BACK IN THE ER...r...r...!!! (yeah) Part dos

(insert old silent movie organ music here)
We last saw our hero (ahem) as he was strapped to a hospital bed with various types of electronic devices beep beeping and whirring and perhaps even a whoopie cushion (but that may have been the patient behind the next curtain) and no hope of escape.

Let us rejoin with the drama already in progress...

Now the doctor walks in, takes off his cape with a flourish and hands it to his assistant, and proceeds to hand out his resume to everyone in the room.  Just kidding...about the cape.  After looking at the 12 seconds of Beep beep paper from the machine he actually had the nerve to say, "Why are you in here anyway?"  He then ordered the nurses to take me off the oxygen (NO!!) and sit me straight up in bed (NOOOOO!!!!) because acid reflux like this is gets better when sitting up. 

"Well that's great doc except for two things.  If you take away the oxygen the hospital starts to sway back and forth and, if this was acid reflux I would have taken a Tums." (That was for free Tums...no need to send me anything).  I then explained about my chronic condition, that has hospitalized me before, and showed him the treatment for the condition.  He thoroughly dismissed all of my obvious ramblings, said something similar to "I've never heard of that" and ordered me an antacid cocktail presumably to fix my reflux.  Now they say cocktail but there was no paper umbrella so I think it doesn't count.  This nasty concoction was stuck in my throat, tossing a coin trying to decide up or down, and the doc was gone...but not before I heard those two dreaded syllables...IIIIIIII VEEEEEEE. 

Sylvia lets me pretend that I am a big strong guy most of the time.  I have a truck, I own a motorcycle, I'm a pretty good shot at short ranges...but when you start talking about giving me a shot...back the truck up!  I once did a painful and, according to them, unbearable procedure without anesthetic...to avoid a shot.  I like all of my red stuff to stay inside.  I struggle with this since I would like to help people by donating...you know...but I have a near phobia of needles.  Now a nurse was coming into my cave with a metal tray and a whole lot of tools that looked like they were from the interrogation scene from Marathon Man.  I tried to escape but they had used four of the beep beep stickers to paste me to the bed...one would have done it.  She bared her sharpened canine teeth and dug in.  The good news in all of this is that God knew I was going to be a wimp about all things pokie, so he made my veins the type that even beginners could hit...with their eyes closed...I know! 

Then it was a long boring sit around session of wait to see if the pain subsides.  This, in itself, is a frustrating process because what is going on is muscular and they are automatic muscles.  It's not like the doc can say, "Well Mr. Garrett, just stay off your esophagus for a few days and you should be up and about in no time."  That would be like telling you to give your heart or your lungs a break...not going to happen.  And as helpful as the doctors and nurses try to be while asking about pain on a scale of 1 to 10 it is inadequate when talking about an intermittent problem. 
"It is a 3 with intense periods of 9...squared!"

When it became obvious that I was stable (well medically anyway) they started making noises like they wanted to kick me out so they could take care of sick people.  And then the doc came back...on his white horse...and declared, "You have a chronic esophageal condition.  You should take that medicine that I was just discounting a while ago...forever!  I have spoken!"  Before you become an angry mob and start gathering your pitchforks and torches I should let you know that my sister, the nurse, has already volunteered to come down here and shake all of the quarters out of his pockets.  And no problem if there aren't any quarters to begin with.  She'll just keep shaking til some materialize.  The doctor then asked, "Is there any other medication you will need?" 
"Umm, Doc, didn't You go to some sort of class that would have told you the answer to that?  I missed that class."
"No, OK.  Bye."

After much eye rolling and prescription gathering they released me on my own recognizance.  I was still so out of it that I allowed them to roll me to the car in a wheelchair...something that is specifically prohibited in the pretend tough guys handbook.  I went home, walked up the two insurmountable stairs that would have kept me from walking myself to the car before, and fell down on the bed for the rest of the day/night. 

And then the fun began...

When I woke up in the morning I did something that I have done, unaided, for weeks...stand up.  When I did that it felt like I was gulping down a half pot of scalding soup...problem was I hadn't even taken half a sip of tepid water!  (I love that word...tepid...it's so mediocre)  I called the doctor to see what I could do about the pain.  And that's when it hit me...well Sylvia, but I'll say me...The doctor was asking if I wanted any medicines for pain!!  NOW I DO!!  Well now they think I tore something on the inside so I need to come in for a CT scan.  OH boy.  I love hospitals!  Since I have been a little woozy from not being well and not eating anything in about a week we arranged for a ride.  It is all very common, happens every day, CT scans are a routine procedure that once were the latest and greatest but now they don't even use any confetti when you walk in. 

The technician told me it would be about 10 minutes from start to finish...and without giving away the ending, let me say that he only missed his estimate by about... 4 hours!!  In order to get an accurate picture from the CT scan the doctor wanted to use something called contrast.  I quickly found out that this "contrast" they are talking about is something that they want inside of me.  No problem, give me a cup.  What do I drink? 

Then he got out his Joseph Mengele Vampire kit complete with a machine that pumps "contrast" into my veins.  I shouldn't worry, they do it all the time.  In goes the IV (my favorite part), I lay down and pass in and out of the machine a couple times, and then he says, "Now it is going to feel warm when the contrast goes in."  I actually felt cold.  In and out a time or two more, done.  Or so I thought.  When I came out and he took out the IV he asked how I felt.  Innocuous question I thought but he asked with that "everyone else can see what the problem is why can't you" sort of look on his face.  I told him I did feel a little itchy, and my jaw was extremely tight, and was my face always this size? 
"Mmmmm Hmmmm,  Well I'm gonna walk you over to the ER for observation!"
"WHAT?!"
"You are allergic to iodine.  But the good news is, you're still here. Heh heh."

In the ER the doctor told me that he wanted me on an IV to set up medications!  IV!?!  I just had one and that guy yanked it out already!  Oh, well we can just give you a pill, but Nurse Ratchet is going to be disappointed!  She didn't get to poke somebody.  And that is when he explained that I needed to be observed, in the ER, for at least four hours!  I guess the problem is that when you have an allergic reaction like this, you could suddenly stop breathing any time from now until six hours from now...but they are willing to gamble on the last two hours. 

Luckily, as I mentioned at the beginning of yesterday, I had my Droid with me and so I was able to update my blog, check Facebook, and play Yahtzee with the myriad of visitors that came to see the human bad luck charm.  Nurses kept walking past saying, "Weren't you here just yesterday...?"  "Yeah, one more visit and I get a set of steak knives."

Well the ordeal of the iodine is over.  I am home but still in significant pain.  I have more doctors' appointments and scopes and even more days off of work.  I have already lost about 25 pounds from not being able to eat anything, and I am thinking about writing a diet book called, "Develop a Chronic Esophagus Problem Your Way To Thinner Thighs." but I don't think it will take off.  And I am taking it easy...and careful.  In fact, the way my luck has been going lately, if I were to move the family to the top of Mount Everest...I'd buy flood insurance!!