E is for Emergency

As a participant in the A to Z Blogging Challenge, I will be making my way through the alphabet all month.

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I am not what you would call handy. Other than very basic maintenance, tools are useless in my hands. This is odd since my brothers and father can completely break down a vehicle into its individual pieces and put it back together without so much as a Lego instruction manual. I can change the oil (until I get a new car) and change a tire. That's about the limit of my mechanical skills.

I can operate a hammer and screwdriver, but would need someone right next to me to tell me what we are doing to keep me properly on task. I can help if it's simple, but keep an eye on me. Otherwise, I just get in the way and end up causing damage that then has to be fixed. It's usually better if I'm not there.

But this doesn't mean that I am totally useless. I am great to have around in a crisis.

When all hell breaks lose and a situation occurs that causes many to go into panic mode, that doesn't happen to me. I don't know why, but I have the ability to stay calm and start handling the situation. On over a dozen occasions, I have either been involved in or came upon a crisis and took charge to make sure things were handled.

At 17 years old, when a youth group boating accident removed the calf muscle of one of my friends, the adult in the boat lost his mind. It was my brothers and myself who placed the muscle back in position, wrapped it in a wet towel and instructed the adult to take us back to shore. We even took our friend to the hospital, because we didn't want to waste any time waiting for "the one responsible" to get his head together.

This trait was especially useful when I was a 911 dispatcher. My most important job in this role is to find out the situation so I could get help to them as soon as possible. Projecting a calming presence was often all that was needed to get the person on the other end of the phone to calm down enough to give me the information I needed. I even got a Certificate of Commendation once for keeping my cool and doing what needed to be done during a particularly stressful hostage situation.

I may not always know exactly what needs to be done (due to my lack of common skills) to fix an emergency situation, but I can keep my head about me to start the process of getting help and protecting others from further injury or panic.

With Friends Like These...

Image stolen from the Dude Write site.
I don't know where they stole it from.

The dudes over at Dude Write have a slasher theme happening this week (since it is the 13th week) and it immediately reminded me of this story. However, I feel that I have to offer a disclaimer and a warning with this post. First, the disclaimer: I was not present for the following events. It is a story that my brother Trevor has told many times. I have heard it so many times, I am sure I can piece it together. Next, the warning: This post might get a bit graphic and since I haven't searched for the images to use with it yet, I don't know how bloody it might get. After the post about playing chicken, reader Marianne requested a heads up before subjecting viewers to such violent images. Even though this post is being written to be linked to the tough guys at Dude Write, there will be women reading as well, so I want to be polite. Be forewarned.

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Guys have certain rituals that may not be understood by the fairer species. Everyone has seen a guy punch a friend, casual acquaintance or even a stranger in the arm. The female equivalent would be to hug or jump up and down while screaming. This is just part of the bonding process that allows men to show affection towards each other without losing any appearance of masculinity.

In some contexts, this practice evolves into other forms. Back in the days when I frequented bars, it was not uncommon for a male to talk to another male while discreetly holding the flame of a lighter to the butt of the man he was talking to. Within a few seconds, the heat would raise the temperature of the denim to a degree that caused the victim to jump. Then, rubbing his seared rear, he would laugh with his friends as he joked that he had been gotten.

Not all men use the lighter to the butt prank, but they are practitioners of some similar practice that is common among their group of friends. This story is about one of these practices that had evolved into something ridiculously stupid a bit less subtle.

Several years ago, the bar that my brother hung out in was filled with men who had developed the practice of poking each other in the back of the knees. The purpose was quite simple. It was supposed to startle the victim and make him jump so everyone could laugh at him. Ladies, please don't judge. Most men are pretty easily entertained. Drunk men even more so.

The practice was fairly simple. Approach a man standing and talking with other men. Place object to poke him with directly behind one of his knees and then wait for him to step back. When he hits the object, the unexpected sensation causes him to jump and laughter ensues.

It didn't take long for the practitioners of this prank to discover that not just any object would deliver the intended result. For instance, a finger would simply cause the victim to turn around and ask, "What are you doing?" It might even get you punched. Using a pool cue wouldn't get you much more than a smirk. However, something sharp generally got the desired effect. A well-secured toothpick could supply hours of entertainment.

Eventually, someone ingeniously used his pocketknife to get the same result. Since most of these guys always had one on them, it quickly became the tool of choice for this favorite prank. That was how the practice of mixing alcohol and sharp objects came to be commonplace at this particular tavern.

One evening, John whips out his knife to steady it behind the knee of Brad to start the festivities. As he approaches the intended area, Brad jumps back in the midst of the story he is telling. The unexpected action causes the freshly sharpened blade to sink over two inches into Brad's flesh immediately severing an artery.

