In and out of the hospital

My long-awaited visit to the GI specialist in Boston was aborted when I ended up in the local emergency room instead.

Don't want to bury the lede, so I'll start by saying I am taking an antibiotic for treatment of an infection and am feeling better, though I was admitted for two days.

It started Monday, when, all dressed for yoga, I started feeling achy. I took my temperature and it was 101.2. I was getting chills and feeling worse and worse. From my position lying down on the couch, I called Dr. Alyea and asked if I could now be like a normal person and wait it out. He said no, go to the emergency room. Joe was in Boston, so I called Meryl. What a mensch. (I was going to write mensch-ela, but I looked the word up and found out that although the word is usually used for an honorable, just man, it is an equal opportunity word.)  I threw up in her car (successfully into a bag, unlike the time I threw up into a bag with holes in Joe's car), and, thankfully, she did not throw me out.

It was dark by now, and when we got to the Baystate Medical Center emergency room in Springfield, we encountered a scene from hell. Tons of people, some bleeding, some screaming, some fainting. When I used the words "bone marrow transplant," they put me higher on the list, below acute problems but above the routine. I put on a mask and we waited it out in a corner away from the crowd.

After a couple of hours, I got a bed in the emergency room, and Joe came to relieve Meryl. Another mensch. I can't even count the hospital trips he's made with me. The ER doctor called Alyea, who told her I was his "miracle patient" and should be admitted for observation. I got a room at 4 a.m.

Though the caregivers were fine,  the system was a little discombobulated. I had given my information – history and meds – in the emergency room, yet when I got into a room, I was questioned at length by a nurse and trainee who said they had nothing in their computer and would have to start from scratch. "So, you had a liver transplant?" the nurse asked. "No, bone marrow transplant!" I replied. Having to go through it again when you're feeling sick is not fun.

Also, you could get even sicker from the food there, or, forgive the exaggeration, maybe even starve. I guess I am spoiled by Brigham and Women's, but still, fix-it chef Robert Irvine of "Restaurant: Impossible" would have a field day in Springfield. You couldn't get a baked potato, but you could get inedible packaged mashed potatoes. Surely it's less expensive to buy potatoes than to use the packaged junk. I asked for pot roast and mashed potatoes without gravy plus a chocolate pudding; it came with gravy, and the pot roast tasted like I imagine cardboard would taste like. There was no chocolate pudding. My nurse said to ask for turkey with gravy on the side instead; when it came about an hour later, I got a double order of the same pot roast, two chocolate puddings and turkey with gravy.. You couldn't even eat the broccoli, which was a grayish color. The woman who brought the food seemed upset with me, insisting I had asked for a double order of the same bad pot roast. What a waste of food.

My roommate gave me a banana, and I had that with chocolate pudding. Obviously if I was going to be there longer, I would have asked the troops to come in with real food. As it was, Chip brought me a Coke because all they had was some flavored cola. A little bit of real Coke can go a long way.

Barry came and got me out yesterday. (Thanks, Barry and Chip.) It was a nice day, and I asked Barry if he wanted to go for a walk. He said only to the corner and don't call him if I take a longer walk and get into trouble. I told Joe later, and he approved.

Having had no MSNBC in the hospital, I really wanted my "Hardball" fix, but the three Boston teams were on all at once, so I watched with Joe as the Celtics, Red Sox and Bruins all won. Among Joe's many talents, he has mastered the art of the clicker, changing channels at the commercials so you get to see some of everything. Sometimes this can be annoying, but I was into it last night. I saw my three-pointers, my goals and my home runs. I often miss the goals in hockey ("Can't they make the puck florescent?" I asked) but I definitely saw two and saw the others in replay. Then we watched "Modern Family."

Very sweet.

Flat on my back

Saturday, walking the dog around the lake, I made it about 3/4 around and then felt like my feet couldn't go anymore. I was going to sit on a step but instead toppled back and fell on my back, banging my head on the cement and also landing hard on my wrist.

Some of the usual walkers at Mt Holyoke offered help; I asked if they could help help pull me up to seated, which they did. I called Joe, who is home, and he got me and the dog in the car. By the way, the dog behaved perfectly, sitting down beside me.

So once at home Joe said to call the doctor. I resisted. "Then I'll just spend the whole night in the emergency room." "Well, you know you should call." So I did, and the doctor said to go to the emergency room. We might as well have driven to Dana Farber, but I thought our local ER, at Baystate Medical Center, would be quicker, and then they would send me home. I pretty quickly got a bed, and the testing began. A cat-scan of the neck and x-ray of the hand proved normal, for starters.

Basically, because of the continuing dehydration, my potassium was high, my sodium was low and my kidneys were struggling. This all played into my weakness, plus the higher prednisone. Also it probably fed into my murky mental state.

They immediately put me on fluids and my levels started to normalize. I ended up getting a bed and staying up until about 4 a.m. because of one thing or another. They couldn't register me or find my paperwork in the ER. They noticed there was another admit a few floors away: Ronnie Gordon, and they checked to see if my files and stuck to hers. Nope. So they had to start at the beginninng. ARGH! I was tired.

Next morning I had a slightly strained discussion with a doctor about him talking to Dana-Farber. He said he hadn't called, didn't need to, but would put in a call when the testing was complete. He walked out, re-entered just as quickly, and said he had talked to Dana-Farber and I was going there by ambulance. Quick change.

The kids were total mensches. I said I could go alone, but Katie and Joe said I'd be lonely. So Katie rode in the ambulance with me and Joe followed behind with the car. Ben and Jim had been on the phone sharing their conviction that I should not stay at Baystate. Joe organized everything so well that I felt perfectly taken-care of and didn't have to worry about a thing. He also noticed that for the past several years it seems that just after coming home from college, one of the first things he's done is take me to the hospital. Says I must be allergic to him.

The Dana-Farber doctors (I saw a lot of them) said that Baystate did everything they would have done here. Still, they repeated every test.

Once here, I amused myself by trying to get the correct menu. Last night someone erroneously gave me the kidney menu, which was for patients a little worse than I. It had low sodium and low protein, both of which I need. I finally got a doctor who said he's sign off on the regular menu, then he disappeared. My night nurse came and disappeared into a patient's room to do chemo, which is their first priority. Also my saline drip, which is supposed to go constantly, was not connected. So, getting a little angry, I walked about into the hall. The nurse was sitting there. She said she'd take a break from the chemo to get me a menu. By the time that she gave it to me, the dining services was closed. I walked back out and said I really needed food. She and another nurse found a bagged tuna lunch in the fridge. So, naturally, I took it. Then the other nurse came in and hooked me up.

No big deal, I know. Just an example of life in the hospital. At some point in my many stays, I've usually had trouble getting the right food.

In any case, I'll probably be here for a couple of days, when hopefully Joe will be able to pick me up. In the meantime, here I sit at Brigham and Women's, where everyone knows my name.