Everything is just about over. I am getting better, but I'm a bit tired and my face is peeling like I had a sunburn. Just to set the record straight, this is the final verdict regarding my illness.
I first got sick last, last Friday and for 4 days I was positive that I had the flu, the later bacterial infection a result of the flu, in other words a secondary infection. I say that because I had the worst case of joint and muscle pain with severe chills. That's the flu isn't it? Only I didn't have any respiratory distress. So the doctors deduced that my early symptoms were the signs of a developing strep (most likely) infection, or in medical terms I had mylagia and myositis from the infection and not the flu. Latin names makes everything sound so much more serious, doesn't it? I didn't see any rash, one other sign, but maybe I missed it or I just didn't have it. Well all is well that ends well. It could have been ugly, but let's not go there.
One other thing they discovered was my predominate JPV. What's that? It's your jugular pulmonary vein. It's located on the right side of your neck. My JPV stands out more than the average. Reluctantly, I had to ask why it was outstanding. But let me digress for a moment. One of the scary things about seeing doctors is the idea that they're going to find something else wrong that's worst than the reason you went to see them in the first place. Go in and see them for a blister on your foot, and they'll find out that you have a heart condition. I can understand why my father never wanted to go into the hospital. He thought that once he went in, he would never come out. Maybe he knew something I didn't. Anyway back to my JPV. The doctor said that it was predominate because my heart was not quite right and the blood was backing up my vein. Any why was my heart not quite right? It was probably because my heart was somewhat damaged due to my high levels of ferratin. I did tell you that I have hemachromatosis (chronic high ferratin)? Well I do. And the doctor read my chart and put it all together. They were going to do an echo gram on my heart, but they decided I basically was OK. So I dodged another bullet. I will live for another day, play my ukulele another day.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thanks for your concers but I didn't get better
February 21, 2008
I'm writing this with my right hand and a bright red ballpoint pen. Why am I using my right and and a pen? Because the hospital doesn't provide laptops and the IV in my left hand prevents me from using it. You know about that slight skin infection that I acquired at the end of my flu bout? Well, it spread to make the rest of my face match my pugilist looking nose. Now my entire face looking like it took a pounding. Yesterday I saw the doctor at 10:45am and he ordered a massive shot of antibiotic to be given to me. The nurse told me that it had linocain in it, but it still left me limping as if I was hit by an illegal block to the back. Without the painkiller, I'm sure they would have had to stretchered me out. That treatment was supplemented with a supply of pills that could have lasted 10 days. That was yesterday, and today, due to the antibiotics I assume, I felt better, but in the afternoon I decided to check my face in the mirror. Walking to the bathroom, I was mentally humming lah deh dah, lah deh dah, and then I looked at myself (A scream pierces the air.). The blob was on the move. I could easily tell the puffiness and accompanying red color had pass the Sharpie lines that I had drawn on my face during the night to delineate the location of the infection. The sight reminded me of old newsreels depicting the spread of communism as a red blob moving across the globe leaving nothing behind but desolation and ugliness. I didn't want the dirty reds to win. I called Kaiser...again. My doctor advised me to go to the ER and to the ER did I go, arriving a bit past 4pm. Everyone agreed that I should be put on antibiotic IV treatment with a least a 2 day stay, but it's now getting late; it's past 10pm. I don't mind it here that much, but the bed is getting harder with each passing minute. My bottom is going from pain to numb. If I'm going to be admitted, getting into bed sooner will be better than later.
It is now 12 midnight, and I am finally being pushed into my room. Along the way, I make a comment to the orderly that the bed I'm in is not too comfortable. "It's not a bed," he replies. "It's a gurney. It's meant for short time use. What time did you get here?" "A bit past 4," I answer. "That's way too long. ER is trying to shorten the waiting time. All ER's are having this problem, but it's worst here". My butt whispered amen.
I didn't finally fall asleep until 12:30am...if you can call it sleep. Hospitals are suppose to be quiet, but it was anything but. As tired as I was, sounds that reminded me of a variation of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" penetrated my somnolent partition. "Nurse, nurse, oh god, oh god." Mixed into the mantra, sounds of carts, hospital personal talking, doors closing, etc merged and became part of it. But the sound that was the most memorable was the music, as fuzzy as it was. At first I thought that I was hearing Julie Andrews singing "The Sound of Music" but then it sounded more like "Chity Chitty Bang Bang," and then I thought I heard "Superkal..." The last bit of music was without voice, but it put me into a scene from the "Lord of the Rings."