The blood is spraying out of the new wound and the people standing around are stunned silent as Brad is trying to figure out what just happened. John snaps out of his stupor and grabs some napkins. He and Trevor begin trying to stop the bleeding.

The two of them usher Brad into the bathroom to patch him up because everyone knows that the restroom is the most sterile place in a bar. Actually, they needed some privacy since they needed to remove Brad's pants to better access the wound.

Once in the privacy of the restroom and Brad's pants were removed, there was nothing to stop the trajectory of the still-spraying blood. Trevor and John had blood on their faces, shirts and all over their arms and hands. It was flowing freely down Brad's legs and they quickly realized they would not be able to fix this.

When you stab your friends, you should be better prepared.

As Brad is attempting to replace his pants, John and Trevor are using entire rolls of paper towels to clean the excess blood off the floor. The mess is everywhere and there are dozens of blood-soaked rags littering the floor. John slips in the blood, knocking Trevor and Brad both to the floor covering them in even more sticky mess.

They hear a scream and look up to discover a horrified man clawing to get back out of the bathroom. He had walked in to find what appeared to be three blood covered men (one with his pants around his ankles) fighting on the floor of the bathroom. He thought he was witnessing a murder.

As they help Brad out of the bathroom, John admits that Brad really needs to get to the hospital and tells Trevor to take him. Trevor exclaims, "I'm not taking him to the hospital. YOU stabbed him! You take him."

John was really concerned about getting in legal trouble for stabbing his friend in a bar, so they concocted a story about Brad cutting himself on some sheet metal. Due to loss of blood, Brad was losing consciousness, so they threw water in his face so he could wake up long enough to learn the story. Trevor still insisted that John take Brad himself, but did allow John to use his truck since it was older.

John drove off with his pale friend and Trevor returned to the bar for a much-needed drink. However, the bartender handed him a garden hose and sponge while silently pointing toward the bathroom.

I Want to Donate My Arm to Science

In past posts, I have told stories of some of the crazy things I have done (jumped out of moving cars, set myself on fire, crawled underneath moving trains, etc) and bragged about how I have never broken a bone. It is true that none of my bones have been broken, but that does not mean that I haven't done damage to my body. I was reminded of this yesterday morning.

After dropping Kirsten off at school, I noticed a small, but sharp pain in my right shoulder as I closed my vehicle door. While the pain was not much, I recognized what it was immediately. I have had it before and it usually gets much worse before it gets better.

I have written about this pain and what it does to me in two posts which can be read here.

That Which Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Realize How Old You Are
My Experiment With Steroids

This recurring problem has been diagnosed as bursitis, which in general is inflammation of the tissues in the joint. Once I first feel this coming on, the intensity grows slowly. My shoulder gets more and more distressed, restricting my movement a little each day. After about 5 or 6 days, it culminates in a horrible night, when I am unable to sleep because it hurts tremendously to even attempt to roll over. This time, it must have been in a rush.

Despite having only first felt the beginnings of this pain yesterday morning, the intensity grew quickly over the course of the day and I seriously considered if it would be worth chopping my arm off once I had been in bed for a couple of hours. Laying down allows more blood to go to the area and it begins to throb, shooting pain down my entire arm and into my back. The slightest movement multiplies the intensity.

I pushed through the night deciding to go to the emergency room in the morning. I had learned from previous experiences, that there is no point in going to my doctor, since it would take a week to get in and by then I would be dead...or wishing I was. Same thing.

Since I had taken Adam to the hospital on several occasions (here, here, here and here), I thought he might jump at the chance to  get to do the same for me. When I called him, he came over immediately. He was happy to return the favor and said so several times.

There was also a second reason I had called him. I still had full use of my other arm. I was perfectly capable of driving myself. After all, I had just driven my daughter to school. The previous times I had been to the E.R. for this problem, they asked me if I had driven myself. When I responded that I had, they responded, "Then we won't give you this shot."

The shot they were referring to was the good stuff. The ultra-super-feel-good-floating-in-the-clouds-meeting-Jesus shot. Since the pain in my shoulder is so sharp and intense, a regular painkiller does not begin to touch it, but they promised me this stuff would. I would explain that I only lived 2 blocks from the hospital. They could give it to me as I was walking out the door and I would go straight home. They declined saying that they didn't want to be the reason that I had to meet Jesus that day and never be allowed to leave. You know, because I died in an accident. The joke makes sense in my head.

