When we got there she peeled up and
parked all crooked, as though I were a trauma victim bleeding to death. We hadn’t brought my wheelchair because we
figured there would be one at the ER.
But there wasn’t. So my sweet
Nicole, who takes such good care of me, had a Terms-of-Endearment-Shirley-Maclaine
melt down, yelling “What kind of hospital doesn’t have wheelchairs?!?!”
Well they dug one up, registered me,
realized I was a minor VIP (past director in the system and daughter and
son-in-law both still working for the hospital) and the testing began. They diagnosed exactly what I knew it was.
An inflamed gall bladder. Cholecystitis. Mundane, middle aged, ordinary. Embarrassingly banal. Minor surgery, admitted in the morning, home
by evening.
Unless you have MS, lymphedema and a
partially paralyzed diaphragm. Then it
is a medical emergency, a crisis that requires consults with a cast of
thousands: anesthesiologists, surgeons, pulmonologists
and, I swear, passers-by on the street.
The consensus: the surgery to remove the gall bladder is simply too
risky. I was facing days in the ICU,
prolonged intubation and a possible tracheotomy (an opening cut into my throat into
which a tube would be inserted). Not to
mention a slow and horrifying death.
So now the plan is to do a less
invasive procedure that will hopefully quiet down the gall bladder, prevent it
from getting gangrenous and buy some time to figure out some more options.
In the meantime, a mass has been
found on my liver. Because all the other
stuff was not enough. So I had an MRI
for that yesterday. I had to leave the
hospital because they had to use a special machine. When the EMT’s arrived to transport me, the
first guy took one look at me and, at the top of his voice, announced “No way
is she going fit on our stretcher”. I
could feel my face get hot, I was so mortified.
The nurse and aide gasped. Even his
partner looked uncomfortable. Trying to
maintain some shred of dignity I told them I never had a problem “fitting” on a
gurney before. How about I just try it?
He ignored me, went into the hall to call his dispatch and loudly asked
how long it would take to get a bariatric stretcher. Four hours.
I would not make my appointment.
But I knew I didn’t need it, that I would be ok on a regular
gurney. Finally he reluctantly agreed to
let me try, all the while muttering dire warnings about hideous discomfort to
my fat, fat, fat body. And guess
what? I fit, as I knew I would, with
room to spare, and was completely comfortable.
This guy is now my candidate for The
Asshole Hall of Fame.
On the plus side, when I got to the
MRI center, the tech was my old friend Nicky, who has been doing my MRI’s since
I first got sick in 2005. He is the most
incredibly kind man. After one MRI a few
years ago, when I was in tears from so much pain, he actually got down on his
knees, put on my socks and sneakers and tied them for me. I had forgotten he told me he moonlighted
at this place. His sweet demeanor and
constant concern for my comfort was a real gift.
Then when I got back to the
hospital, the staff had a surprise for me.
They had been so upset over how the EMT had treated me, they moved me to
a private room and presented it with a big “TA DA!!” like a Christmas
present. They are the best. So, so kind.
It makes a huge difference.
My friends on Facebook have also
overwhelmed me with their love and caring.
Message after message of support, encouragement, prayers and reassurance
are like lifelines. I am so lucky.
So now I am just hanging out, day
four in the hospital, waiting for the results of the MRI to diagnose what is
going on with my liver. Tomorrow I
should have the minor procedure. My pain
level is pretty high, so I am existing from shot to shot. One doctor was just in and asked how I was
doing. I said my pain level was up there
and the medicine just wasn’t helping as much anymore. He didn’t respond, but asked a few more
questions and then said, ok, glad you are doing well see you tomorrow. Um, what about my pain? I ask. Oh…well, make sure you ask for your medicine
when it is due. Smile. Bye.
Sigh.
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