the mall." The nurse showed me her certification for having completed her CLDP training ("Comeback Lines For Difficult Patients.")
"Ma'am," I said, "no disrespect intended, but why do you need me to drop my drawers if you're sticking something in my neck?"
She finally looked at my chart and relented, admitting she had mistakenly thought I was to have received a catheterization procedure, through the artery in my leg, before finally realizing I was getting a heart biopsy. Through the jugular. The big 5-lane highway of blood in the neck.
Let me give you one little nugget of advice: You ever get a tube inserted in your neck, tell the hospital staff you weigh 500 pounds so they give you the weight-appropriate sedation. There ain't enough drugs in the world, people, to make you forget the pain of a needle in the neck. Guar-un-teed.
But hey, it's over, the news was in fact encouraging, and so we move on again to the next phase of my wonderful, only life. The determination was made to not perform a heart biopsy as was earlier thought after the pressure in my lungs was ruled optimum. But the doctor still decided to run some fancy-schmancy tube all the way through my heart and into my lungs to check the pressure, which ain't near as much fun as it sounds. Bottom line: I can breathe easier because the difficulty catching my wind of late was due to being overmedicated on a couple of drugs that relieve my lungs and other parts of my body of fluid. So I am Lasix free and lovin' it. No longer do I have to pee in the middle of important meetings or those particularly compelling episodes of "Oprah."
Who ARE you and why are you in my room?
My odyssey to Dallas Presbyterian hospital for this little fantasmagorical medical procedure was also my first foray into the high-wire act known as the semi-private room. I shared my room with an older man with a John Deere baseball cap and a pair of bib overalls who when he was being told that he had a new roommate said, "Oh is that what it is?"
OK, this is gonna work out just fine. The guy pulled the curtain between the beds before I even got inside the room. His was the bed closer to the window. I was closer to the bathroom. He kept the TV tuned to "Law and Order" reruns all ... night ... long. It was kinda like being at home.
Do you know how surreal it is when you are watching television and a stranger walks in front of your bed on his way to the bathroom? That'll snap you right out of a nap.
Turns out the guy was nice enough (when he was discharged and learned he wouldn't have to be with "problem-patient" roommate any more). He was a farmer from the country who was a REAL heart patient; the kind who was a heart attack veteran who had apparently run out of his nitroglycerin. I see this guy, I'm thinking: I'm not a heart patient, I just play one on my blog.
Long story short: I got to keep my shorts on, had my lungs examined and the doctor told me I could go hiking with The Boy again ... provided I didn't do too much. Which is great news unless my body tells me to knock it off when I'm four miles down the trail in the Chisos Mountains and there's no way to get in touch with a mountain lion, much less a doctor or a nurse who wants my underwear. But the hiking gig is back on the calendar. And I couldn't be happier. Even if the doctors still don't know quite what's wrong with me.
Though the neck? I agree with Dave Letterman who says they usually go in through the wallet.
Posted by: Geo | Sunday, May 22, 2005 at 02:37 PM
Jimmy, glad to hear the good report, and that you'll be able to resume some more normal activity.
I'm also enjoying "Kite Runner." Thanks for sharing it with me; I'm about 2/3rds finished. It's pretty powerful...
Posted by: Eric | Sunday, May 22, 2005 at 05:32 PM
Glad to hear the good news. Hope your medical stays are over for awhile.
After my 7 day stay in cardiac intensive care at Christmas, even sticking a 6" needle in my back to drain off a quart or so of fluid became rather mundane.
Posted by: Wallace-Midland, Texas | Sunday, May 22, 2005 at 10:46 PM
Glad your back home, and on the blog! Take care!
Posted by: cindi m | Monday, May 23, 2005 at 03:00 PM