Since I was in terrible pain and they had not given me the shot on previous visits because I was driving, I wanted Adam to take me so I could get it and then go back home and sleep. Because of the events of yesterday's post, Adam was going to see another doctor today. Knowing they might do a procedure on his feet or the abscesses, he had taken several strong painkillers. Thus, my attempt at staying safe behind the wheel of a car was diminished as soon as I hopped in with him. Nevertheless, he drove me in his self-induced haze.

Since I was not yet in the horrible pain as last time I was there, I was in a much better mood. And having had no sleep due to my shoulder, I had trouble following a logical line of thought.

Admitting Nurse: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Just keep cats out of this room.

Nurse: We don't allow cats in the hospital.

Me: That's good. It would probably violate some health codes.

Nurse: Anything else.

Me: Local laws, maybe. I don't know.

(Later)
Nurse: Do you have a living will?

Me: No. I am going to live forever.

Nurse: No, you won't.

Me: Yes, I will.

Nurse: No, you will not. Everyone dies.

Me: I never have. Adam, have you?

Adam: Never. Not once!

Me: Ma'am, I have been pushed off a railroad bridge, fallen out of moving cars and even took an axe in the head. I have never even broken a bone. I will live forever.

Nurse: No, you will die.

Me: Your bedside manner sucks.

The on-call doctor informed me that he has never given the steroid shot into the bursa sac of the shoulder before and was not comfortable attempting it on me. I readily agreed. He did set me up with some anti-inflammatory drugs and some painkillers to help me sleep through the night. This means it will take longer to heal and get my range of motion back, but I will be on the mend instead of it intensifying any further.

Discharge nurse: Do you know your name?

Me: Why wouldn't I know my name?

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: What's your name?

Nurse: My name is Karen.

Me: Correct.

Nurse: Tell me your name.

Me: Don't you have it on the paper your holding?

Nurse: Yes, but I need to verify it.

Me: Didn't I give you my driver's license earlier?

Nurse: Yes, you did.

Me: Did you lose it?

Nurse: No. I have it right here.

Me: Well, I am sure it is correct.

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: The same as my license.

They eventually escorted us out and despite Adam's Facebook post giving people the impression that I was dying, I am fine. I am still in a lot of pain since it takes a while for the anti-inflammatory meds to start taking effect, but I should see some improvement by tomorrow morning. I was referred to an orthopedic doctor to see if we can prevent this from happening again.

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Followup from yesterday's post: Adam saw a surgeon today who scheduled him an appointment for tomorrow. He will be in surgery to get the abscesses drained and the staples removed from his foot that were missed during his last surgery four years ago. After recovery, he should be in a lot less pain.

Getting Tired of Hospitals - OR - (screaming) Oh, Kelly Clarkson

It is time for another installment of our continuing series involving trips to the emergency room with Adam Elliott. I don't plan when these posts are going to happen any more than I can plan when Lindsey Lohan is going to appear in court next. It just happens.

For my regular followers, you already know that Adam has been in the E.R. several times in the last few months. I have written about each one of these visits and they have been some of my most popular posts. So, recognizing what people like to read about (regardless of how disturbing it may be), I decided to share this one as well. Here are the first three if you need to catch up:

• Abscessed Adventures with Adam
• Hop Along Sunday
• Dad, Do You Ever Get That No-So-Fresh Feeling?

I have used an alias for Adam in the last couple of posts in order to save him from the embarrassment caused by the first time I wrote about him. However, somehow people saw past my subtleties and fake names and figured out who I was talking about anyway. So, I will just use his real name. That should prevent any further confusion.

In my first emergency room post, the reason for being there was an abscess that had burst in the middle of the night, causing lots of blood and a huge understandable freak out from Adam. Since this had already happened to him once, he recognized the signs and knew that he was having the same problem again. This time, however, there were four and they were all in the groin area again.

Since we had to DJ for a dance on Saturday night, he decided to get them fixed to prevent them from bursting while working the dance. That would have been a problem. So, we went to the hospital on Friday night.

Please keep in mind that Adam was in a lot of pain and was not in the mood to speak with medical personnel. 

After parking the car and locating the room they placed him in, I witness him impatiently trying to justify to a nurse why he is back again. Explaining again why he doesn't have a regular doctor and describing again why he had his foot amputated. It gets old telling the same stories again and again.

After laying spread eagle on the bed to show the doctor where the problem was, he was advised to go home and take a hot bath. The doctor then chastised us for waiting so long to come in. Adam tried to get him to understand that after having parts of both feet cut off and spending over two weeks in a coma, he has a severe aversion to coming to the hospital at all. The doctor then explained that at midnight on a Friday, the surgeons required to fix this problem are not available and would not come in for so minor a problem.

Adam raised his groin up in the air and exposing the area, yelled, "You mean this is a minor problem! I can hardly move!"

