any rec vehicle available, part 2
Back in the 1900s I was playing around of disc golf with Tall Johnny Breakfast. The back 9 was very challenging as far as hills go. I pushed myself to get up the hill quickly and was gifted a mouthful of blood for the effort. I spat up for about 10 minutes before it subsided. We agreed it was probably the breaking of smaller blood vessels. Broken by the severity of the coughing. That is where we found our self last Friday. A spirited round of walking followed by blood. I found a mixture of wet blood and clotting. I asked Erica to not worry which is like asking the sun not to shine light. I was sure it was the same situation. It’s not to say I took it lightly but I did not consider it life or death. My therapist Brittany was insisting I go get checked out. I can’t say no to her. Not that she’s convincing but more so she’s a nag.
We made it to the emergency room on the other side of the hospital, got checked in and within half an hour I was x-rayed twice. Some rando doc came in to talk to me and I made it clear I had no intention of spending the night. I’ve spent enough time in this hospital and really don’t want anymore on my file. He understood and said when he checked the x-rays nothing was out of line. I explained my theory pf broken vessels and he half-heartedly agree. I was on the verge of rolling out when the first doctor looked at me said he wanted to take a CAT scan, just to be safe. I had already stopped spitting up blood and felt it was unnecessary. I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted. It was an hours wait for the test and then almost 90 minutes wait for the results. I had fucking had it by now. I feel fine. There’s no blood in my spit. Time to go.
I told Erica I was going to check out and leave regardless of the results. It was at that moment that God in a Cosby Sweater came around the corner and proudly announced I had a pneumonia and a collapsed lung. I asked him how I could be sitting up regularly with no pain if that was the case. Once he mentioned spending the night for more tests tomorrow I stopped listening.
Erica convinced me to spend the night. Another x-ray or two Saturday morn were in league with the others. Nothing to see here, Jonny. Then the goddamn CAT scan again. This time a different doctor read my results. Nothing, nada. That was the moment, that golden moment, when I got to say “I was right the whole time, doc!"
The hospital arranged my release with their ambulance service but somehow fucked it up to where it was too late in the night. I spend another needless night in the hospital. Monday morning they told me I would be released and my van would be there at noon. And it was there at noon! Unfortunately nobody relayed to the van I was in an electric wheelchair so they sent a regular van. They were short staffed and said my van will not be ready until at least 4 PM. This is getting stupid. At 4 PM they were nowhere to be found. After several phone calls the nurse finally told me hopefully they would be here by eight. That’s right. My noon pick up would be there at 8 PM. Why the fuck can no one in this business pick up a wheelchair on time!???
The van actually showed up right at 8 PM. My discharge nurse said I would be going home with a canister of oxygen. I asked my nurse if I was bringing it with me or if it was being delivered. She said since it isn’t here I assume it’s getting delivered. Just hearing those words made me feel like this too was going to be a disaster.
I was right about the oxygen. In a nutshell I was supposed to have a tank of oxygen to go home with me. I would use it at night for one night at level four and then two at level two. It did not come along with me. I waited another full day for it to be delivered and it did not. So I called the supply company and they said they would look into it. Did not hear back so I called them Thursday. He said they were waiting for a doctors signature from the hospital. It must not be doing important if it still wasn’t signed off. It made it on the delivery truck Friday night and got here at 8 PM. I went back into my discharge papers and realized I didn’t come home with me I would’ve already been through using it. So what was the point of getting it now. I refused it and send it back. I was breathing fine. All of these monkeyshines could’ve been avoided if it weren’t for one cavalier dipshit doctor who wanted to make a big entrance and tell me how sick I was. I could’ve been into the ER and back out in an hour and not waiting for days in the hospital.
I get down and depressed because I think I should be further along in my recovery I certainly don’t need anything more to knock me down. Now for the rest of the week I’m just gonna watch baseball. That seems a lot safer now.
We made it to the emergency room on the other side of the hospital, got checked in and within half an hour I was x-rayed twice. Some rando doc came in to talk to me and I made it clear I had no intention of spending the night. I’ve spent enough time in this hospital and really don’t want anymore on my file. He understood and said when he checked the x-rays nothing was out of line. I explained my theory pf broken vessels and he half-heartedly agree. I was on the verge of rolling out when the first doctor looked at me said he wanted to take a CAT scan, just to be safe. I had already stopped spitting up blood and felt it was unnecessary. I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted. It was an hours wait for the test and then almost 90 minutes wait for the results. I had fucking had it by now. I feel fine. There’s no blood in my spit. Time to go.
I told Erica I was going to check out and leave regardless of the results. It was at that moment that God in a Cosby Sweater came around the corner and proudly announced I had a pneumonia and a collapsed lung. I asked him how I could be sitting up regularly with no pain if that was the case. Once he mentioned spending the night for more tests tomorrow I stopped listening.
Erica convinced me to spend the night. Another x-ray or two Saturday morn were in league with the others. Nothing to see here, Jonny. Then the goddamn CAT scan again. This time a different doctor read my results. Nothing, nada. That was the moment, that golden moment, when I got to say “I was right the whole time, doc!"
The hospital arranged my release with their ambulance service but somehow fucked it up to where it was too late in the night. I spend another needless night in the hospital. Monday morning they told me I would be released and my van would be there at noon. And it was there at noon! Unfortunately nobody relayed to the van I was in an electric wheelchair so they sent a regular van. They were short staffed and said my van will not be ready until at least 4 PM. This is getting stupid. At 4 PM they were nowhere to be found. After several phone calls the nurse finally told me hopefully they would be here by eight. That’s right. My noon pick up would be there at 8 PM. Why the fuck can no one in this business pick up a wheelchair on time!???
The van actually showed up right at 8 PM. My discharge nurse said I would be going home with a canister of oxygen. I asked my nurse if I was bringing it with me or if it was being delivered. She said since it isn’t here I assume it’s getting delivered. Just hearing those words made me feel like this too was going to be a disaster.
I was right about the oxygen. In a nutshell I was supposed to have a tank of oxygen to go home with me. I would use it at night for one night at level four and then two at level two. It did not come along with me. I waited another full day for it to be delivered and it did not. So I called the supply company and they said they would look into it. Did not hear back so I called them Thursday. He said they were waiting for a doctors signature from the hospital. It must not be doing important if it still wasn’t signed off. It made it on the delivery truck Friday night and got here at 8 PM. I went back into my discharge papers and realized I didn’t come home with me I would’ve already been through using it. So what was the point of getting it now. I refused it and send it back. I was breathing fine. All of these monkeyshines could’ve been avoided if it weren’t for one cavalier dipshit doctor who wanted to make a big entrance and tell me how sick I was. I could’ve been into the ER and back out in an hour and not waiting for days in the hospital.
I get down and depressed because I think I should be further along in my recovery I certainly don’t need anything more to knock me down. Now for the rest of the week I’m just gonna watch baseball. That seems a lot safer now.
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