[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img] “Re “Back in the ER”
Dateline Boston — I was wheeled into a room, and a nurse and a resident asked me all sorts of questions. I told them my whole story. I was asked if I had heard anything pop during the weeks I had been moving into our new apartment. I hadn’t. But Resident said that something probably had happened and I didn’t feel it, so it just got worse. She gave me all sorts of neurological tests, then diagnosed me with a muscle spasm that just kept going and going. She got that right!
Resident had a voice like a cartoon character. She sort of looked like one, too—petite, blonde ponytail, big blue eyes. S.O. and I kept asking her questions she didn’t know answers to. She was quick, though, to give us internet handouts.
Throughout the evening, I had three nurses. The first one was very good and nice. Her most striking physical features were her eyelashes and teeth.
Budget Deficits Not the Only Gap
She had tons of mascara on, but it looked good because she had curled them. You could tell they were her real lashes, and I gave her points for that. She had a gap between her two front teeth, and that reminded me of Lauren Hutton, supermodel of the ‘70s who also had a gap in her teeth. Nice Nurse was beautiful to me.
Nice Nurse asked if I was able to remove my shirt so they could put a gown on me. I said I’d try. I moved my arm a bit, and blinding pain shot through my back so bad I started crying. No, I could not remove my shirt. I was told they could cut it off, and I told them to go ahead. I would just have a new cardigan. Crying with pain, and then the jokes. I was more up and down than a yo-yo. Nice Nurse laughed. Gently, she cut a line through the front of my shirt. I got the gown on and tried to relax.
It was decided that I should get two pills: Percocet and Valium, to relax me and treat the pain. I also was going to get a shot, but I couldn’t get it until I gave a urine sample to determine I wasn’t pregnant. Although I told Nice Nurse that I was sure I wasn’t pregnant, she said it was a requirement to have a urine sample.
I couldn’t remember ever having used a bedpan, so I was a little nervous, but I had faith in Nice Nurse. She gently removed my undergarments, somehow got that giant pan under me without hurting me, and gave me some privacy. You want to know what love is? Love is your S.O. holding your hand as you pee in a bedpan. After a minute, it felt so freeing. Nice Nurse came back, removed the bedpan, and wiped me, so help me God. I felt vulnerable and comforted at the same time.
Well, That Was Not a Surprise
She came back awhile later to tell me I wasn’t pregnant, give me a shot of a muscle relaxant and see how the meds were working. She made it sound like they should have kicked in by then, but they hadn’t. She noticed that my blood pressure was pretty low, so they gave me a saline drip. If the Percocet and Valium weren’t working, the next step was Morphine. Only problem was, my blood pressure needed to be higher to get it.
I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe the pain I was in. I can’t, really. Only people who have had severe back pain can truly understand. I will try to describe it anyway. Imagine a circle the size of the lid of a jelly jar, right in the middle of the small of your back. It pulsates, giving you waves of pain. Now, imagine strings like on a marionette. They go all around the circle of pain, like the rays of the sun. Every time you move, one or more strings is pulled and more pain radiates through your back. Every part of your body is connected to your back; your arms, your legs, your neck. Any miniscule movement, or no movement at all, affects the circle of pain. After awhile, the pulsating pain gets bored and decides to just go constantly.
Suddenly it hit me that these two very powerful drugs in 108-pound me were not touching the pain and I was hurting so much I started to have an anxiety attack. It wasn’t like I felt like I was dying or anything—I knew exactly what was happening, but I couldn’t control it. I kept saying, “Okay, okay!” I was shaking. S.O. guided me through it by having me concentrate on my breathing. I would inhale all right, but when I exhaled, I sounded like an elephant. Breathe in, smooth. Breathe out, “PFFFT! Okay!Okay! It’s not stopping, I can’t…I’m shaking, it hurts so much, PFFT! Okay!” I must have been quite a sight.
Finally, my blood pressure went up and they started the drip of Morphine. That did the trick. I began to relax, and was with it enough to ask S.O. to get me some French fries and a vanilla shake, which I had been craving for some reason. When he got back with the goods, I downed those cold greasy fries and sickly sweet shake like I hadn’t eaten for days. And then I had to pee again.
Next week, I pee, I puke, I get peeved. Stay tuned.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
