2000-05-08 - 21:38:43

May 8, 2000 - later

The Rack

Came daylight, the smoke, fog and dust cleared, and a normal husbandly state of frantic panic has been established. The ER did all the right things, including X-rays, CAT scan, and first thing a shot to calm down the point of irritation. A very professional doctor - looked as young as Doogie Howser, but super, did the questioning and poking prying and was smart enough to do his poke and ask it that hurt and when he received an affirmative answer did not ask, "why ?" I have heard a dumb question like that, and I answered, "That is why I came here, to have the experts find out why and do something about it." I think I unnerved the poor guy. A fragment of a phrase just floated into an airy hole in my head - an extra one - "suffer not fools lightly" The IV was an automatic procedure, but the doctor had the nurse get the medication for a shot to calm Heather's insides.

Of course hurry up, and wait, Heather being too sick to tap her foot to show impatience. She laid there and suffered patiently. They took her to X-ray, brought her back, then wait, then doctor buzzes in and says that Heather would get a CAT scan as soon as the equipment was free, it being in use at the time.

After bit the nurse came in with two bottles of light red fluid, saying that the amount equaled a liter and told Heather to drink as fast as she could, but not to the extent she would vomit. Curious Bastion asked the nurse what that was for, and she struggled to talk down to a layman and simplify the language. Finally I asked, will this have about the same effect or her as highlighting text does in a book ? I think she was relieved to nod in the affirmative. All this while various people in great pain held in their groans and moans as much as possible like most of us who have, "been there done that" try to do.

But that misery is contagious.

Time didn't move backward, it just seemed so. After a short eternity the Taxi-gurney arrived to take Heather to the CAT scan area, an after a quick century she was returned. Then came the big wait - for the doctor to view the findings, I could see him moving from one cubicle to another (this started out Saturday night - a very bad night in the ER) he wasn't on a dead run, but nearly so. It was nearing daylight when he came to us and said that they had found diverticulitis, he wrote out a prescription, gave her instructions to see her personal care team, and the things to avoid in the dietary venue.

Then, a century and half later the nurse came with all the discharge papers, etc., and went into her memorized routine of instructions and finally discharged her.

So, Heather graciously allowed me to stop by IHOP for coffee and a sweet roll and sat there trying not to upchuck at the smell of food and the sight of it's consumption. She sippped water while I tried to make a little speed. Then I took us to the Denver Union Station where we did civilized verbal tit for tatting with the ticket agent. "I have to have a doctor's certificate," he said. "We just came from the hospital and her train is supposed to leave at 9:20!"

I pulled out the prescriptions, her discharge paper and my Co-pay receipt. After looking them over and making copies and making a phone call or two with waits here and there - time stood stock still. We took turns, one sitting on the bench and one standing at the counter. Finally he allowed Heather change the date of departure and return.

We staggered out to the car, and very carefully headed home. On our arrival, it was automatic time, lock door, shed clothes, set the alarm. collapse into a coma - later came staggering out of the bedroom, made coffee for me and green tea for her. She forced a little bland food down and I scarfed down all the fruit I could hold with some toast and Tillamook cheese.

I attempted to make an entry and diaryland was down, supposed to be up by 7 in the evening - but it was two the next morning before it was up. Meanwhile I had in the shuffle, been separated from my entry and the poor feeble thing is probably forlornly looking for a place to stay.

Heather was in a "variable" condition through the day, one minute lightly napping under a comforter, and after while milling around trying to feel alive. We both slept through the night and Heather was much better. With every improvement in her condition my spirits bubbled over.

Tomorrow morning, providing she is improving still - off she goes. Leaving a man on tenter hooks, the rack, in the iron-maiden with splinters under each nail. I guess I will white-knuckle it, jumping at each ring of the phone until I pick her up at the train station about two weeks from now.

If she continues to improve, the trip there - the spoiling of the grandchildren - and the loving kindness between mother and daughter - plus all the unaccompanied shopping the two of them will enjoy. Better than anything from a pill bottle for rehabilitation. Worry over the kids while they are growing up is replaced by worry over a mate after the kids are gone.

A diary is a good thing. Maybe a safety valve, a fingernail to bite on, and or some other things help pass a worrysome time away - - but with my diary it like talking to a friend, who, if not understanding what he is hearing, at least listens, nods once in a while and says uh-huh occasionally. Good night old diary

Blog