SuperCrone Goes to the Hospital

Wednesday 4:00 AM.  I was awakened by a tidal wave of nausea, driven to my knees for two solid hours of toilet-gazing, enduring endless spasms of wretched retching. I spewed up cake from my first birthday party.  I vomited German helmets from World War II.  I threw up my spine.   And just as I thought the worst was over, the floodgates of the Styx opened to release an endless flood of unstoppable diarrhea that kept me riding porcelain for another hour.  It stopped only long enough to allow me to crawl to the phone and call for help.

7:00 AM.  A call to 911 brings an ambulance and a small army of EMT's, half of whom were apparently using me as a practice dummy.  Overheard snatch of conversation:  "I haven't seen you around.  You new?"  "Yep.  First time out. What am I supposed to be doing?"  "I dunno.  Take a pulse or something?"  This while I'm lying facedown, wearing nothing but a bright orange sweatshirt hastily grabbed from the closet shelf while shuddering with a chill that froze my bones.  No underpants.  Just the sweatshirt. And here are a half-dozen androgynous blue-shirted kids having a meet-and-greet over my bare-assed body.   An older dude who was evidently in charge barked a barrage of questions at me, receiving a series of gulping groans in response, then disgustedly swept up a bagful of my meds from the bedside table and told his minions to "load her up".  My sister, who was fluttering around trying to help, managed to drag a pair of panties up my shaking legs (remember what your mother always says about clean underwear in case of an accident) before the group stopped stumbling around long enough to wrangle me onto a gurney.  Out to the street, heaved up into the ambulance, clutching a barf basin to my chest, they sat on each side of me, continuing their conversation without a glance in my suffering direction.  If the driver missed a pothole on the way to the hospital, it was totally unintentional.  I was literally lifted off and dropped back onto that stretcher at least forty times on the two mile drive to the hospital.  With unthinkable stuff trying to exit my body from both ends it was, indeed, a memorable ride.

8:00ish AM.  Pulled out of the ambulance, pushed into the emergency admitting area, left to lie there while more pleasantries are exchanged between the EMT crew and the hospital personnel.  Eventually rolled into a room where more questions are hurled (while doing a little more hurling of my own), needles are poked into reluctant veins, blood pressure cuff is squeezing intolerable pain into my arm, and a thermometer is shoved under a bone-dry tongue.  A request for a sip of water was met with a stern, "not until you're diagnosed". 

8:30-11:00AM.  Tests.  EKG. Urinalysis (because I found myself  suddenly and inexplicably unable to pee, Nurse Ratchet had to use a catheter to extract enough to analyze.  Talk about fun!)  Then came the search for a vein in which to plunge an IV needle.  It should be noted that I am one of those humans who is despised by lab techs the world over.  My veins are deeply buried, they're frail, they roll and they're crooked.  It takes an extremely talented, experienced phlebotomist to stick me with success the first time, even with a tiny baby needle.  So finding a place to jam one of those IV knitting needles requires the skill of a Supreme Master of Vampirism.  They didn't have any of those in the emergency room.  Three of them took two shots each before they gave up and said, "Screw it.  Put her in a room and let those guys deal with it." 

11:30 AM.     I am wheeled by a scrub-wearing side of beef down miles of sick-making shiny green and yellow linoleum, scooted around several corners, backed into an elevator, pulled out and rolled down more corridors. I am eventually shoved through a too-narrow doorway and after crashing into the doorframe a couple of times, am rolled alongside a bed where another stone-faced nurse awaits.  She fusses around, pushing buttons and smoothing scratchy sheets, then reaches under me, grabs the blanket I'm lying on and, with Mr. PrimeRib working the other side, they utter a hearty "one two three" and flip me onto the noisy plastic mattress.  

To be continued….