The family nurse practitioner had just finished showing me my chest x-ray. The lower half of my right lung was completely white. She informed me that it was fluid in the lining round my lung and that I would be admitted to the hospital to get it drained. My wife and I sat in the examination room of the clinic staring at each other as the revelation of what had been going on with me for the last three months came home to roost.
"I'll send you by ambulance. They will take you straight to the emergency room. That way we will get you admitted faster. Other wise you could be in for a long wait." she announced. "By the way have you been bitten by a tick lately? You also have symptoms of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever."
"Yeah," I said. "Back in August or September, I think." Go figure. The Rockys are a three day drive from Selmer, Tennessee. After a brief silence my wife Dossie was the next to speak.
"I guess I'll go home and pack a bag. Then I'll meet you there."
"OK Honey, guess I'll see you there. Maybe I can get well now." was my response. The worried look on her face spoke volumes. But before I could say anything else the paramedics arrived with one of those roll around beds they use to transport people.I climbed on to the bed, Dossie kissed me good-bye, and then headed for the car. The medics proceeded to strap me down like I was going for Mr. Toad's wild ride and wheeled me out to the ambulance. Once inside the ambulance they started an IV in a vein on the back of my left hand and then hooked me up to a heart monitor. The IV burned like fire and I thought it had hit the bone. The heart monitor served to convince me that this was a pretty serious situation. However, I had always wanted to go for a ride in an ambulance, sirens screaming, racing through traffic, and sliding around corners. Actually, this was nothing like that. We made a rather leisurely drive from the clinic in Selmer, Tennessee where we live to the hospital in Jackson an hour north. I figured my wife could have gotten me there quicker and cheaper, even with the side trip home to pack an over night bag. I even had time for a nap.I felt strangely quiet and relaxed even though breathing was a real chore for me. At some point before I feel asleep they put me on oxygen. I guess my oxygen level was somewhere around 85% saturation. No wonder I felt so crappy.
I started noticing things going down hill for me physically the previous October. It was getting harder and harder to climb the stairs to my class room on the second floor of the High School where I taught. Later that month I took a flight to Cape May, New Jersey to attend my youngest son's graduation from Coast Guard basic training. Walking through the airports was a real chore and so was walking around the Coast Guard training center in Cape May. I figured I was just getting old. After all I would be turning sixty in about a month. To top things off my son had contracted bronchitis during his tenure in basic and he passed those germs to me as I drove him to the airport in Philadelphia. We rode in a sub-compact car together for over an hour. So, it's not hard to figure out how I would get sick too.
By the time I got home from my trip I was both sick and exhausted. Then I started to cough. I coughed and coughed. All day and all night I coughed. I kept Dossie and I both awake nights for the next ten weeks. I kept the cat awake, and if I bothered to ask around, I would probably find out that I had kept the neighbors awake too. We went on a church retreat the weekend after I got back from Cape May. I spent 3/4 of the time in bed coughing. I notice it was uncomfortable to sleep on my back because it felt like I had a concrete block sitting on my chest. Sunday afternoon my wife took me to one of those fast lane, lube job, medical clinics where they make you feel better in lieu of waiting days to see a real doctor or going to an emergency room at $1200 a pop. I got antibiotics and cough medicine, standard fare for a guy hacking up a lung on the lube rack, and returned home figuring that the worst was over. The following Tuesday I went to my regular health care provider where they pronounced me officially sick and gave me more medication.
My birthday showed up on November 21st like it does every year, and I was still coughing. I felt somewhat better but I figured I had gotten a double whammy from this bug what ever it was. After all most of my friends were sick and coughing by now too. Thanksgiving break arrived and I was back in the doctor's office More antibiotics, more cough medicine, more hope for the future, and a few days off to recuperate. But nooooooooo. Now I'm sitting up at night coughing in the living room to keep from disturbing my wife's sleep cycle. Not only that but it was easier to sleep sitting up because now there were two concrete blocks sitting on my chest instead of one. The week of Christmas break I went back to the clinic and this time they gave me a chest x-ray and a CT scan for $950. Nada. But they told me if I didn't feel better in a week or two to come back and they would have a cardiologist look at me. A heart doctor for a lung problem? What ever.
