“Needed the laugh- been going thru breast cancer scare- and my horse is lame.”…..
That is so sad, I write back to her. My heart goes out to you. God bless.
You are in my prayers.
***
Reminds me a little of that country tune…you know the one…
‘my truck died and my dog won’t start.’
Couple of years ago, maybe three or four now, six or seven, I felt a serious pain in my left calf.
Worrisome, as that’s the same left calf I had the blood clot.
Even more worrisome, as it is the same pain.
I called my doctor, who called ahead to the diagnostic whatever place where they sonared my leg and it was so bad the tech told me I needed to go to the hospital.
Usually this bad news is reserved for the doctor to deliver.
I actually picked up my own admission slip at the doctor’s office as I drove myself to the hospital.
Hoping not to pass out on the way.
I am so brave.
***
Another blood clot, of course.
Apparently, I had been sitting – as I was just now before I became aware – on my big ball, for far too long.
The hospital visit was somehow analogous. Again, this was not my first blood clot.
My first blood clot, I’m home the next day.
About day six here, I ask the question, “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot???”
With exactly the same tone and expression my mother used to put into “Pardon me?”
I got the blankest stare and “You mean you could do this yourself?”
And it is only natural – to my way of thinking – to ask oneself, Do I actually look that geedee stupid?
***
Here’s the treatment for a blood clot. They torture you for hours like it’s Dick Cheney’s own hospital, then they give you a needle in the stomach once a day. End of treatment.
So, I’m out of there muy pronto. Trust me, I hate needles. But vis-a-vis twenty-four-seven in a hospital ward…all I have to ask is, where should I stick myself?
Torture I say. Make me stay in bed all day…torture. Hospital food… torture. People waking you up in the middle of the night to make sure you are not sleeping painlessly…oh, yeah, torture. No Internet…. Morbidly obese nutritionists… Torture.
***
Then’s there’s the cellmate. I am a normal dude, at least demographically… with my health insurance, there is always a cellmate. Let’s call him Jim.
Jim is six foot, two inches. 118 pounds.
Jim is in pain. He’s forty-five years old and he has been sick for thirty years. Been in this hospital for eight weeks. This time.
He got out for a couple weeks but now he’s back.
He’d been here for fifteen weeks and then got to go home to his sister who lost her job and got so sick she couldn’t care for him, so now he’s back. He’s back.
And I am thinking…Yikes!
When Jim is not in the hospital, when things were better, he was getting fired from his job or getting divorced or getting arrested or crashing his car or…. Oh. My. God.
He is such a nice guy.
***
Some unhappy woman comes into the room and asks about our pain level.
“On a scale of One to Ten.”
I am thinking eleven.
I am thinking morphine drip with both of my thumbs pressing hard on the button.
Jim’s head looks about ready to explode,
his forehead pulsing, teeth grinding, his cheeks puckering in grimace.
They ask him first. “Oh, I don’t know, a four, I guess.”
The bastard.
***
Okay, so I get out. I stab a needle into my – may exaggerate here – into my armadillo abdominals.daily.
A couple weeks later, I go for, what they call, a follow-up.
I am retired and there is nowhere to go anyway. Kinda nice actually. But I miss non-canine contact sometimes, so I can get chatty with complete strangers. Really, what’s the harm?
I am in the doctor’s waiting room and I initiate a conversation with another patient patient.
Because I am so giving, I let him tell me his sad story before I unburdened my own pathetic miserable tale.
Just wait until he hears about my second blood clot.
Turns out he has like four different cancers, a couple of which are in remission and the other was solved by castration.
***
Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad.
I remember those times whenever I hear about breast cancer
and lame horses and dogs who won’t start.
And realize how challenging this life can be for all of us.
Over a half-century ago, she was a good friend.
I pray for her and anybody else I have ever cared about.
We must stay strong. We must all stay strong.
And I wonder how Jim is doing….