Who do you think is more deserving of a freshly picked ripe strawberry, right off the vine… me, or a slimy little slug?
If you were me, you’d say “Me”. If you were the Creator, you’d say “There is plenty for everyone, and we all need to eat. Why don’t you share.”
Yeah, yeah, you old omniscient know-it-all.
This dilemma presented itself to me this afternoon. I picked the most delectable red-ripe strawberry, with its little green hat intact, only to see a baby slug burrowed head first into the side of the berry.
At first I was upset. It stole my berry. Then I thought about what that slug must be experiencing at that moment. Buried head-first into the sweetest fruit in existence. Buried in sweet juice up to her waist. If she looks around her, and all she can see is shiny bright red walls of fresh living breathing strawberry. Inhaling fragrant wafts of berried air. I can’t blame a mollusk for that kind of sensual behavior.
I walked away, leaving her to her feast of the senses. Lucky little slug. The next day I went out looking for ripe berries, and noticed that she hadn’t finished that particular strawberry. It was still hanging on the vine. I turned it over, and there she still was, unmoving. It appears that my berry-rival died of delight in the midst of her feast!
Again, my first reaction was one of anger over deprivation. Jeez, if she was going to die, why couldn’t she leave the strawberry for me and go die under a leaf somewhere? Then again, I thought of what it must have been like for her as she expired. Full gorgeous immersion of the senses in ecstasy right up til the last moment. That slug was probably glowing with gratitude and delight and appreciation of all things good.
I can hardly imagine a better way to leave this world, than being immersed in appreciating every beauty it has to offer. I can hardly imagine a better way to live.
* * * * * *
Thursday, September 02, 2004
THE HARDEST PART OF LEAVING SOMETHING
The hardest part of leaving something, I believe, is the pulling away.
When we are in the mountains, on the land that we hope to live on, we are happy with everything. All decisions feel right. The road ahead seems clearly defined. Motives are good. Then, as we turn into the driveway of the house we love, doubt and anxiety return. How can we leave this nest we’ve woven and feathered? Neither of us travelers has lived anywhere as long a time as we’ve lived here, since childhood. Our personal life-energies are meshed into the walls.
The hard part is looking around at the home and garden we’ve built, and trying to imagine life without them. Trying to imagine someone else living here is strange. I talk with my clients at my wrought-iron table by the fragrant rose garden. Would new owners make as good use of the extraordinary beauty? Surely nobody could appreciate or care for things the way we have. From the vantage point of standing within our nest, leaving seems unimaginable, like cutting off an arm.
All it takes, though, is to drive away from the magnetic field around the place. As soon as we are beyond its pull, we can breathe freely again. Oh yes. A new home. That is clearly imaginable. A life with fewer anchors. That is what we are aiming for. Freedom to develop our new careers without worrying about how to pay the bills. Barring a sudden infusion of cash, this is the way to reach our goals. Oh yeah.
I feel stretched during this time of pulling away. The original idea had been to become free, not to get stuck in nostalgia. It will be a relief when someone buys the house. We can say a fond farewell to it, then walk away. I’m ready to get on with the next step of this journey.
* * * * * *
When we are in the mountains, on the land that we hope to live on, we are happy with everything. All decisions feel right. The road ahead seems clearly defined. Motives are good. Then, as we turn into the driveway of the house we love, doubt and anxiety return. How can we leave this nest we’ve woven and feathered? Neither of us travelers has lived anywhere as long a time as we’ve lived here, since childhood. Our personal life-energies are meshed into the walls.
The hard part is looking around at the home and garden we’ve built, and trying to imagine life without them. Trying to imagine someone else living here is strange. I talk with my clients at my wrought-iron table by the fragrant rose garden. Would new owners make as good use of the extraordinary beauty? Surely nobody could appreciate or care for things the way we have. From the vantage point of standing within our nest, leaving seems unimaginable, like cutting off an arm.
All it takes, though, is to drive away from the magnetic field around the place. As soon as we are beyond its pull, we can breathe freely again. Oh yes. A new home. That is clearly imaginable. A life with fewer anchors. That is what we are aiming for. Freedom to develop our new careers without worrying about how to pay the bills. Barring a sudden infusion of cash, this is the way to reach our goals. Oh yeah.
I feel stretched during this time of pulling away. The original idea had been to become free, not to get stuck in nostalgia. It will be a relief when someone buys the house. We can say a fond farewell to it, then walk away. I’m ready to get on with the next step of this journey.
* * * * * *
BREAKFASTING WITH BIRDS
September 2004
Over the last two long weekends, we shared our al fresco breakfast hour with an assortment of friendly birds.
Some friends of ours, who live in a hand-built solar-powered off-the-grid home on 40 acres way up in the Rocky mountains, have been away. They asked us to house-sit their property, water the plants, and eat the copious crop of organic greens that is just ready to harvest from their circular straw-bale greenhouses.