The doctor looked again and hurriedly exclaimed, "Oh, I didn't see that one! We will take care of that right now." He then rushed out of the room.

I was relieved to hear that they were going to take care of this and started to say so, but noticed that Adam was not doing very well.

Now, if you ever want to have someone with you to keep a serious situation light-hearted and maintain a sense of humor to keep you distracted, I am your man. Regardless of the intensity of the moment, the jokes just keep coming. Once, after replacing a friend's calf muscle (true story) and having seen his shin bone from his knee to the ankle, we kept laughing as we struggled to stop the bleeding. We joked as we carried him to the car and kept doing it as we rushed to the hospital. He was even laughing and making jokes. I've been told humor is my defense mechanism. I can't help it.

However, I could quickly tell that Adam was not responding to attempts at humor and definitely was not going to be laughing even if I handed him comedy gold. I attempted to switch to good friend/comforter mode. I am not nearly as good at this.

His body was starting to shake at the thought of what was about to happen. He had experienced horrible pain when the area was even touched and they were about to cut into it. I tried to calm him and help him see how this was going to be worth it and he understood that, but was very scared. After all of his surgeries, he really doesn't like being cut on anymore.

I am not going to go into details as I have in the past, but I will say that I saw the inside of parts of Adam's body that I never even wanted to see the outside of. I stayed in the room for the whole thing as extra weight to sit on him a friend to help keep him calm while they did what they had to do. I learned that Adam has a lung capacity that I did not know was possible. I have heard him scream in pain before, but he launched into a scream that lasted at least a full minute without taking another breath.

They took care of the worst part of it, but now he has to get scheduled for a full surgery to complete it this week. He will be knocked out for his one. We are also going to try to talk them into removing the staples that are still in his foot from his last surgery.

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I had decided to not write about this one, but Adam insisted. When Adam goes to the ER, my stats explode. I try to make it funny while I tell the story, but usually there are a few things that happen that make it funnier. This visit was not funny. I hated seeing my friend in that much pain and not being able to do anything about it. Hopefully, our future hospital visits will have more comedic value and not be as serious.

Technically, I guess I should be hoping not to have future hospital visits.

Dad, do you ever get that Not-So-Fresh feeling?

Important information before reading: This will be my third post involving escorting my handi-capable friend Adam to the emergency room. Because of the incredibly high number of readers of the first post, he was highly embarrassed by the sensitive content. (He was bleeding from his groin area, but don't mention it. He is still kind of sensitive about it.)

In the second post, I used the alias of Steve so no one would know I was talking about him. However, since that is the same name I used when calling Red to find out how to send her flowers, it caused some unforeseen confusion. My apologies to the Secret Squirrels. Therefore, this time Adam will be referred to as Sven and not Steve. I can't think of any scenario where I would be using that name for anything else. So this is the story of Sven and his visit to the emergency room last night.

Yesterday, I was writing about my writer's block. I had nothing to write about. However, I knew that problem was about to be solved as soon as Sven called me to say he needed to go to the emergency room. Every trip to the hospital with him not only gives me something to write about, but the traffic to my site skyrockets. Not wanting to miss this opportunity Wanting to help my friend, I flew to his house as quick as I could to get this adventure underway.

I burst into his house and asked, "What happened?"

SVEN: Do you want to see it?

ME: See what?

SVEN: The problem I am having?

ME: Tell me what it is first.

SVEN: I think I have a yeast infection.

ME: (chortling) Uh...

SVEN: It's not funny.

Sven appeared to be missing the humor in the situation. As I was trying to stifle my laughter (unsuccessfully), I asked, "Are you positive that's what it is?"

Sven explained to me the symptoms he had. He had looked them up on the internet and the site he found said that this happens sometimes in males when they have high blood sugar. Sven has been battling his blood sugar for a few months, so this made sense. Based on what he told me, I had to agree.

          ME: I'm sorry. I didn't know men could get yeast infections.

SVEN: So, do you want to see it now?

ME: NO!

SVEN: How about if I take a picture of it and show you that?

ME: Why do you keep wanting me to look?

SVEN: It doesn't have to be weird!

ME: It is weird. Keep your pants up and let's go.

We get to the hospital and battle the construction at the entrance just like the last two times. Sven gets out and hobbles* into the entrance. I park the car and head inside the hospital.

*For my new readers: Sven is an amputee. He is missing one foot and three toes on the other foot. This is why he hobbles.

The nurse had no shoes!

As soon as I walked in they pointed me toward his room. We have been there enough times, they know us by now. They have even gotten in the habit of trying to get us out of there as quickly as possible. Not everyone seems to appreciate our humor...well, my humor and Sven's lack of social restraint. A nurse was already in there gathering the required information. It was taking a while to get her to understand what the actual problem was since Sven was uncomfortable using any words referring to genitalia to a woman.

