Life Goes On

Sunday I was taking a shower and getting ready for church. I felt a little groggy/spacey from still being half asleep. Like there was a gyro in my head and it made me "feel funny." Well, as I was washing my hair, my right arm "lit up." It went to tingling and felt like an electric charge was going thru it. Then the right side of my face "lit up" and it went to tingling, feeling like a charge was going thru it. And then my eyes started acting up and began to roll back, and I felt weak-kneed. I put my back to the wall and slid down to sit.

Any way, my wife hadn't left for church yet and came back into the bathroom and asked if I was alright. I said yeah but she didn't like me sitting there so I got up and after a little help drying off I went and brushed my hair and she went on to church. After a few minutes on the computer I felt sleepy and tired so I got on the sofa and went back to sleep for 2-3-hrs.

Upon waking up, I went to the computer and looked up me symptoms. They were close to those of a stroke. .Next stop was my favorite chat room and I found a room full of buddies there. I told them what happened and several of them suggested I call my GP and report the symptoms and see what he says.

The next day I piddled around and by 11 a.m. called my doctor's office and spoke to the nurse. She'd get back to me and called me within minutes and told me to go to the ER at St Luke's because they had the right equipment. I questioned her about the location, slipped on my clothes and took off at once.

As I crossed over Loop 242, I noticed St Luke's, but she said it was south of there and I kept on to the mentioned street. I passed Memorial Hermann and knew that wasn't it even though the street was as she said. After asking directions to St Luke's it was determined I had passed it as suspected and I took route #2 to get back to it and parked near what I thought to be the entrance. It turned out to two blocks away but I hobbled over there. My right leg was dragging its feet, er, foot.

I walked up to the station and she told me to fill out a paper and they'd put me on the list. Even though it looked like it was filled out by a demented chimp, I turned it in and proceeded to crank up my MP3 player. She called me back to the desk for my ID card so it wouldn't take as long. I handed her my DL and insurance card.

I settled in for the long wait and someone came and got me for a blood pressure check and I dealt them 185/100. That was high for me. Much later, a nurse took some blood and put in a line for future use and I sat back down. Much, much later, a technician came and took me for a cat scan and brought me back. As I stood their I heard someone calling and it was another lady to check me in. Luckily I had remembered my bag for dr visits and let her copy my 'rap' card with surgeries etc on it.

Back to waiting I went. The wife called and decided she would come get involved. Just as she was driven up, they called me back to a 'room.' It looked like a converted storeroom, but at least it didn't have a slot to pass me bread and water. We sat in the darkness until a nurse came in and proceeded to wheel in an EKG machine and pull out the leads. "are you going to take an EKG?" I asked. When she said yes, then I said, "Well, I'll have to turn off my brain, then." "What do you mean?" she asked. My wife was already getting out my remote for my DBS IPG's. "I'll have to take that garage door opener and turn my IPG's off." She laughed and proceeded to feel me up as she pasted on my EKG pasties without removing my shirt. I showed her the one in my abdomen as she remarked that she'd never seen such a thing. As she continued to feel me up under my shirt, I remarked that I'd have to educate her even though I was too late to advise her not to get a tattoo.

I said for her to turn on the EKG and she would see what I meant and then I'd turn it off. She seemed surprised that all she got was static and then a nice clean graph after I turned them off. For myself, I could feel them turn off. They got their answer and left, saying Dr Panini or Panera would be in shortly. He came in and spent considerable time, for a dr, explaining his findings, the options and answering our queries. He assured me we were good to go. But I was still hooked up.

Ob La Di Ob La Dah. I had to pee. Knowing they wanted a sample, I unplugged the leads and danced out to the nurses' station. I announced my need to have a sample container, saying to the disbelieving crowd at the ready that I had to go NOW. A nurse hustled up me a container and I scrambled into the lone bathroom and proceeded to unscrew the lid, knowing I was an eye-blink from screwed myself. I managed to get the leads out of the way, pull my faucet out my pant leg and pulling my pants out of the way with one hand while I steadied the cup with the other. Then to my chagrin, I saw the seat was down. I sidled over to the commode. Unlike those times I had to struggle for a decent sized sample, this time I was fully loaded and was going to exceed the acceptable level in the container.

Dropping the leads to the 'wet' floor, I lifted the seat so I could finish going in the commode. This required yet another contortion and a hand I didn't have free and before I could set down the container, I peed on my pant leg. Silently cursing, I stood there the requisite (it seemed) hour and a half while I dribbled out another cupful into the potty as I looked dismayingly at the leads on the 'wet' floor. Finished, I screwed the cap on, washed my hands and the toilet seat and dragged my leads out of there. (I wasn't gonna touch them.) An oriental nurse called me down and finally conveyed to me that I was gonna fall dragging the leads like that, and draped them over my shoulder.

To wind this up, I signed away our first born child and she said I was free to go. (The laugh was on them: My wife'd had a hysterectomy and I'd had a vasectomy.) I waved as we strode out of the maze, almost like General Douglas Mc Arthur. We waved goodbye to the admitting lady and headed out the door. At the last minute, I turned back to get someone to snip off the myriad of bands on my wrist. That was when they reminded me I wasn't FREE to go and I paid them $100 co-pay for the privilege of their learning what a DBS is. Remember, the number to call is BR549.