February 22, 2008
A sudden spell of silence woke me up. It was 6am and still dark outside. Awake I could concentrate on the caphonic symphony of human boredom, despair, and pain, phrases repeated in its own sense of rhythym.
"Nurse, could you please come into my room?"
"Nurse!"
"Help, help, help, help."
I wanted to join in with my own words, "God, help me, help me, help me," but I wasn't asked to join the choir.
It was so interesting to listen to each performer. For example, the individual saying "help" did it in such a moderate voice, it was as if he didn't really want help. He was more just moaning to himself. The rhythym was like 4 beats of help with 16 beats of rest in between. I was slowly falling under the magic of his beat when all of a sudden there was a change. A loud voice boomed out "Help, Help, Help, Help, Help, Help." In a short time, I heard a woman's voice, "What do you need?" And he answers, "_ _ _ _."
I went into the bathroom and I had to look into the mirror. Was the blob stopped or was it still advancing. Was I going to be happy or was I going to start writing my will? Eeek! My DNA must have merged with a fly's. The sight was ghastly, but the good news was the infection had not spread and was actually shrinking. Even though I looked like an alien who was doing a bad impersonation of humans. I was getting better.
After a short talk with Dr Cook, we both agreed that it would be better if I stayed one more night even though she was willing to let me go home that day. One more day meant one more night I asked my nurse for a sleeping pill. A man must know his limitations.
One thing about staying in this dormitory from the "Ship of Fools" it confuses me. I don't know how to react. Most of the resdents here are elderly, frail, and sick, sort of like the residents of assisted living facilities, and I'm one of them. I know that I'm old, but not that old. This stay is either going to make me feel decrepit or very young and healthy. In truth, it makes me feel both. I am getting older. It's impossible not to recognize that fact. I'm not as old as most of the patients around me, but I'm certainly not as young as the staff doing a job that I once did so many years ago.
Looking at the residents around me, I can see my own future. I don't want to go there. There is much more that I want to do one more time; swim in the warm water's of Hawai'i, cuddle up to Emi before going to sleep, complete one more sudokou puzzle, play and sing one more Hawaiian tune, have an exquisite meal with my family, hit one more ace on the courts...the items too many to mention and it has to inclue all the things that I want to do but haven't yet. But it is not for me to say when the end is at hand. I only know that I have now, and I am thankful for each now...and my health, for what it is, and with the thought that it is now getting better. You know, I didn't really want to be the man with no face, or the new 2008 version of the elephant man, or the man that the blob ate but somehow survived although he doesn't look like it.
So they're letting me out. The final decision is no decision. The culture came back normal. My case is termed erysipelas. I need to "ask" it and see what I have. I shall take my pills and hopefully I will continue to get better. I have nothing but good thoughts. The option is too terrifying.
I'm writing this with my right hand and a bright red ballpoint pen. Why am I using my right and and a pen? Because the hospital doesn't provide laptops and the IV in my left hand prevents me from using it. You know about that slight skin infection that I acquired at the end of my flu bout? Well, it spread to make the rest of my face match my pugilist looking nose. Now my entire face looking like it took a pounding. Yesterday I saw the doctor at 10:45am and he ordered a massive shot of antibiotic to be given to me. The nurse told me that it had linocain in it, but it still left me limping as if I was hit by an illegal block to the back. Without the painkiller, I'm sure they would have had to stretchered me out. That treatment was supplemented with a supply of pills that could have lasted 10 days. That was yesterday, and today, due to the antibiotics I assume, I felt better, but in the afternoon I decided to check my face in the mirror. Walking to the bathroom, I was mentally humming lah deh dah, lah deh dah, and then I looked at myself (A scream pierces the air.). The blob was on the move. I could easily tell the puffiness and accompanying red color had pass the Sharpie lines that I had drawn on my face during the night to delineate the location of the infection. The sight reminded me of old newsreels depicting the spread of communism as a red blob moving across the globe leaving nothing behind but desolation and ugliness. I didn't want the dirty reds to win. I called Kaiser...again. My doctor advised me to go to the ER and to the ER did I go, arriving a bit past 4pm. Everyone agreed that I should be put on antibiotic IV treatment with a least a 2 day stay, but it's now getting late; it's past 10pm. I don't mind it here that much, but the bed is getting harder with each passing minute. My bottom is going from pain to numb. If I'm going to be admitted, getting into bed sooner will be better than later.
