Pincushion

July 29, 2010

Hermetic. Anesthetic. Clean. Sterile. So far that’s what I have discovered about Rhode Island. Not very appealing adjectives when you are looking at the sights and sounds of your new home. Pretty good though if it’s how you might describe the inside of its hospitals. Being that those are mostly what I have been able to see since I’ve been here, I can’t really use any other words.

Yes, I was in the hospital once again last night. Fortunately they didn’t need to keep me over night, but Melissa and I spent the better part of five hours in the emergency room. FUN!!!

Since we moved here I haven’t had a new cardiologist, so we made an appointment for yesterday afternoon. We filled out all the paperwork and then headed back into the examination room which was surprisingly warm and comfortable, not the cold and uninviting I have grown accustomed to. The nurse tried for about five minutes to attach the leads to my chest and abdomen for the standard EKG test while shooting small talk back and forth with Melissa. Eventually she had to acquiesce and shave some patches of hair in order to get the proper connections made. Apparently I was the first patient she had ever needed to shave, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself if not a bit frustrated. Why is it that I can grow hair all over my chest and stomach, but not on the top of my head? Oh well!

After all the fuss and struggle, the EKG took all of thirty seconds to complete. A few minutes later the doctor came in with a very concerned look on her face. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. You should be in the hospital.”

Not really the first words you want to hear from your new doctor.

My heart had fallen back into an irregular rhythm and was beating at close to 180 beats per minute as well. If I was doing wind sprints or catching the winning fifty yard touchdown pass, it might not have been such a problem. But lying down on the table and being at rest, not so good.

So for the second time in a few months, I found myself in the hospital.

The first thing I always tell the nurse when I get there is that I have deep veins that like to hide. I don’t say this trying to tell them how to do their job or anything. It’s just that the least amount of time I can spend as a pin cushion, the better in my opinion. Some of them actually listen and try valiantly to put the IV in on the first stick. Mostly they brush me off and start poking away.

Can you guess what happened last night? Yup. Just call me Pokey. Or I could use the inside joke “Pinboy’! She tried my forearm, she tried my wrist, she tried my left hand, and she tried my right. Finally she realized she wasn’t going to be able to get a good vein. The doctor came over and sarcastically blew out the comment, “We don’t have an IV set up on him yet? Let me do it.”

Then another, I assume more experienced nurse came over and started to argue with her saying that she would do it. Back and forth they went for a few minutes while I sat there holding cotton pads down on my five new blood escape hatches. Eventually the doctor threw up her hands and walked off while the new nurse stomped up to me, tightened the tourniquet around my right forearm and jabbed the needle into the back of my hand.

I could describe the searing pain of a needle piercing the skin and fumbling around the inside of my hand looking for purchase. I could describe how angry I was that here I was again being subjected to endless torture while trying to bring my heart rate down. I could, but at least she got it on the first try. So I decided to be generous and just say thanks.

To be continued…

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