This particular post isn't for the faint of heart. So reader beware! So much has happened in the last two months, it's become a blur! I think I'll have to break up all the happenings into chunk events, and in no particular order. I'll start with the most current event that sent me into the hospital for 7 days.
Thursday, January 30th, Morning:
We got up early to get Dan packed up and off to the airport. He was playing a show in Philly over that weekend, as well as doing a radio show. It wasn't even really 5 days that he'd be gone; he was due back Monday.
Once we got his things packed in the car, we stopped off at Biscuitville so I could get a cuppa Joe with a sausage/cheese biscuit. I ate and drove at the same time. The airport isn't far and the drive can be done in about 35 minutes. We'd done this a million times. I'm always happy for Dan to escape the drudge of being home taking care of me. He does such a great job - it's a bit unfair. I always wish him the best time he can possibly have on his trips; and I know it's hard for him because he worries about me all the time while he's away.
I knew how quiet it would be without him around, it made me a bit melancholy. I thought, me and the Beak would spend quality time together. I'd get to know his feminine side. (We found out that Glen is a true Hermaphrodite - he has one testical and one ovary; and has layed 3 eggs!) We could watch our movies on the computer and try to learn some new phrases. Like, "I'm a vulture!" It would be fun.
About halfway through my drive home, I felt hot, sweaty and chilled - Oh! Christ! Some sickness was wrapping it's boney finger around me, and fast! I hadn't been anywhere outside my house for days - so it must have been squirming germs on my sausage and cheese biscuit! Was it intentional? Did someone hawk up something onto my biscuit bun? No - That would be a bit over the top. Someone likely came to work sick, because they can't afford to take any time off, so a sneeze, a cough, "poof," a light coating of germs on my breakfast bag! I was done for! God knows how many germs were spread, and to how many people that day, via Biscuitville.
I settled down to watch one of mine and Dan's favorite TV shows, Monk, (on Friday's at 8:00 - 2 episodes back to back). It was going to be a cozy evening, just Glen and me. I flipped around to channel 28, and that's when I realized something was wrong. I checked the online TV guide, and "what the what's?" I lost a day! I lost a whole day! It was Saturday, and Monk, was not on!!! What happend to Friday? I don't remember having conversations, or being on the computer or any of it! I do remember hazy moments of trying to talk to Dan and Suki - but my throat was so dry and scratchy I wasn't good at keeping my end of the conversation up. And I can't be sure which day that was. It was quickly turning into The Lost Weekend - but with no drinking! I did notice that Glen was still out of his cage, and now had 'no prob-lem-o' eating his new food. He must have caved in on that lost Friday, it was the only food left out for him...
I took my temperature and it was 100.1 (Not too high I thought) I took an extra prednisone and went back to laying down. I thought for sure I'd feel better Sunday. I don't remember Sunday much either. I tried to do the dishes and some straightening of the house. I was so weak. I had bouts of diarrhea that whole week (unfortunately it's a typical side effect of the cancer drug Zelboraf), with Imodium it's usually manageable - not this time. I didn't even realize I was hitting the bathroom hard - because it had become so routine for me. Take 4 giant Zelboraf pills and you're off, unless you take an Imodium in the nick of time. Then it's another 4 before bed. 8 each day! Imodiummmmm!!!!! Them Z's there, ain't no piddly small pills neither!
I was drinking water by the gallons. I went to sleep after putting Glen to bed, knowing Dan would be back the next day and everything would be better.
When Dan called to say what time he'd be back, I asked him if he wouldn't mind taking a cab home; I didn't think I could drive. I was so glad I was getting Dan back. He arrived. I could hear him in the house, he open the bedroom door, and I really wanted to run into his arms and give him a great big hug and kiss - but instead I told him I was sick, possibly contagious, and that he should stay far away. He walked through the door into the sea of used kleenex on the floor. All those days laying on the bed, my aim just got worse and worse, and I soon gave up even trying to get a dunk shot into the trash bag.
Tuesday, February 4th, Early Morning:
All through Monday night Dan kept checking in on me. I was always thirsty. It seemed I couldn't get enough water. I had sweaty chills. I felt terrible. I would go as far as to say, I was delirious. Dan poked his head through the cracked door. I woke up and all of a sudden; I knew I was going to be sick to my stomach. I felt sweaty and feverish, I pulled myself up out of bed and ran to the bathroom.