The first day back at work I slept through the first hour or so of our school's in-service. In fact I was finding it harder and harder to stay awake. Some days I had to pull over on the side of the road and close my eyes for a few minutes just to make the fifty minute trip to work. I slept during my planning block. I would doze off after a few minutes where ever I sat down. I was starting to bloat too. Eating made me feel like I would suffocate. I was still coughing but now I was dragging around like one of the walking dead doing an imitation of the Michelin Tire Man.. Little did I know that I was almost dead. Three weeks into the semester I went home with a vow not to go back to work until someone could cure me of this malady. That was on a Tuesday. The next day, Wednesday, I was in an ambulance headed for the hospital in Jackson, Tennessee.
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When I opened my eyes the ambulance was pulling into the parking lot of Jackson General Hospital. They wheeled me into the triage area where I was greeted by a doctor a short time later. While I was being robbed of my clothing, given a skimpy hospital gown in trade, and covered with a paper thin blanket; the doctor explained to me everything he had learned about my case during the time I was in transit. He told me that after he got the fluid off of my lung that he would then begin an antibiotic regiment to get rid of the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever; after that he would then start trying to figure out why I was getting the fluid around my lung. Then I was off to the basement, IV bag, wires, and all for my first chest tube. On the ride there I remembered a friend of mine, who had been treated for two different cancers in three years, telling me he had gone on an adventure with God. I was guessing that it must be my turn.
A short time later I arrived in the room where the chest tube procedure was to be performed. There I was greeted by medical personnel who did their level best to put me in positive frame of mind while another guy explained to me the more unpleasant parts of the reason that I was there. Everyone suited up like they were fighting an epidemic in West Africa, rolled me onto my left side, squirted ice cold jelly on the area in question, performed a quick ultra sound, and then masked off the spot where the tube would be inserted. At that point a doctor came in. I assumed he was a doctor because he was telling everyone else what to do and he was dressed like he was supposed to tee off in fifteen minutes. He introduced himself, got suited up to go fight the Chernobyl reactor fire, and took a seat behind me.
Getting fluid drained off of one's lung is a little Draconian procedure along the lines of the Spanish Inquisition except with medical supervision. The terminology is different as well but the results are nearly the same: "I'll do anything! Just make the pain stop!" Yes, they do give you a pain killer, but getting a shot of Lidocaine in the lower right quadrant of your back is akin to being attacked by a red wasp. Then they insert a three inch needle between your ribs and into the lining around your lung. After a few moments the sharp burning pain subsided to a dull ache. But I was not to be fooled. I maintained my death grip on the railing of the bed until the nurse reassured me that it was OK to relax.
"How much you got there?" the doctor asked from the other room where I imagined he was busy playing Candy Crush Saga on his cell phone.
"Oh, about a liter and a half." the nurse replied, holding up a large bag of yellow fluid that looked like it came from a patient with a massive bladder infection.
"Is it supposed to look like that?" I asked.
"This isn't too bad," she responded. "We had a guy in here last night that donated a couple of quarts of chocolate milk."
"Oh, that's not right." was my observation. I was interrupted by the doctor.
"How is he doing?" asked Dr. Gameboy
"We have about two and a half liters now." said the nurse.
"How is his blood pressure?"
"130 over 87 and holding."
"OK, as long as his pressure is good let's keep going."
The nurse informed me that as the fluid dissipated that I would begin coughing because my lung was trying to re-inflate. She also said when the fluid was completely gone that I would experience a deep burning sensation where the tube was inserted into the lining of my lung. Within moments I was coughing and trying to tap out at the same time.
"OK Mr.Briggs, I need you to hold your breath while we take the tube out. We don't want any air in there. The white hot pain had engulfed me by now and holding my breath was damn near an impossibility.