(They stack straw bales waist high, and fill the center with rich soil. The vegetables planted there receive protection from the cold mountain winds but still get plenty of sun. The thermal mass of the straw radiates heat to the plants throughout the chilly nights. White porous gardening cloth thrown over the top of each circle helps to hold the heat in. It keeps the elks and deer out, too.)
On the deck is a waist-high platform birdfeeder. The morning rooster of the birdfeeder is a large blue Stellar Jay, who squawks until we fill it. Black oil sunflower seeds and millet is on the menu. After Jay jumps around and eats for awhile, the little nuthatches and titmice zoom down in fluttery groupings and squabble over the seed. There is ample room and mounds of seed, but a few of them fight for territory anyway.
When I refill the feeder later in the day, the little black headed flutterers (I’m not entirely sure which variety of bird is which) stand right there on the feeder. They don’t mind my gigantic presence. When Gypsy the dog sticks her wet snuffly nose right into the middle of the bird party, they get upset. It’s funny to hear the birds scolding Gypsy with the loudest peeps they can muster, while she tucks her tail down and sheepishly looks away. Somebody feathery is at the feeder all day long, with various groupings shifting and interweaving and taking turns.
At sundown the birds mysteriously disappear. Deer, elks and foxes begin to emerge silently. Coyotes make their presence known when the moon rises. Their primordial yipping howls wailing through the moonlit darkness, echoing off each hill in turn, invite shivers on my arms and back of my neck. I get the urge to run naked and barefoot through the forest like a wild animal myself, eating berries and hiding in the bushes. Fortunately, the nighttime temperature and the cactus dissuade me from succumbing to the call of the wild.
When we are up in the mountains, with no TV or radio or human neighbors, we are different. We are peaceful, loving people who move gracefully about our duties. At home, we are rushed, harried people who bump into one another on our way to or from the computer or garage or television or kitchen. I like the mountain version of us better. I would swear there is something in the air, down in the towns and cities, that revs up the irritability factor in people. Crowds and traffic and loud music and demanding customers don’t help the serenity factor either. I have read about microwaves from cell phones permeating the atmosphere and vibrating our cells and brains at an uncomfortable frequency. It’s possible, I suppose.
I wonder if our house will sell and we will be able to live farther away from civilization, as we dream. We can make a regular breakfast date with the birds, and schedule a monthly full-moon howl-a-thon with the coyotes. It’s possible, I suppose.
* * * * * *
Over the last two long weekends, we shared our al fresco breakfast hour with an assortment of friendly birds.
Some friends of ours, who live in a hand-built solar-powered off-the-grid home on 40 acres way up in the Rocky mountains, have been away. They asked us to house-sit their property, water the plants, and eat the copious crop of organic greens that is just ready to harvest from their circular straw-bale greenhouses.
(They stack straw bales waist high, and fill the center with rich soil. The vegetables planted there receive protection from the cold mountain winds but still get plenty of sun. The thermal mass of the straw radiates heat to the plants throughout the chilly nights. White porous gardening cloth thrown over the top of each circle helps to hold the heat in. It keeps the elks and deer out, too.)
On the deck is a waist-high platform birdfeeder. The morning rooster of the birdfeeder is a large blue Stellar Jay, who squawks until we fill it. Black oil sunflower seeds and millet is on the menu. After Jay jumps around and eats for awhile, the little nuthatches and titmice zoom down in fluttery groupings and squabble over the seed. There is ample room and mounds of seed, but a few of them fight for territory anyway.
When I refill the feeder later in the day, the little black headed flutterers (I’m not entirely sure which variety of bird is which) stand right there on the feeder. They don’t mind my gigantic presence. When Gypsy the dog sticks her wet snuffly nose right into the middle of the bird party, they get upset. It’s funny to hear the birds scolding Gypsy with the loudest peeps they can muster, while she tucks her tail down and sheepishly looks away. Somebody feathery is at the feeder all day long, with various groupings shifting and interweaving and taking turns.
At sundown the birds mysteriously disappear. Deer, elks and foxes begin to emerge silently. Coyotes make their presence known when the moon rises. Their primordial yipping howls wailing through the moonlit darkness, echoing off each hill in turn, invite shivers on my arms and back of my neck. I get the urge to run naked and barefoot through the forest like a wild animal myself, eating berries and hiding in the bushes. Fortunately, the nighttime temperature and the cactus dissuade me from succumbing to the call of the wild.
