The Cod God be Sicketh- Part 2

Wednesday 5/20

Let the misery commence….

My day begins by waking up with severe pain and having to ring my buzzer three times over the course of an hour just to get a shot of morphine. The last time that I was in this hospital for the same problem they immediately hooked me up to one of those pumps that let you shoot yourself up every so often. For some reason, even after I asked, I didn’t get one this time around. Man, I would kill for one of those now.

After listening to Mr. I’m-A-Famous-Artist for half OF the day they find, and move me to, a more appropriate room. Unfortunately, this one isn’t a private room either and I’m amongst all the old bastards that are on their way out. All of a sudden, a few days in the hospital don’t seem so bad.

My new roommate is as older guy named Don who ends up being in here for the same thing as me. He’s been fighting his for 22 years, though. Apparently he went on a straight-vodka bender that landed him in the hospital for the 3^rd time in 3 months. Hell, even back when I could drink a lot I couldn’t have done that. I probably would have keeled over after the 2^nd day.

Don has been in at least 40 times in his life and this is the first time that he ever admitted drinking to the doctor. Jesus, and I thought that I was dumb.

Anyways, he was totally cool and we got along great.

This day sucked….bad. I could only eat ice chips and the nurses took their sweet fucking time giving me a shot. If any of you have ever been in severe pain, every minute seems like an hour. I was ready to take the big plunge but I would have had to climb over Don and that would have made for an awkward moment or two. I make it a rule to not get into a strange man’s bed until he has at least bought me a drink….or asked me nicely.

That’s about all there is to report for this day. Lots of TV, lots of pain and lots of lying in bed.

Thursday 5/19

Today started out ok.

I woke up after the first decent night of sleep that I have had in some time to a surprisingly reduced amount of pain. Of course, I immediately began dreaming of going home in the next day or so….and cheeseburgers. Nothing to do but sit and wait.

After my doctor leisurely rolled in around 11-fucking-30, she decided that I could actually try eating more than ice chips. I could have some liquid!!

Oh yeah, good times. If I’m REALLY lucky I may be able to have some cream of chicken soup tonight.

Oh, lucky day

One thing that is not only concerning me, but the wife as well is that she hasn’t called in a specialist to check me out yet. The last time that I came in for pancreatitis I had two gastroenteroligists trying to fix me (an impossible task) to go along with my regular doctor. Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on. After all, her grandfather is C. Everett Coop. Anyone who is related to a guy who sported a kickass whaler’s beard must know something. Right?

After a lovely lunch of chicken broth and red jello, I was feeling so pumped up I did a half a sit-up in bed.

One thing that is becoming more and more of a problem is that it is taking the nurses longer and longer to bring me anything. I know that they are busy and all, but jesus, it took an hour on two consecutive occasions to get their ass in my room. We’ll just have to see what happens tonight.

Wow. Another filling dinner of broth, jello and an Italian Ice. I’m living large, Yo.

A quick aside…. after lying in bed while watching TV and starving to death I have come to the conclusion that the reason that us Americans are so fat is that every other ad on TV is for food. Pay attention to the amount of ads some time, it’s ridiculous. My fat ass would’ve never noticed if I weren’t watching the Food Channel with a fervor usually reserved for the local pervert at an All-You-Can-See peepshow.

Well, we’ll see how I feel tomorrow when I wake up. I might actually be able to ingest something that involves the use of a utensil….not that I use them.

Friday 5/20- The Wrath of Missy

I woke up today all wound up and ready to go. I wasn’t very sore and the Dr actually rolled her ass out of bed before noontime to let me know that I can try and eat something real today! Immediately I heard a bell ringing and some fat, drunk guy with a dirty apron sticking his head around a covered wagon and screaming “COME AND GET IT!!!”

I perused that menu with as much gusto as Bill Clinton cruising for heifers after the local Weight Watchers meeting gets out. After about .6 seconds of deliberations, I ordered the first thing that I saw. Scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice were the choice.

It was like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one!