It is now 12 midnight, and I am finally being pushed into my room. Along the way, I make a comment to the orderly that the bed I'm in is not too comfortable. "It's not a bed," he replies. "It's a gurney. It's meant for short time use. What time did you get here?" "A bit past 4," I answer. "That's way too long. ER is trying to shorten the waiting time. All ER's are having this problem, but it's worst here". My butt whispered amen.
I didn't finally fall asleep until 12:30am...if you can call it sleep. Hospitals are suppose to be quiet, but it was anything but. As tired as I was, sounds that reminded me of a variation of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" penetrated my somnolent partition. "Nurse, nurse, oh god, oh god." Mixed into the mantra, sounds of carts, hospital personal talking, doors closing, etc merged and became part of it. But the sound that was the most memorable was the music, as fuzzy as it was. At first I thought that I was hearing Julie Andrews singing "The Sound of Music" but then it sounded more like "Chity Chitty Bang Bang," and then I thought I heard "Superkal..." The last bit of music was without voice, but it put me into a scene from the "Lord of the Rings."
February 22, 2008
A sudden spell of silence woke me up. It was 6am and still dark outside. Awake I could concentrate on the caphonic symphony of human boredom, despair, and pain, phrases repeated in its own sense of rhythym.
"Nurse, could you please come into my room?"
"Nurse!"
"Help, help, help, help."
I wanted to join in with my own words, "God, help me, help me, help me," but I wasn't asked to join the choir.
It was so interesting to listen to each performer. For example, the individual saying "help" did it in such a moderate voice, it was as if he didn't really want help. He was more just moaning to himself. The rhythym was like 4 beats of help with 16 beats of rest in between. I was slowly falling under the magic of his beat when all of a sudden there was a change. A loud voice boomed out "Help, Help, Help, Help, Help, Help." In a short time, I heard a woman's voice, "What do you need?" And he answers, "_ _ _ _."
I went into the bathroom and I had to look into the mirror. Was the blob stopped or was it still advancing. Was I going to be happy or was I going to start writing my will? Eeek! My DNA must have merged with a fly's. The sight was ghastly, but the good news was the infection had not spread and was actually shrinking. Even though I looked like an alien who was doing a bad impersonation of humans. I was getting better.
After a short talk with Dr Cook, we both agreed that it would be better if I stayed one more night even though she was willing to let me go home that day. One more day meant one more night I asked my nurse for a sleeping pill. A man must know his limitations.
One thing about staying in this dormitory from the "Ship of Fools" it confuses me. I don't know how to react. Most of the resdents here are elderly, frail, and sick, sort of like the residents of assisted living facilities, and I'm one of them. I know that I'm old, but not that old. This stay is either going to make me feel decrepit or very young and healthy. In truth, it makes me feel both. I am getting older. It's impossible not to recognize that fact. I'm not as old as most of the patients around me, but I'm certainly not as young as the staff doing a job that I once did so many years ago.
Looking at the residents around me, I can see my own future. I don't want to go there. There is much more that I want to do one more time; swim in the warm water's of Hawai'i, cuddle up to Emi before going to sleep, complete one more sudokou puzzle, play and sing one more Hawaiian tune, have an exquisite meal with my family, hit one more ace on the courts...the items too many to mention and it has to inclue all the things that I want to do but haven't yet. But it is not for me to say when the end is at hand. I only know that I have now, and I am thankful for each now...and my health, for what it is, and with the thought that it is now getting better. You know, I didn't really want to be the man with no face, or the new 2008 version of the elephant man, or the man that the blob ate but somehow survived although he doesn't look like it.
So they're letting me out. The final decision is no decision. The culture came back normal. My case is termed erysipelas. I need to "ask" it and see what I have. I shall take my pills and hopefully I will continue to get better. I have nothing but good thoughts. The option is too terrifying.
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