I’m in jail.
I had a choice: Spend a few days driving back and forth for outpatient tests or go to jail and get them done there. I turned myself in. And what a fun first day it’s been.
The day started with a tease. They brought me to a room in the new hospital wing. Excited, I was. Alas, reality crushed that dream hard and fast when they realized I needed telemetry.
“Don’t unpack,” the nurse said.
There was a silver lining. The nurse usually worked on the intensive care floor, so when she asked if I wanted her to start an IV before I transferred, I almost got down on my knees and kissed her feet. Yes, please. Start away, O wonderful IV Goddess. Stick me, stick me good.
She aced the IV insertion, of course, like nurses from that floor do. No tapping veins or doing rain dances to summon a vein or calling another nurse to do it after you’ve screwed the pooch three times. Bingo, bango, bongo, she was in and blood was coloring the towel placed on my knee bright red. Afterwards, I almost wanted to see if she could do it blindfolded. I bet she could have.
As this nurse doesn’t deal with CF patients, she cracked me up when she told me meds from home would have to return home. Yeah, sure thing, babe. I’ll get right on that. Where’s my carrier pigeon? I hope it can carry a large bottle of enzymes, two packs of the xopenex dosage they don’t stock here, and the myriad of other meds I brought. Welcome to CF World, Ms Nurse; it’s different from any other world you’ve ever been to. We have our own rule book and it’s 9,023 pages long. Rule #5,879: Always bring back-up meds.
I got to the “heart” floor and was joined to a heart monitor. Now they can watch every beat and “misbeat” while I’m in my room working. How exciting that job must be. One lead was off for an hour and no one broke down my door to see if I was still alive, so someone’s not paying close attention. At some point, I’m going to switch all the leads just to see if they notice. That’s on tomorrow’s agenda.
The RT came along with her high dose of Xopenex that makes my heart race. I was prepared for her. I had my low dose in my pocket ready for the switch. I excused myself to wash my hands, placed her dose in my pocket and then pulled out the low dose. That’s how the magic works, my friends. No conflict or arguments about it with the RT or doc, just smiles and fun. Suckers. You didn’t even know there was a magic show going on, did you, people?
The guy in the room next to mine must still ride a horse and buggy to work and write with a quill and ink. He kept yelling “Nurse, Nurse, Nurse.” I’m thinking, did they not show you the big red button on the remote for calling the nurse? The same remote that you’re using to change the channels of the blaring TV in your room? He must of screamed it a dozen times. This is why some people get a pillow placed over their face Godfather-style in the middle of the night. Holy cow. Somebody tell that guy what century he’s living in.
Many thanks to everyone for the kind thoughts and messages. They make a difference. When I wrote that CF drove me crazy, I wasn’t making it up was I? You won’t see the CF Foundation posting any videos of me on their web site. No, I’m the poster child of what you don’t want to do when you have CF. Someone has to set the bar low. Happy to do the job.
The real truth from Fox.
There’s one part of the adventure Unknown left out. When they brought him to the Heart wing, his heart almost fell out of his pants. The most smoking hot of hot nurses got assigned to him. His worst fear. We’re talking stripper hot with long brown hair and green eyes. A nine out of ten, like looking at the sun.
Unknown’s a gentleman and averted his eyes. Not me. I’m a fox. I looked and my eyes burned. But it was worth the blindness.
I prompted Unknown to suggest they bring a pole into his room to see her moves, or just drop a couple dollar bills on the floor to see what might unfold. No luck. This Unknown is the wuss of all wusses. I’m stuck here because his little hearty heart did go pitter patter a little bit funny. No one hooked old Fox up to a monitor when this nurse walked in, but they should have. I’m still dazed by what I saw.
The other terrible part of this current adventure is that there is no beer to be found. None, not a drop. A little AC/DC playing, some beer and tonight’s post would have had a much different tone. Unknown would have titled it “A letter to my wife: I’m so sorry for what I did in the hospital.”
This is when I need to be hanging with Tiger, not Chicken Boy.
Someone send a six-pack, a boom box, and a stack of dollar bills. This party needs a jump start.