Tonight I ate an 81-year-old man’s soup & sandwich

So I’ve been in the hospital emergency room since 4:00pm, it’s now 7:00pm and this nurse hustles in with a tray of food, sets it beside me, pronounces it dinner and hustles away...

Wait, back up.

So for two weeks I’ve been breathless from trivial exertions. Going up stairs. Walking to another room. Bending over to tie shoes. Yet no chest pains nor tightness. And no problems breathing at rest. And no obvious symptoms of pneumonia nor COVID.

Today I finally pushed pause on stupid, and saw a doctor. After X-rays and EKGs, I was sent to an ER on suspicion of having either blood clots in my lungs, or congenital heart failure.

So about that dinner...

It was a tray of crappy choices for a diabetic. Turkey sandwich. Noodle soup. Cake. And coffee, which I don’t drink. I thought it was odd there was no choice, but hey, I’m no ER frequent flier. So, I take a bite of sandwich.

As I’m chewing, another nurse walking by double-takes and stops.

Nurse: “Who gave you that?”

Me: Shrug. “She didn’t give me a name.”

Nurse: “When did they give you a menu?”

Me: “Uh, never?”

Nurse: “Okay, don’t eat that until I check...”

Twenty minutes later, soup’s getting cold, I’m hungry. No way they’re not throwing this away if it wasn’t meant for me. Screw it. I eat the soup & sandwich.

When I’m done, I see the receipt tucked under the coffee. It was for Henri, who was born in 1939. Sorry Henri!

So about that blood clots or heart failure... They do blood tests. A CAT scan. Another EKG. Eventually I get to see a doctor. Me being me, I begin by apologizing for eating Henri’s dinner.

Dr.: “They fed you?” With obvious surprise.

Me: “Well, yes, but —“

Dr.: “This places starves everyone! You were lucky! You get food here, you eat it, you don’t care whose it is!”

So he tells me that I have blood clots in my lungs. They start me on blood thinners for that. My heart appears okay. No arterial blockage. One test shows it’s been stressed, because clots in lungs cause blood “back pressure” to the heart, which strains it. But he suspects as the clots dissolve, my heart will heal.

I’m overnight in the hospital. With a roomate that farts and moans often. I have wires connected to sticky pads all over my chest, and a portable device on my chest the weight of a brick. The night staff are all loud extroverts pushing wheeled carts around. I won’t sleep. There’ll be more tests tomorrow.

But blood clots versus needing a stent or worse? I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Fart on, roomie, fart on.

Thanks for the well-wishes everyone! Glad it was enjoyable.

Hospitals: Where sleep and punctuality go to die. In my limited experience, this one's no worse than others I've endured. This one seems understaffed and over-worked.

COVID tests: I've had one now (negative). I had no idea something that long could fit up my nose...

Henri: Poor guy! I do hope he got something to eat? Maybe he ate someone else's dinner instead? Let's say he did. Probably poor Mrs. Ambruster's in 31A. You cheeky bugger, Henri! There, I feel better already.

Cake: Our daughter ate Henri's cake. She pronounced it "meh" as she ate every bit of it.

My clots: I had ultrasounds of both legs this morning. Apparently I still have a clot in the right leg. Which may not be coincidence, as that's the calf that woke me up two+ weeks ago with a blaring cramp and has been sore since. And two weeks is roughly when the shortness of breath began.

Also clots: I believe the doctor termed mine "unprovoked" which is a medical term for "What caused them? WTHDIK?" No idea. Will they happen again? ""

My gassy roomie: Poor guy. A wizened old man who spoke halting English and often seemed confused. His son arrived in the morning to help interpret. We overheard what the doctor told him, through his son: He needs a stent and probably a replacement heart valve. And he needs them soon. Without those, he's probably got 6-12 months to live.

Doctors: They really, really don't like it when you refuse to stay another night "for observation".

Dr: "So, we're keeping you another night for --"

Me: "Nope. I'm going home today."

Dr: "I really don't recommend --"

Me: "I understand. Nope, going home."

Dr: "But --"

Me: "Can you legally keep me here?"

Dr: "Well, no, but --"

Me: "Okay, then I'm going home."

Dr: "There are risks --"

Me: Yes, I understand."

Dr: "The risks include dying --"

Me: "Yes, I understand."

I explained that I really did understand that he had my best medical interests at heart. And I really do understand the risks -- especially the warning signs that blood thinners are causing internal bleeding. But I got maybe two hours of sleep Friday night, and I feel fine when not climbing stairs or etc, so I just know I'll convalesce better here at home. So, give me the forms to sign. He was grouchy, but I escaped.

And damn, it feels so good to have showered, brushed my teeth, and not be woken every hour by a blood draw. Or a blood pressure reading. Or my poor roomie crapping himself and being cleaned. Or the guy next door screaming "Hello? Hello? HELLO?" every few hours. Or the loud extrovert club at the nurse's station. Or the machines going ping!. Or the medical brick on my chest. Or the intravenous needle in my arm "just in case".

Side note: the pads they use with those portable EKG machines are really really really sticky. And when you have a lot of chest hair, "just rip off that bandaid" sounds better than it actually feels. I now have some perfectly hairless circles on my chest, which makes me feel vaguely like a corn field that's been visited by artsy aliens.