While waiting for her to finish with Sven, I hear the following conversation outside the room:

DOCTOR: Do you have any more questions?
PATIENT: Yes. Why are gas prices so high?
DOCTOR: Why would I know the answer to that?
PATIENT: I don't know. You look Middle Eastern. I thought you might have some insight.
DOCTOR: Leave. Now!

The doctor comes in and asks Sven to explain the problem. Sven tells him his symptoms and explains the high blood sugar. The doctor confirms that it sounds like a yeast infection, but like any good doctor, he wants to see the affected area.

During the examination of the area and lots of wincing from Sven, the doctor says, "You are circumsized, right?"  Sven replies, "You're not helping my confidence, Doc."  The doctor then decides that the diagnosis is a male yeast infection.  He tells Sven that he will be prescribing a medicine to be taken orally for three days and two topical creams.

He explains that the first cream is to be used for three days and then thrown away to start using the second cream. He then repeated, "Only use the first cream for three days. The tube will not be empty, but DO NOT use any more of it. It has a steroid in it, so you will want to switch to the other cream."

I remarked,  "Of course, because the last thing any guy wants is to bulk up in that area."

I don't think the doctor got the joke...or maybe he was still worked up about the gas prices question from earlier, but he didn't even crack a smile.

After giving me an uncomfortably long dirty look, he continued explaining how to treat the area. He said, "Wash the area twice a day and then put the cream on. Don't touch the area at any other time. Wash it, put on cream and don't touch. Only touch when washing and putting on cream. Keep your hands off it the rest of the time. Don't touch it. Don't touch it." Then he walked out.

SVEN: Is he telling me not to play with myself?

ME: That's what it sounded like to me.

SVEN: But this is Monday. There's nothing good on TV tonight.

ME: Do you want to get better or not?

SVEN: I guess I could watch Dancing With the Stars. 

ME: Good idea.

SVEN:  And there is no way I gonna stop with the steroid after only three days.

ME: Calm down, Tyrone

If you really want to see
what Sven's yeast infection looks like,
click the picture.

Hop Along Sunday

Disclaimer before you read this post: About 3 months ago, I wrote my most popular post Abscessed Adventures with Adam telling the story of me taking my friend Adam  for an emergency room visit. Due to the nature of his injury (bleeding groin) that day, my blog caused him a little embarrassment.  I have learned my lesson and sincerely apologize to Adam. In order to save him from further embarrassment, for the remainder of this post he will be referred to as Steve.

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As explained in past posts, "Steve" is an amputee. Half of one foot has been removed and three toes on the other foot. This information is necessary for the story and also explains why he moves so slow at Wal-Mart.

Due to some issues with Steve's insurance, his primary care doctor has dropped him. This has resulted in Steve not having access to his pain medication. He doesn't take it very often, but it is there when he needs it.

Steve has a new DJ business that is starting to see an increase in customers. This past week has been especially busy and he has been on his stumps feet a lot. Without proper medication, he tried to power through the pain and did so for several days. Sunday morning at church he pulled me to the side.

Steve: "I have a serious problem. You have to take me to the hospital."

Me: "Now?"

Steve: "As soon as church is over."

You have got to try this.

Me: "I don't know. Subway has that new meatball pepperoni sub. I am really looking forward to trying it."

Steve: "Ooh! That does sound good. Let's go, but you have to drag me to the truck. I can't walk."

He was serious. Since he weighs more than me, by the time I  hauled him to his vehicle, we had both worked up an appetite and did go out for lunch.

Once our hunger was satisfied, we headed to the hospital. Due to the construction that is still going on from the last time we were there, driving up to the emergency room door involves a long, tight curve. There was an unmanned car parked in front of the door, which meant that I would be unable to pull through after dropping Steve off. I would have to back out through the winding obstacle course.

Unsympathetic to my concerns, Steve still insisted I take him right to the door, which I did because I am an awesome friend.

We pull up to the door and Steve just sits there.

Me: "Well, get out."

Steve: "I can't walk. Remember."

Me: "You don't have to walk. You just have to get out of the truck. I have to go park."

Steve: "What am I supposed to do once I get out?"

Me: "I don't know. Lay on the sidewalk or something. After I park, I will roll you in the door."

He gets out and stares longingly at the entrance. To be polite, I made sure not to hit him with the mirror despite him not stepping from the vehicle.

Once I returned from finding a spot, I was relieved surprised to discover that he had found his way inside. The smell of Vicodin must have lured him into the building. The nurses remembered us from our last visit and they directed me to the correct room as soon as I walked in.

