Bright Lights and Hospitals

It started sort of like déjà vu. Then it went down a different road, one that led to a roller coaster ride that can only careen into unforeseen tragedy. At any rate, I spent that morning staring up a lot. Between wincing, groaning and swearing off all sorts of vices just to make the pain go, I stared up. And up that morning consisted of ceilings, a glimpse of the dawning sky, and lights.

Really bright lights. That burn an afterimage of gargantuan French Fries into the retina.

The mental projection of that Eskimo wearing Oakley goggles and standing on a patch of ice resurfaced. Soft snow floated down, but I knew I couldn’t taste them. The Eskimo naturally said; “Fucked up again, huh? You never really did learn.”

“Good job reminding me.”

He lit his cigar. “Well, it’s not entirely your fault. You’ll find out. But lets start with exercising in the mornings now, can’t we?”

“Set my alarm then.”

He blew out the smoke, jabbed the cigar at me and walked away.

The doctor looked like he had been watching too many soap operas. He listened to symptoms like cherishing Bach, and talked methodically.

“Could be a stone in the urinary tract,” he said, nodding as though concurring with himself. “Anyway, we’ll find out after the test.” He left, him and his Einstein moustache. I twiddled my thumbs under the covers, wondering where the pain went without any medication administrated.

They then carted me off for a CAT scan, but not before parking me by a random wall. They said there was a line going for the scans. I sure didn’t see any, but maybe they meant the procedural type. So I twiddled my thumbs some more, and nodded at the parents if they looked this way. I’ve already ruined their weekend morning, so reassurance was the next best thing to do.

At the wall was a painting framed by plastic made to look as expensive, engraved wood. I couldn’t tell what it was about - it was one of those abstract pictures, but considering the hospital setting I’d say it must’ve been medical related. It had coagulated colours and crude boils. I was putting my money on the titles like Jimmy’s Acne, or The Cancer Dirge.

The CAT scan was horrifying. Every hum of machinery meant a few hundred bucks gone. I was also getting radiation into the body. They probably mutated something.

They then wheeled me into a room, and told me that the CAT Scan didn’t do the trick well enough, and they had to ultrasound me. I already had a few pregnancy jokes made up but the doctor looked like he needed coffee and candy, so I kept my tongue.

Ultrasound gel feels cold. It dawned that I had a really large gut. Like, huge.

The nurses (attendants?) started talking over me as they wheeled me out of the room. “Could use with some automatic doors,” Dude said. “High-end stuff.” “Yeah, yeah, the expensive ones,” said Dudette. “Like in America.” “Shut up, Shut up,” I said, but only in my head.

The bright lights ran along with the ceiling, burning lines and lines of large French Fries.

The last doctor I had to see looked excitable, and he took time to explain where the problem was with a helpful but distracting graph. He then signed the medication and asked me to come see him in a week’s time. The sound of the door closing also sounding like the cash register going Ka-Ching.

And it did. But at least I get to pay back.

And with that, Saturday afternoon started.

******

That happened last month. I wanted to write about it but I got distracted by having to review StarCraft 2.

It wasn’t serious, but before I was driven to the hospital it felt like it was. If having to wake up to puke water all over the toilet, followed by numbing pain to the gut and creeping tendrils of unconsciousness didn’t do enough to scare me into a hospital trip, I don’t know what else would.

I think it’s time I really wake up for a morning jog. The dogs could do with the exercise too.

*****************

Like that painful morning, the month came and gone. I practically walked out of the hospital and into closing week (there was about seven other days in between, but that flew by too). And because I was so distracted by so many things, I handed up work much slower than usual. Time to buck up this month.

I’ve also been playing a lot of StarCraft II. I’m no good in it; RTSes are never in my gaming forte, but it was undoubtedly a lot of fun, even when losing. Ok, maybe losing every Custom Game match wasn’t so fun, but it kept me playing still.

Right then. Wish me luck.