simple fears
Written on September 5, 2010 at 12:50 am, by bk
The room appeared to sway and I reached for the desk to steady myself. “Whoa” I said. I sat down on my bed and laid back. I closed my eyes and the sensation of spinning kicked in, making me snap my eyes back open. The room seemed to be moving still and I thought to myself that it was like I was drunk. The thing is, I’m a tea-totaler. My fascination with alcohol faded as I grew from a young adult into an older one. When chemo came around, it merely put the nails in John Barleycorn’s coffin. I wasn’t drunk yet I had all the symptoms, and not having the drunkenness to dull me, the experience was frightening. I put my feet on the floor to stand up and promptly fell flat on my face.
.
I pulled myself back up onto the bed, and stood up again, this time hanging onto my desk. I groped for my phone. It was right there in front of me yet I had a hard time making myself pick it up. Thank the gods for hactic touchscreen phones! I was able to call up my contacts and pressed my finger on my wife’s photo on the phone. It took me two tries to tell her I didn’t feel so good. She came up right away. “What’s happening, Dude?” She asked. I didn’t complain about the moniker, I just said again that I didn’t feel well. She told me I looked terrible. She asked me what I wanted to do. I wanted to go to the damn hospital is what I wanted and said so, sounding not unlike someone experimenting with the English language.
.
Off to the VA we went. On arrival, I was feeling a little better, but my head was still swimming and my heart felt like it was trying to drive a pier pile into bedrock. To my surprise and delight, I was swept into the treatment area right away. I was beginning to take in my surroundings, which is more than I could say for the trip over there. The place was virtually empty. “We’re pretty much closed on the weekends,” said the nurse. I’d asked where everyone was. They took my vitals, but no one rushed to put an IV into me nor did I get the usual barrage of questions. They asked for the problem and asked if I was suicidal or had thoughts of harming myself or another. I said no, I was feeling too crappy for that. She smiled and trotted off to get a doctor.
.
The physician had a nice, resonant and deep voice. I thought he should have been an announcer because James Earl Jones had nothing on this guy. I explained my issues, and allowed that I was actually feeling better, but was still woozy and dizzy. Nothing was spinning, but I had the sense the room might start to any minute. The doctor ordered a chest xray and was told that there was no one on staff in radiology; after all, it was the weekend. We vets aren’t allowed to have medical issues on weekends and holidays anymore I guess. But I lucked out. A young man had broken his foot or toe while roughhousing and they had called a radiologist in from home for his emergency. I got to use her too. I had my picture taken from two views; front on and from the side, and was sent back down to ER. They took a quick tape with an EKG to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack. I have no idea what they’d do if I was.
.
The doctor read my xray and told me that I had a really severe case of bronchitis and brought my records up on his computer screen. He read that I had obstructive pneumonia. Apparently it had dropped back to mere bronchitis and I felt good about that. Then he said that mine was a particularly bad case so I shouldn’t celebrate. He asked whether I was taking nebulizer treatments and asked about antibiotics. I told him that I didn’t have a nebulizer, just an Albuterol inhaler. “Same thing.” he said. According to the label on my inhalers, they explain that the inhaler is NOT a replacement for breathing treatments, but a rescue device for spasms which made breathing difficult. If the inhaler didn’t noticeably help to contact my physician. Okay, people are entitled to their opinions. Aside from the xray and EKG, that was it. I was sent home still feeling a bit shaky and dizzy. My local VA hospital had turned into a third world missionary clinic, except the third worlders got a bit more care. But the place is looking very modern and spiffy as it moves through it’s multimillion dollar renovations. It reminds me of a 1930′s movies star that once said that it was okay to die, so long as you looked good doing it.
.
Back home, trying to walk from the car to the front door, a distance of ten feet, my dizziness blossomed again. Annoyingly, the door was locked so I stood there leaning against the wall as I waited for my wife to put the car away and bring the keys to let me in. Back in my four walled universe, I lay down on my bed and tried to read. My Kindle was was willing, it faithfully displayed the pages of a new JA Jance novel, Fire and Ice. I like her JP Beaumont stories. Anyway, the letters on the page decided to taunt me by dancing. Well, not really dancing but they did seem like they were moving and I couldn’t read. I had the same luck with my computer. I spent two hours just laying on the bed and wondering what the hell was going on.
.
I’m a little steadier now; enough that I can type this but frankly it’s a damn good thing my fingers know where the keys are. I feel like I finally got my houseboat, and it is gently rocking on little waves. Along with that is the slight nausea that has been with me all day. Even Prochloraperazine, the absolute, undisputed, heavy weight champion of nausea settling isn’t helping it. Plus, there’s a weird semi-numbness in my hands; it feels a little like after your hands warm up after being very cold. All of this is new and alien to me, and it’s pretty unsettling; it has my anxiety level on the high side. Right about now is when I most wish that I had an intimate relationship with my wife. I would appreciate her in bed with me so I could use her warmth to chase the coldness of my fears away. The embrace of someone who loves you dearly is a powerful weapon against the chill of fright. I feel very alone.
.
In the morning, if I still feel like this I may resort to a real hospital. Even with Medicare it’s financial suicide for a guy who has as little as I do. The guy who dies with the most toys wins, so they say. If I die in the night I will go out a loser. Sure, I have a Droid, a new computer and a telescope, but that’s not enough to make it through a qualifier event. My card will get stamped DNF: Did Not Finish. If I have to pay off hospital bills, I suspect my three fancy toys will end up on eBay. After all, a guy has to pay his bills, even if it kills him. Just ask any of the predators working collection agencies.
.
Jeez. I feel like crap.