After gobbling down the best damn eggs ever, I sat back for a while feeling quite happy and content. Hell, after going 5 days without food and then being allowed to eat some, it’s better than sex. (sorry Missy, but it is)

Then the pain hit.

It started off innocently enough with just a twinge or two of pain about an hour or so after I finished the best damn eggs ever. At first, I thought that it was just my stomach adjusting to having something solid in it for the first time in a while.

But, I was wrong.

It became worse and worse and the afternoon went on. Of course, (I'm assuming) the sadistic nurses thought that I was exaggerating and hamming it up a bit just to get some more drugs. Obviously they had never been through this type of pain before, because if you had, you’d be one sympathetic bastard. I know that I would be. And don't give me any of that feministic "giving birth is the worst pain ever...blah blah blah" crap. If it was that bad, there wouldn't be anyone with more than one child in this world. Now shut up, get back in the kitchen and cook me something. You'll get your reward later....if you're lucky.

After my usual shot didn’t touch the pain at all, I finally convinced the fat-bitch nurse to call the doc. About an hour later the nurse came in and informed me that doctor feel-bad had okayed a “one-time” additional dose of morphine. After getting shot up, I knew that I was in trouble when that didn’t work at all. Unfortunately, no one except the wife believed that I was still in so much pain.

Now, I had asked for a “on-demand” pain medication pump when I first got in there but ole Doc-Ignore-Whatever-My-Patient-Says shit on that idea from the get go. Now I was paying the price.

After those rocket scientists watched me flopping around like a epileptic mackerel, they came to the conclusion that I may be “in a bit of discomfort.”

Yeah.

Discomfort.

That’s it.

Listen nursie…let me show you the kind of “discomfort” that I am in. I’ll run your boobs through a wood planer four or five times. That ought to do it, you moron.

Hell, at that point I would have gladly spanked it with a fistful of thumbtacks while bathing in a tub full of vinegar than to be going through what I was.

Discomfort. Hmmph.

Anyways, after they tracked down super-doc and explained my “discomfort” to her, she “allowed” me another shot. Luckily, that one put enough of a damper on the pain to keep me from ending it all by doing a double-gainer with a half-twist out of my window. Still, she still didn’t ok the pump. What do I have to do? Have my pancreas burst through my chest like “The Thing” and latch onto her face?

The wife had gone home at this point but had called in a little later on just to check in and see how I was doing. After she heard what had gone down, she wasn’t very impressed with anyone at the hospital. It was like they were ignoring what I was saying and acting like they were doing me a favor just to come into my room. Actually, they probably were. I can just imagine how hard it must be to stop eating after you’ve waddled your fat ass to the horse trough to chomp on some pig-slop. Hell, my nurse would waddle in like her table scraps were only on her 2^nd stomach at the time and she needed some more time so it could finish digesting in her 4^th stomach.

Anyways, the wife finally had enough of getting the runaround from everyone and decided to call the doctor’s office herself to see if another doc was on call….preferably ours. What she got was forwarded to another hospital in the area. Apparently, the hospital has some sort of call-in service where they can determine if you need emergency help or whatnot. Well, Missy mentioned what was going on up here and the nurse there was just incredulous. The nurse said that she would immediately call the doc herself and let her know what was going on.

Now, just for the record, I’m not comfortable going over anyone’s head like that but the wife knew that I was hurting and with her wanting to be the only woman to cause me excruciating pain in my life, she was having none of it.

Surprisingly (not!), 10 minutes after she hung up there was a “physician call” for my nurse. 5 minutes after that the nurse in my room tending to my every need. Well, not every need (unfortunately) but you get the picture.

The rest of the night went fairly smooth through a morphine glow with the exception of one hour and a half stretch where I couldn’t get anyone to come in to my room. Not only for me, but my roommate was having some kind of breathing fit as well and I had to flag a nurse down as she wandered by so he wouldn’t drop dead right next to me. Not exactly the best service that I have ever encountered.

Part 3 will be coming on Monday night or Tuesday morning...