Five weeks ago, I was discharged from the hospital. I almost died… again. I think I should just stop taking leaks at four o’clock in the morning. I felt my heart accelerating to hot girl alert, and it was especially alarming because when I looked around, there weren’t any hot girls in sight. I was pissed that I pumped with no reward, so immediately called nursie to see what was wrong.
Hoping she’d give me a reason for laughter by listening to the right side of my chest again, she instead placed her ear on my left nipple as I sighed with disappointment. I realized it was serious when she told me of its severity, though I had doubts when my blanket was also flush with inmate orange. She confirmed that I should book an appointment with the cardiologist.
After her shift was over, I felt the acceleration worsening and immediately called upstairs to my parents. It was getting to the point where my entire body was freezing cold, while I shivered so much that I could hardly pucker up for that cute paramedic honey. While dad was calling 911 and mom continued dressing me, I complained that I didn’t want to wear my favourite sports jacket, in case they had to cut it open. I said to father in my final words, “Don’t… give… my books… away… for free!!!”
It was only when the paramedics arrived that I realized I wasn’t dying. They were all men! Without glasses, I tried squinting to determine if the person at the door was a girl, but alas, another disappointment. I wasn’t necessarily afraid of dying. I just didn’t want to run over the bucket because I still had so much to do, like begetting five hundred babies, for example.
As they took me to the ambulance via a stretcher, I felt my butt going numb from the hardness. I was in an awkward position, mainly because of the stainless steel rods in my back from a spinal fusion surgery years ago. There was an angled gap underneath me for an animal community to reside, and the rain didn’t help. I of course, had to pick the stormy day!
The ride was a bumpy one, but at least I got a bunch of free supplies. Mom went along, while dad got the rest of my things for the hospital stay. It was probably already six o’clock once I was delivered. I remained in the hallway for a period of time, and what did you expect? I was promoting my book to the paramedic. I was moved to a temporary room afterwards, where I waited an hour for a bed in emergency. I of course, had to pick Monday, the day of drunken weekend douche bags!
Rewind to an hour ago.
Inside the temporary room, my arms were going super numb and I had to be cushioned all over the place. I eventually consumed all their blankets and bed sheets. During that time, mom called dad to remind him to bring my glasses and books to sell. I was potentially dying, but still a businessman. Then my blood was drawn from the foot because my arms couldn’t stretch properly. It reminded me of a certain woman at the healthcare centre who did the same and told mother and I that she had a foot fetish, on an annual basis.
When another paramedic took over… need I even explain what I did? He (yes, another dude) was surprised that I spent a little over five years writing a four hundred plus page book and wanted a copy, and all I wanted was to go home and press the upload button for my official website! And when dad arrived, he forgot my books!
Before getting a bed, I was probed like a human guinea pig to see if anything was wrong, except, they only checked my heart when the palpitations were gone. I definitely wanted to force myself to get anxious and induce an attack, but was afraid to provoke number two since I took a laxative the night prior. Rice is binding, okay?
Getting transferred to emergency was easier than I thought. It was only several feet away. I was asked a bunch of questions and tested some more until the doctor came in, basically informing me of even more tests that were coming. I wasn’t nervous or anything. I just had to go poo.
While being monitored, nothing extraordinary was detected, even when I had palpitations that came occasionally. The numbers never changed when it felt like my heart was beating too rapidly, or skipped a beat, so I figured it was probably anxiety. However, the doctor deemed it necessary for me to remain in the hospital for a couple nights, over at the Intensive Care Unit.
Both my nurse from that day and sister (from about an hour away) came to visit me, which was rather moving, but still I had to poo! So during the wait for a bed in the ICU, I was transferred to my commode and lo, the toilet seat aligned exactly with the bottom of the “privacy” curtains.
“Great, just great… now my entire dongle is on public display… for all medical professionals, visitors, and that bat-shit crazy woman next door!!!”
Obviously, after emptying out, I had to replenish myself. I only had an Ensure, juice, and water since the early morn, and it was almost eight o’clock in the evening already.
Returning to my wheelchair was an even greater feat considering that it was too much of a hassle to get my pants back on. I was afraid of getting poked in the ass by the armrest stump, but sat on a blue sheet resembling that of a, sigh… diaper. When I tried engulfing that sandwich from the cafeteria for rich people, another nurse came in to take me. My stomach was stark raving hungry as she wheeled me upstairs, and after the elevator ride, we followed the giant red dots on the floor.
“Is that blood?!” I asked.
It was then that time suddenly froze when I caught a glimpse of heaven in the form of an angelic silhouette behind the frosted glass window. I almost had a heart attack when the doors were opened and was in the land of sugar and spice and everything nice. Intensive Care was intense.
The kindest eyes and smiles filled the air as irregular heartbeats didn’t seem abnormal anymore. I was like a groundhog that just ate a leaf of lettuce sprayed with a cayenne pepper solution.
She looked into my eyes and I gazed deep into hers. We had a connection, while I had a tingling sensation, but realized it was just the cool saline she was injecting in my veins. Damn it. Then I almost fainted, but realized I needed food, so finally started my nine o’clock feast. I was racing time with each and every bite as one of my parents had to return home while the other stayed behind. I don’t think I’ve ever finished drinking a litre of water in only five minutes.
After freshening up, the hospital redeemed itself when the launch sequence for hot girl alert was finally initiated. Two young nurses entered my room and all the wires and junk were about to pop off. Somehow, they managed to get me up in the air via the ceiling lift amid the forest of tangled circuitry. I felt a cool summer breeze, but immediately remembered something in horror. I had no pants!
And so I prayed that the ICU babes wouldn’t look up because a) there was an expedition underneath involving my bare buttocks, and b) the stupid blue sheet was stuck between my sweaty ass cheeks! Face-palm much?
The moon eventually returned to orbit when I was transferred back to bed. My aunt did the physiotherapy while mom was cleaning up, and we all waited for dad to return from home and take over because it was more trouble to teach the staff my ridiculous routine. However this time, he remembered to bring my books and I was like Donald Trump, only with hair that I voluntarily buzzed away.
I suppose hot girl alert truly became a reality when the palpitations came back. Ha, she even had to tranquilize me in the middle of the night with all that excitement!
I awoke to yet another reincarnation of the foot fetish woman, starving. I couldn’t have breakfast without the risk of choking to death and the starvation continued while lunch was also on hold. There were so many appointments that required me to stay in bed. I had an empty stomach until four o’clock in the afternoon, but ended up stuffing myself silly with a pair of meals, along with the dinner in the middle of my anti-fast. I was eating for more than two hours straight. I never had hospital food that good.
Of course, I had to be tranquilized again on the second night, but fortunately, was approved for a discharge the next morning. The cardiologist said that although the numbers showed nothing, my heart was still weak resulting from the effects of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, but I was already told that in 2003.
Strangely enough, while I was given a truckload of new medications, they never prescribed the tranquilizers that took away the irregular heartbeats. I went home nervous as junk without the drugs, taking Gravol instead as a temporary measure against potential palpitations. Yet when I finally got my precious pills, I didn’t even need them.
Then I had aspiration pneumonia after choking on a piece of broccoli that was the size of a thumb, my reward for eating vegetables. I swear the narcotics are for my family.
But last week, I sold a whopping TWENTY-ONE books and yesterday, returned home from two stores and both agreed to help me sell Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain. Did I mention that one of them is Chapters, the largest book store chain in Canada?! A book “signing” event has been arranged for next month, while the local newspaper will probably be involved.
I think I need another Ativan…
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