Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Dispatches from the Welland County General Hospital - Day Five

Not Everyone is a Fan Apparently

I awake to Nurse Sinister-Impaler storming into my room, eyes blazing with malice. She gouges the living shit out of my arm and then knocks my furniture about as she storms out. I’m not sure why she behaves as though she wishes I were dead - unless of course, she actually wishes I were dead.

Smarten Up, FWiG. There is Far Worse Suffering in the World

Well. Bad news. Haemoglobin dropping quickly again. Blood loss accelerating. I’m not getting out of here any time soon.  Doc Kalvorkliancubansandwich is avoiding the colonoscopy, I presume for its potential to acerbate the injury. He’s ordering some kind of scan for now, where they inject radioactive cells and then follow where they go, watching for the unauthorized detour.

I’m in the middle of a blood transfusion. Something wasn’t right with one of my I.V. ports and the process was painful at first; this as I pondered the problems with an extended hospital stay. Income loss. The fact that I can sleep less and less as the serious discomforts of a non-FWiG-tailored bed continue to multiply to the point of injury. I’ve slept about two hours of the last thirty. They couldn’t even get a blood pressure reading as I trembled through the initial transfusion process; I was so agitated. It was a very strange experience for one who is so largely at peace.

I feel stupid now. I apologized later for being such a soppy little bitch but Nurse Friendly laughed. “Well, of course you’re not going to be yourself when you’re so low on blood! You’ll feel way better when we get all the new blood in you. You’ll feel super!”

“Really? Is it superhero blood? Did Superman himself donate it?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

How cool is that? I hope I inherit his x-ray vision. That could be pretty profitable if I have to resort to a life of crime after all of this.

So Long, Watch Dog!

Doc Kalvorkliancornflakes and I are continuing our standard operating procedure. I asked him if I still need this wireless heart monitor that hangs, in essence, off my neck and takes average attempts at falling asleep from 10% likely to 5% likely.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “We don’t need that.”

Great. Thanks for almost being on the ball yet again.

So that’s one good piece of news today. My heart rate shall remain private again with no threat of bells and whistles bringing unwanted authorities if I happen to get a bit exerted. There’s a lot of time on my hands here, if you know what I mean…

1 comment:

Elizabeth Twist said...

Dear Lord.

I had no idea you were blogging this. Your sense of humour is fucking amazing, you know that? Surely you know that.

The hospital is no place to be when you are sick, but unfortunately it's the only place where they'll (eventually) find out what's wrong with you.

I am so sorry you're going through this. You are in my thoughts. Give 'em hell and get out of there, and publish your hospital memoirs as an e-book and make loads of $$ to make up for your lost income.