"Shoot some Lidocaine down in there." the doctor instructed from the PS2 play station. Soon the tube was out, I was lying on my back shivering with my left leg jitter bugging like I had just finished my third cup of coffee.
"Would you like a blanket Sugar?" asked a female voice with a heavy southern drawl. I opened my eyes to see a woman of thirty five or so with dirty blonde hair looking down at me.
"Sure, that would be great." I answered. She disappeared and returned with a very warm blanket.
"Oh man, where did you get this?" I cooed.
"We keep 'em in a warmer here in the back." she said with a smile. She really needed to see a dentist soon.
"Where the heck have you been?" I queried.
" I don't get out of the basement much. Ready to go get a CT scan, Hon?"
"Sure, let's go. Is this how you normally pick up guys?" She laughed and wheeled me out the door. Wow, she really needed to get some dental work done.
My wife was waiting for me as I was wheeled into my room on the 9th floor of the hospital. My new room was number 911. I found that ironic.They got me transferred to a new bed, hooked up to various monitors and IV's, then offered me pain medication(which I gratefully accepted) after which I promptly fell asleep. It was the first decent nights sleep I had gotten in ages. Well, at least until 4:30 am when the lab rats came into draw what would come to feel like a gallon of blood over the next week.
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Fast forward 8 months and here I sit working on this draft, at the hospital, and trying to enjoy what is now my fourth stay. During that time I've had three chest tubes, one ablation, one cardio-version, innumerable hospital meals, a cookie jar of pills, and multiple visits from various doctors. I've been diagnosed with A-fib and Congestive Heart Failure, changed diets three times, seen a acupuncturist,had one visit from the local paramedics at 1 am, got the speech from my wife on various occasions, got the speech from my doctors, got the speech from my co-workers, got the speech from my friends, and have gotten daily reports about Marley. The latest one included a description of the one foot square piece of carpet padding she devoured. Then there is the list of friends and family members who are emotional train wrecks because of my condition. My wife looks relieved to see me wake up in the morning, my ten year old looks relieved to see me come home at night, and the rest are calling or texting for updates. All in all, I think this has been harder on them than it has on me. Not much room for jokes and one liners in all of that. Except for one....
I was amazed at how encouraged and excited nursing staff get over a patient who has gone number two. The third time around, (a 36 hour out patient procedure that stretched into two weeks) they told me I wouldn't be going home until I made a sizable doo-doo. They feed you cheese omelets and mashed potatoes,pudding, diuretics that try up everything but your eyeballs, more cheese omelets, then they ask you when was last time that you took a dump.
" I don't know. What month is this?" I'll ask. No smiles nothing except threats of enemas and more days of eating the above mentioned foods. Then they gave me this stuff in a bottle called Magnesium Citrate that tastes like lemonade and works like Drano. Enter the human sewage treatment plant. Then they ask you how much, how big, and how often.
"I don't know. I don't have a tape measure with me." or "Smaller that a bread box.", "Pounds and ounces or inches/centimeters?" "You mean like, in the last four hours?" and my personal favorite: "Didn't you see the EPA truck outside?" Not even a smile or a snicker,these people take personal defecation seriously. Hey, a guy has to have a little fun with all these dour faces.The chipper ones they usually snort or choke on their chewing gum. I love it. After all this mania I'd really like to audition with Comedy Central. Oh and one last thing.
You are in the hospital and folks are asking you how you are doing. Seriously? What do they think brought me here?
"The hotels were all booked up so I came here." Right?
"It's the most fun you can have with your bare butt hanging out. I'll recommend this to all my friends. Hey, Eddie! Wanna moon a bunch of people and get away with it?"
"I like needles. Is that weird? My wife seems to think so. Can you talk to her? Or should I seek counseling"
" Doing? How am I doing? You are they medical professional. You tell me. I thought I was deathly ill but then again I could just be imaging things." I like dumb questions, the keep me sharp creatively speaking. Keep 'em guessing. That's my motto.
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