Image by FreepikSomehow Monday morning I foundmyself, acc...

Image by Freepik

Somehow Monday morning I foundmyself, accompanied by Jordan, in the ER at Harris Methodist Hospital Downtown.A long stretch in the ER told us that my inability to swallow all my meds hadmessed up my Afib so I was on a drip to fix that and had a CT scan whichconfirmed a growth on my epiglottis. All of this was handled professionally andcourteously by really pleasant people, and I felt I was in good hands.Naturally, I was a bit letdown when they said I had to stay overnight tostabilize my heart rate. Turned out to be a good thing. Jordan, bless her,stayed with me and was treated to sleep broken by interruptions—vital signs, anIV that pulled loose and had to be reinserted—a long and painful process.

I think in the past, in mynovels, someone has been in the hospital. Irene, for instance, was hospitalizedafter she was kidnapped (Irene in Danger) and you never know when she oranother character will end there, so it was good for me to have a refresherlearning experience. Hospitals have changed since the last time I was in one.

When you go cold into the ER(I went with a referral from my family doctor who immediately left thepicture), you suddenly have a whole new bunch of doctors—two hospitalists, acardiologist, a radiologist, the ER admitting doctor, the consulting head andneck surgeon. It’s sort of a case of the left hand not knowing what the righthand is doing and who’s on first. Thank goodness for the nurses, particularlyone named Becky, (fourth floor, Heart Center) who coordinated everything.

When you go to the ER, you tryto look your best—at least I do: hair shampooed, attractive yet comfortableoutfit, clean underwear, etc. I saw some in robes, pajamas, and slippers, butthat’s not my style. I wanted to look presentable. At the end of the long day,I had given up that vanity and did not care how I looked. I ended up in ahospital gown, rumpled pj bottoms from home, and hospital footlets. I didmanage to brush my teeth that evening but gave it up the next morning, thinkingI’d go home any moment. Jordan had to comb my hair because I sailed into theday without a thought about it. By the time I went home, about three o’clock inthe afternoon, I didn’t give a fig how I looked. At least I had street clothesback on, with the pj bottoms.

Being in the hospital ages youten years but thank goodness it’s reversible. Probably because I felt so bad, Ibecame helpless. I asked Jordan for every little thing—“hand me this,” “where’sthe remote?” “Can you get me that?” I kept missing meals (not that I could eatmuch) so she was my emissary to the cafeteria where she got yogurt and to askthe nurse for cups of steaming hot broth. I found I would get scrunched down inbed, and need help pulling myself up. And go to the bathroom alone? Don’t eventhink about it. It’s against the rules. So I worried about going home, but oncein the cottage I fell right back into the routine of taking care of myself. Anamazing reversible, though I did worry as I snuggled down for the night aboutwhat would happen if I couldn’t get out of bed. I could—a gentle, cold, and wetnose on my elbow this morning convinced me to get out of bed and let Benji out.He had been tremendously patient while I overslept.

So this morning I am back atwork at my desk. I kept up, mostly with emails, in the hospital but still havemuch to deal with, some of it medical. How do you get to be my age and still beso involved in the world? I am not knocking it. I think it’s a good thing.

Tomorrow I have (I think) abiopsy to determine why I can’t swallow. Prayers are appreciated, and thanksfor following my adventures in and out of the medical world.