Steve was laying on the bed moaning. He was already starting to panic because he was afraid they might want to touch his foot-type thing or, even worse, give him a shot. As I started to explain why it would be worth it, I heard a quiet, high-pitched "YOOHOOOO."

Me: "Steve, did you hear that?"

Steve: "All I hear is the blood rushing to my head."

Mystery Voice (whispering): "Is there anyone here?"

Me: "There it is again."

Steve: "Is it that hot nurse from earlier?"

Me: "No."

Steve: "Then, I don't care."

It was so quiet, I wasn't even sure I was hearing it. Then, I heard it again, but louder.

Voice (screaming): "Someone bring me some food!"

Me: "I knew I wasn't wasn't crazy."

Steve: "I beg to differ."

Me: "Shut up! Listen."

Screaming Voice: "I AM HUNGRY! SOMEONE BRING ME SOMETHING! IS ANYONE OUT THERE?"

Me: "Those nurses are good at tuning people out. Steve, start screaming. We'll see who comes."

Steve: "No. My head hurts."

Me: "You're no fun."

The doctor came in and Steve winced in pain.

Me: "He hasn't even touched you yet."

After hearing the story and attempting to get close enough to observe the troubled area, the doctor explained that he could give him something for the pain right now, but Steve would need to find a doctor to take him on as a patient.

Steve started crying.

Me: "What is wrong with you?"

Steve: "He almost touched my foot."

The nurse came in and pulled out the last thing that Steve wanted to see, a syringe. Once convinced it wasn't going in his foot, he decided to accept it.

Steve took several deep breaths and waited. She cleaned the area and gave the injection quickly. Steve decided it wasn't so bad. He asked what she had given him.

Nurse: "Morphine."

The nurse left and said she would be back with a 3 day prescription of painkillers, but Steve really didn't care. Something had happened to him.

 

HA HA HA HA! What pain? Why are we here?

Steve's pain was gone and so was his capacity to think, talk, or concentrate. Everything the nurses tried to explain to him was funny. The old woman that fell in the hallway was funny. The rubber gloves on the table were funny. Luckily, they got the needed signatures from him before the shot.

I decided it was time to leave and went to bring the truck to the front. I, apparently, left my phone behind and Steve answered when my daughter called.

Five minutes later, her Facebook status was updated.

Now, remember, this is Steve (not Adam)!

Abscessed Adventures with Adam

I first met Dr. Doolittle back in August. Today we crossed paths again, but this time it was not for me.

Early yesterday morning, I took my daughter to school and started off for Greenville College. Since all my classes are online right now, I rarely need to go to the campus, but I had an issue with my financial aid that needed to be sorted out and decided to do it face to face. I was about 2 minutes from getting on the interstate when I received a call from my buddy, Adam.

Adam: Are you on the road yet?
Me: I'm still in town, but headed out. Did you decide to go with me?
Adam: No. I need you to take me to the hospital.
Me: What's going on?
Adam: I don't want to say, but there's a lot of blood.
Me: I'll be right there.

I turned around to find out what calamity had visited Adam. I get to his house to find him groaning and attempting to put on some pants to leave the house.

Me: What happened?
Adam: I'm bleeding from my groin!

He then gestured toward the bathroom. I peered in and saw blood all over the toilet seat, the floor and the sink. Not just spatters, but a lot of it.

Me: Did you have your period?
Adam:  Very funny. Can we go now?

On the way, he explained that he had developed an ingrown or infected hair follicle a few weeks ago high on his inner thigh. Not a big deal. It happens. But this one didn't just go away in a few days. It got infected and grew. Adam did not get too concerned about this. He has seen his share of medical problems and was not going to get worked up over a little swelling. Three years ago, he had his feet amputated after being in a three-week coma due to the toxic shock his body endured from developing a rare blood disorder. He spent a lot of time in the hospital and almost died, so this appeared trivial in comparison.

After mild discomfort for a few days, the real pain started when he went to bed that night. He endured it until morning and it ruptured somewhere between getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. After having a seat, he discovers his hand is covered in blood. A quick check confirms the area he is bleeding from and the inevitable freak-out begins.

Once he realizes what has actually happened, he calms down a bit, but is still in a lot of pain. Despite most of the pressure from the infection being released, he now has an open wound on a very sensitive area. It hurt to move or even let the air touch it. That's when he decided to call me.

Our local hospital is under heavy construction, so there are no decent parking spaces available. And due to him only having stumps for feet he cannot walk vary far. I let him out at the ambulance entrance and went to find a parking space. I walked in a few minutes later and asked what room the big guy that walks funny was in. He yelled from one of the rooms. The curtain was closed so I could not see anything, but the smell hit me right away. The blood, sweat and fermented pus was perfectly combined to create an odor that should be manufactured by the military to drive out enemy insurgents.