When we are up in the mountains, with no TV or radio or human neighbors, we are different. We are peaceful, loving people who move gracefully about our duties. At home, we are rushed, harried people who bump into one another on our way to or from the computer or garage or television or kitchen. I like the mountain version of us better. I would swear there is something in the air, down in the towns and cities, that revs up the irritability factor in people. Crowds and traffic and loud music and demanding customers don’t help the serenity factor either. I have read about microwaves from cell phones permeating the atmosphere and vibrating our cells and brains at an uncomfortable frequency. It’s possible, I suppose.
I wonder if our house will sell and we will be able to live farther away from civilization, as we dream. We can make a regular breakfast date with the birds, and schedule a monthly full-moon howl-a-thon with the coyotes. It’s possible, I suppose.
* * * * * *
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
CHOCOLATE BLUEBERRY LIFE
August 10, 2004
The sun is starting its ascent, up from the darkness of the other side of the earth. A fresh morning is still just a gradual brightening on the horizon. Any minute now, the rays of new light will glance off the remains of an old existence, instantly transforming the vestige into a happy memory behind me.
Our home is being assessed daily, by people looking for their own bright future. Our home will be their holy grail, to transform by their labors into their favorite flavor of dream. Our gift to the eventual buyers is a lovely home to envelop them. Their gift to us will be the freedom to roam and experiment and sample new flavors of dreams until we choose our favorite. I’d like a chocolate home on a blueberry beach with a raspberry mountain behind it, a hot fudge lawn and a big strawberry for a chimney!
The joy is seeping back into me, seeping through the cracks torn in my heart by temporarily losing my sense of security. I don’t want to feel as if it’s the home that anchors and shelters me. Even when I find myself in my own home again, I want to feel anchored on the planet and sheltered by the Creator. There is no loss, no possessiveness, under those conditions. I am always home, always cared for. What a peaceful, secure, wealthy way to live! That sounds like a chocolate blueberry hot fudge life to me.
* * * * * *
The sun is starting its ascent, up from the darkness of the other side of the earth. A fresh morning is still just a gradual brightening on the horizon. Any minute now, the rays of new light will glance off the remains of an old existence, instantly transforming the vestige into a happy memory behind me.
Our home is being assessed daily, by people looking for their own bright future. Our home will be their holy grail, to transform by their labors into their favorite flavor of dream. Our gift to the eventual buyers is a lovely home to envelop them. Their gift to us will be the freedom to roam and experiment and sample new flavors of dreams until we choose our favorite. I’d like a chocolate home on a blueberry beach with a raspberry mountain behind it, a hot fudge lawn and a big strawberry for a chimney!
The joy is seeping back into me, seeping through the cracks torn in my heart by temporarily losing my sense of security. I don’t want to feel as if it’s the home that anchors and shelters me. Even when I find myself in my own home again, I want to feel anchored on the planet and sheltered by the Creator. There is no loss, no possessiveness, under those conditions. I am always home, always cared for. What a peaceful, secure, wealthy way to live! That sounds like a chocolate blueberry hot fudge life to me.
* * * * * *
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
A HEART AT PEACE
August 9, 2004
Hi everyone,
For those who became concerned, here is an update. Three days later, I am feeling pretty much fine. I've had a bothersome mitral valve problem since I was young, so this episode was not reallly a surprise. The intensity and duration were the surprise. I attribute that partially to the stress of what we are doing, and the doctor says that my thyroid was contributing to the problem at this point.
The ol' thyroid is now under better control and I'm experimenting with new mindsets and attitudes of perception that will result in greater relaxation during the changes.
All is well. All will continue to be well. Everything is in its right place. For some reason, I am at peace with the perfection of absolutely everything. Perhaps the health crisis created a context within which our personal instability looks like a piece of cake. No matter what the reason, I am grateful for reprieve from anxiety.
* * * * * *
Hi everyone,
For those who became concerned, here is an update. Three days later, I am feeling pretty much fine. I've had a bothersome mitral valve problem since I was young, so this episode was not reallly a surprise. The intensity and duration were the surprise. I attribute that partially to the stress of what we are doing, and the doctor says that my thyroid was contributing to the problem at this point.
The ol' thyroid is now under better control and I'm experimenting with new mindsets and attitudes of perception that will result in greater relaxation during the changes.
All is well. All will continue to be well. Everything is in its right place. For some reason, I am at peace with the perfection of absolutely everything. Perhaps the health crisis created a context within which our personal instability looks like a piece of cake. No matter what the reason, I am grateful for reprieve from anxiety.
* * * * * *
Sunday, August 08, 2004
Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.
August 8, 2004
The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.
I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.
An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.
The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.
Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”
Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.
The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.
When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.
I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.
Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *
The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.
I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.
An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.
The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.
Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”
Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.
The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.
When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.
I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.
Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *
Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.
August 8, 2004
The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.
I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.
An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.
The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.
Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”
Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.
The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.
When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.
I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.
Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *
The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.
I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.
An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.
The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.
Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”
Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.
The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.
When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.
I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.
Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
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