Ocupado, damn!
I headed to the kitchen and in a split decision, decided against barfing in the sink and hovered over the kitchen trash bin instead. Dan came out the bathroom door as I ran him over. "What's going on?" he said, as I pushed my way past.
This is a disgusting part - but it happened. I had to run for the toilet because I was about to erupt like a Flaming Wheel Of Destruction! Both ends were about to blow.
My mother had always taught me to wear clean underwear in case you got hit by a car. This went through my mind as The Flaming Wheel Of Destruction blew out at both ends. Cripes! I mean really CRIPES! That was a new one for me. I had barfed all down my new baby blue t shirt, into my underwear and pants! Say again...! Anyone have the guts to admit something like that ever happening to them? I was so sweaty and tired. Dan said my head was wobbling around like a bobble head with a broken spring. My head had two positions, backward or forward. When forward I was forced to look past my puke top into my pukey panties. Backward was a better view - the medicine rack and the ceiling. I couldn't move - all my muscle power was drained. Dan asked me to get up and get back in bed. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't move, at all. I could hardly talk. I could see Dan's frightened face as he asked if he should call an ambulance. I whispered, "Yes." Dan was on it. I somehow managed to kick the up-chucked pant and panties off. I was left in my pukey blue t. We could hear the sirens off in the distance getting closer all the time. Dan tried to urge me off the toilet - but no way! I was going in rock'n'roll style, the way of the "King!" Elvis.
Fun Fact: Judy Garland also died on the throne. I didn't die; but Dan and I didn't know then how close I'd come.
The sirens were overwhelmingly loud - out in front of the house. I still couldn't move, I had used up all my adrenaline. I have to take prednisone to keep me going. I can't make adrenaline because of my damaged pituitary. So I was dragged off the throne by some really nice people, who didn't seem to mind that I had a vomity blue shirt and no panites on. They just mumbled that they'd seen worse. Dan is asking them questions and answering questions as to how I ended up in such bad shape. They hoisted me onto a plastic body bag and swung me up on a gurney. It was all very fast and I couldn't see around me much. I did see a firetruck, and I noticed my neighbor, I think. Dan told me later that it was 7AM and everyone was on their way to work. Fun for all commuters, a bit of excitement, and a real eyeful. Not something you see every day, a half naked, pukey old lady, with a purple mohawk being shoved into an ambulance.
Once I was locked in the back and Dan was in the front cab, we took off like a shot. It was my first ride in an ambulance. The EMS guy kept slapping me, saying the things you hear on TV shows. "Stay with us!", "Don't go to sleep!" I remember he was injecting me with things and saying he couldn't find a pulse or get a blood pressure reading. The sirens were so loud. The guy was trying to keep me distracted telling me the names of the different siren sounds. I thought, I might be on my way out of this world; but I'm not 10 years old! Duh!
No, they saved my life, and were very nice. The ride felt like it took forever. Dan said it was like two minutes tops!
I was wheeled into one of the partitioned rooms and suddenly there was a crowd over me. People saying things like, "I still can't get a BP reading!", "I can't find a pulse!" 10cc's of this 10 cc's of that. I could see Dan sitting next to me, making faces at me, and holding my hand; and being very very sweet to me. A doctor jabbed me with a huge needle of adrenalin. I remember his face asking me questions - but I couldn't make out what he was saying.
After a CT scan - the doctor with the big needle said I was being admitted to the hospital and I needed to sign some papers. I found myself in a hospital room on the 9th floor with no underwear, no shoes, no socks.
Dan stayed with me until I felt comfortable. People kept popping in every few minutes for tests and such; so I told Dan to go home and rest. I was seconds from sleeping anyway, while hooked up to a bazillion liquids through a painful IV. Dan asked if he should take my shirt home. He left and I imagined him walking home with my Pukey Blue T in a Duke Hospital "These are my personal belongings" bag. Then I thought about how bad things could have gone if Dan hadn't come home when he did. He truly is my hero, my rooster, the one that keeps me going! The one that keeps me living.
I will continue this story in the next few days. Stay tuned!
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