Since Adam has had so much experience dealing with medical professionals, he has learned how to communicate with them very efficiently. Any time one of them touches him, he screams a string of profanities loud enough to make the windows shake. The nurse said, "I just need to see it." Adam tried to kick her with his stump.

Once she left, he asked me how bad it was. He hadn't seen it because it was in a precarious place where he could not get to it. The last thing a guy wants to see is the groin area of one of his male friends. It's worse than talking about feelings or admitting you like Cher. I didn't want to look, but I try to be a good friend and he really wanted to know. I mentally secured myself in my masculinity and took a look. He attempted to show me, but all I saw was a bloody mess. I never saw the actual rupture. Plus, exposing the area reignited the smell. I gave a quick nod.

Adam: How bad is it?
Me: Oh, you don't want to know. It looks awful. Bloody, fleshy mess.

In walks Dr. Doolittle. The last time I saw him, he was inserting a needle into the joint in my shoulder. Click his name if you don't know what I am talking about. He pulls the sheet back to take a look and does what every doctor does. He starts poking around the injured area. Adam quickly becomes vocal again. When Doolittle squeezed the area to see if anything came out, Adam reached a decibel level not heard since Hiroshima.

Doolittle released his grip, smiled at Adam and asked, "Did that hurt?"

Now that may sound cruel, but it was actually funny. Dr. Doolittle has a great bedside manner and said it in a way to lighten the mood. Adam laughed through his tears. He then told us it was just an abscess that needed to drain for a few days, gave Adam some tips to take care of it and prescribed some antibiotics.

Exactly two minutes later, the nurse walks in with his prescription and insurance info. I immediately complained, "When I was here, I had to wait in the room for at least 45 minutes before you guys came back in to let me go. How does he get such fast service?"

She calmly replied, "When you use the words he used and at the volume he uses them, we want you out of here as fast as possible."

I told her, "I will remember that."

My Experiment with Steroids

I have had a rough couple of days. I spent the night in the emergency room on Saturday night and have gotten very little sleep since then. I had a similar experience four months ago and wrote about it in my blog here. However, this time it was different and I did not realize it until I looked back at that blog I wrote in April. In April, I had horrible pain in my right shoulder, but this time it was in my left shoulder, so it is from something different.

Thursday night I felt some discomfort in my left shoulder. It wasn't too bad, but it was noticeable. When I woke up Friday morning, it had intensified and didn't let up all day. By Saturday, it had significantly grown worse. I felt awful pain anytime I moved it and usually had to lift it with my right hand to even put it up on a table when I sat down. I am sure it looked humorous to see me do anything. I never realized how difficult it was to do simple things like put on socks with one hand. Putting on a shirt was torture. Using only one hand wasn't the struggle; it was the pain involved with trying not to move my bad arm. The slightest movement sent sharp pains through my shoulder. I shed a lot of tears that day.

That night I went to a local trivia night fund raiser, so I was around people who saw me struggling and encouraged me to go to the hospital. My buddy, Adam, was especially forceful. He told me all night that I needed to go get it taken care of. However, since I had dealt with this before, I did not think it would be necessary. Yes, it was painful, but it would be gone in a few days. I just needed to ride it out like last time. About five hours later, I changed my mind.

I went to bed that night and took some Aleve to ease the pain. It didn't work. I could not find any comfortable position. The pain grew much worse over the next couple of hours. I couldn't adjust my blankets or even change positions without searing pain shooting through my arm. I came to the realization that sleep was not going to happen and this was obviously much worse than what I had experienced back in April. I got up and tackled the task of dressing myself again so I could go to the hospital.

I got to the E.R. about 2 a.m. and they laid me on a bed to await the doctor. The movement involved in getting myself there has made the pain much worse, so the doctor was going to get to see me at my worst. After all the preliminary questions, blood pressure checks, pulse taking, and explanations of my issue, the doctor came into the room. He introduced himself as Dr. Doolittle and I immediately laughed. The first instance of laughter caused my shoulder to throb, so I think I was able to pass it off as a wince of pain.

Doolittle (that really is his name) asked me where my shoulder hurt. As he started feeling around on it, I told him that it hurt when I moved it and it didn't really hurt to the touch. He immediately proved me wrong. He then attempted to move my arm to see what level of mobility I had. Once I relaxed and let him try, he found that it doesn't move at all without cries from me. He decided that it appeared to be bursitis.

