I decided after joining the Writer’s Digest community that I would embark of this phenomena known as NaNoWriMo.
The first day I had ideas flowing from every orifice of my being. Usually I have to seduce my muse, but on this day is he decided that seduction was not necessary and opened himself up to me willingly. I was thrilled.
I sat there at my trusty computer with the song Plush by the Stone Temple Pilots, playing at a volume that was sure to bring the police. I did not care because it was all so very right. As I tapped those keys at an alarming pace, the little red light flashed on the phone begging me to answer it. I picked it up and looked at the caller ID to decide if the caller was worthy of my time at this moment. The words read, The Veterans Administration. I turned down the volume and answered the phone. My primary care doctor was on the line (this in its self was bizarre, in 13 years of being a patient at the Veterans Medical center I do not think I ever received a call from them without me having called them first)
She said “Mrs. Taylor, your Stress test results showed some abnormalities and the cardiologist and I think you need to have a cardiac catheterization because we suspect you have some blocked arteries.”
“Shit.” the only word that found its way to my lips.
I sat down in my chair and listened as she gave me the date for the catheterization assessment.
I hung up the phone, thought about my situation, and decided a nap was in order.
The day of the assessment started as any other. I get to the Hospital and go up to the third floor to check in. I must admit, I used to work at the Veterans Hospital before I was given my 100 % Veterans Disability and I know how some of the employees can be toward a Veteran, so I have a advantage because they still remember me. I don’t get hassled like the others. I check in and wait. A woman came, called my name, and walked me to her office. We sit down and as she is getting my history, I cannot help but check her out. She looked to be at least in her early 50’s (I might be way off), but she sported this funky short hair cut and jazzy outfit (kinda like the singer Prince might wear). She was tall and thin so the outfit worked for her. Her makeup was just so… I remember thinking that I really should pull my act together and stop sporting the frumpy housewife look in public.
She said “Mrs. Taylor, your stress test showed some abnormalities. With your family history of sudden deaths due to heart related issues, (I only found out about these family issues 2 weeks prior. That is for another blog) the cardiologist thinks that a Cardiac Cath is in order. With a Cath the Cardiologist will be able to see and blockages and fix them if necessary.” At this point, she felt the need to pull out a visual aid - the Catheter. “There are two ways we can accomplish this. We can go thru the artery in your Groin called the femoral artery or your radial artery.”
I am sure at this point she knew I was blank…..I was stopped at the word Grrrr-oinnnn… the letters G & R together caused me to have a brain pause…I could not imagine someone stabbing my soft pretty little Penelope patch with what seemed to be a large garden hose of a catheter. I was unsure and could not shake the picture of the whole ordeal out of my head. Just when I wanted run from the room in shear terror at the thought of my pending impalement she offered me a light that the end of the tunnel. The Radial Artery thing…. they would go thru my wrist instead. So I quickly signed up for the Radial Artery thing.
I spent the next few days in a writing frenzy, oblivious to the world around me. The tapping noise of the key board brought me great joy…I had almost 6 thousand words at the end of the week.
Monday, the 9th of Nov was d-Day. My mother in Law picked me up and we headed out to the hospital. She kept asking me if I would be coming home the same day and reminding me of past hospital visits that were supposed to be day surgeries and how they turned into extended stays. I assured her that I would not spend one night in the hospital unless they find a blockage of 50 percent.
I check in and 3 hours later, I am escorted to the back where I am told to undress. Everything except my panties….I am confused. I ask the man who was demanding I turn over my clothes “if they are going thru my wrist why do I need to strip?” he smiled and said “just in case.”
They bring me into the sterile room and ask me to lay down. I get TWO I.V’s.
They ask me to pull my underwear to my knees, again, I am confused.
“Why?”
The kind female nurse says, “We need to place this diaper under you.”
I responded with a nervous chuckle “why do I need a diaper?”
“In case you have an accident”
I didn’t bother to ask WHY I would have an accident, I didn’t want to know.
They rub my wrist with some sort of fluid and then the Doctor tells me he is going to numb the area and it will sting a little. He was a very handsome lier. It felt like a swarm of bees had stung me.
The nice nurse shoots some drugs into the IV and I was off to happy land. Unfortunately, the trip was a short one. I began to feel a sharp digging going on at my wrist. I let out a sort of a yelp.
“You can feel that?” The Doctor asked
It took all of my loopy strength not to respond with “What the fuck do you think.”
The nurse somehow knew the response was not far from my lips and quickly gave me more happy drugs.
The rest of the procedure was full of happy shots, horrible pain and tears.
After my little trip to hell, I went to recovery, given a cocktail of morphine and some other drug, which made me want to vomit. When the nausea ended so did my consciousness.
Somewhere in the morphine induced psychedelic hallucination, I could feel my wrist swelling to the size of a tree trunk.
At some point, they evaluated my pain by touching my wrist and decided to give me more morphine. I remember thinking there was something wrong with my other arm. I opened my eyes, looked at my left arm and noticed large oval bumps. I called the nurse, the only thing I remember after that was someone yelling get the doctor…and something about me having a drug reaction….Then MORE happy drugs…
Five hours later, I saw my mother in laws face, not looking so happy.
Two hours later, they cleared me to leave.
Fast forward… a week later and I am trying to figure out what the hell possessed my to allow anyone to insert a large hollow catheter into the wrist of my writing hand. I am still having trouble typing because my wrist gets sore after a while of laying on the wrist rest at the key board, and alas, I have dropped out of NaNo WriMo as I can only write long hand for an extended period. On the flipside, I will be on this earth a while longer to annoy agents, pursue publishers and make the bestseller list.
No major blockages were found.