He ordered some X-rays to be assured there was not a more serious problem. Before the X-rays, one of the nurses came in to give me a shot of anti-inflammatory medication. As I started rolling up my sleeve, she told me that she would be injecting a large amount of fluid so it would have to go in a 'meatier' area. "Drop your pants." She told me it would burn, but I am not really scared of needles, so I wasn't too worried about it.

There was so much medicine being injected that it took a while to get it all through the syringe. About 20 seconds into the injection, my butt suddenly felt like it had caught on fire. She wasn't kidding. It burned...a lot. I tried to sit still and not tense so she could finish, but it was difficult. Luckily, it subsided after a couple of minutes. It burned for the next several hours, but the intense burn was only for those first few minutes. In the meantime, I was able to get the nurse to admit I had a hot butt.

Then, it was off to radiology for my X-rays. They brought a wheelchair in for me. I don't know if I could ever get used to being pushed around in a wheelchair. It feels so strange to have someone else push me around, especially when I know I am perfectly capable of walking. However, I was glad to have it when we came back from there.

That's not going to happen!

The X-rays were not fun. In order for them to get the shots they needed, I had to position my arm where they could better see the joint. For the first one my arm basically had to hang by my side, which wasn't too bad except I had to hold it out a couple inches from my waist. Now, I can do this if I can use my right arm to support the left one, but to use the left arm muscles to hold it there was excruciating. She would get it in position and ask if that was alright. Through tears I exclaimed, "No, but take the picture quick!" She was as gentle as she could be, but it really hurt. For the next shot I needed to rotate my arm to be palm forward instead of back. This small movement surprised me in how difficult it was to do, but we got the shot. She then came out of her little anti-radiation room and informed me that I am not going to like her. She says, "For this shot I need your arm like this." She then holds up her arm like she is going to make a right turn. I knew this was not possible, since I had not raised my arm from my side for two days, but decided to give it a try. I held my left wrist with my right hand and tried to raise it. I hadn't moved it six inches when she realized that I couldn't do it. She then decided that if I could place my left hand on my right shoulder, that may expose the joint to get the shot we needed. That was much easier to do.

Back in the wheelchair, I nursed my shoulder that was now exponentially sorer than before I got there and I wondered when the anti-inflammatory medicine was supposed to kick in. The next nurse asked me if my arm was starting to loosen up yet. I told her it was worse from all the movement. Dr. Doolittle (HAHA!!) then came back in and told me that the X-rays looked fine, so he was confident that his initial diagnosis was correct. It was probably bursitis. Bursitis is inflammation of the fluid-filled sac (bursa) that lies between a tendon and skin, or between a tendon and bone. He then explained that once this gets inflamed all movement becomes extremely painful. He really didn't need to tell me that part. I was very much aware of it.

Notice the one buff arm

He then produced another syringe. "This is a Lanacane steroid," he said, "that is going to go directly into the joint to add fluid to the bursa sac." The main thing I heard was steroid. All I really knew about steroids is that they are often used by body builders to help them bulk up. I immediately thought of Freddy Rodriguez in the movie Lady in the Water. He was doing an experiment by building up one arm but not the other with weight training. If I got this shot in just one arm would I look like him? I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Either way, I was wondering what this shot would be like. This was not a surface injection like every  other shot I had ever received. This was going deep into my joint. I didn't expect this to be pleasant. I rolled up my sleeve and braced myself.

He put the needle in and had to adjust it a bit to get it into the bursa sac, but it soon found its way. It was not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. He then stated that it may start to burn, but I would need to sit still because it takes a while to get it all in there. I never really felt any burning, but my whole body got hot. When I said that, Doolittle (HAHA!!) said, "He's passing out! Lay him down!" I told them I wasn't passing out, I just got really hot. The nurses told me I had lost all color in my face and my skin got clammy. These are all signs that someone is about to pass out, but it didn't happen.

An hour later, I was headed back home with my arm hurting more than when I had gone in, but I had some pain killers and prescriptions for codeine and more anti-inflammatory medication. I had to call in sick that morning since we cannot dispatch at the Sheriff's Department while on medication. I have instructions to contact an orthopedic doctor tomorrow so it can be looked at more closely to see if there is anything more serious.

I am starting to regain some mobility in my arm today, but I am very limited. I still cannot lift anything without pain, but it has gotten much easier to get dressed. However, since I cannot afford to take off any more days of work, I have gone without the painkillers today, so I can work this afternoon. I may have to stop taking them anyway. They warned me at the hospital that codeine knocks people out, so do not drive after taking it. However, it has the opposite effect on me. It does help with the pain, but has the same effect as caffeine. I am wide awake after taking it. I can't sleep at night when I've had a dose.

I am healing and am glad to be moving around again, but I am really starting to believe that my body is out to get me. Getting old seems to have a downside.