Yesterday was something new, totally unexpected, and yes, rather frightening. Picture this, if you will; I had finished my workout and was heading to the counter to grab some Tootsie Rolls and to say my goodbyes to the young woman behind the counter. As I put the candy in my pocket, I started to get dizzy…again. “Oh, shit,” I said to nobody in particular, “not again!” You see, about a week before, I had a slight dizzy spell at the same counter, performing the same ‘grab the Tootsies,’ and say goodbye. Evidently, I hadn’t learned my lesson, whatever lesson was being taught by whom or what was doing the teaching. This time, the dizziness did not pass, and I woke up in an ambulance headed for God-only-knows-where.
Waking up in an ambulance isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The most important is that you wake up. I’ve been trying to figure just how long I was out, and it appears that it was one hell of a lot longer than I first calculated. Figure it out: I fainted; they had to call an ambulance service; the service had to arrive and check me out. They then had to load me into the ‘bus,’ strap me in; start an intravenous line, and start on their way…that’s when I woke up…with a mouth so dry that desert sands would blow through and leave not a grain. That’s the way I remember it…not a friggin’ grain of sand would have stuck inside my mouth. Oh, and of course, I pissed my shorts…that was a lovely end to all things that were happening.
Now, when something like this happens, gym personnel are to notify your emergency contact. That’s all fine and dandy except the only number the gym had was my cell phone. Later in the day I listened to the message. “Hello, this is Planet Fitness calling. Richard Bishop fainted and an ambulance is taking him…where are you guys taking him…oh, they don’t know where they’re taking him, but he’s going to some hospital, somewhere and he’s talking.” I’m quite happy it was my phone on which the message was left. Can you imagine getting a message like that when you’re at home? Juli doesn’t panic but even so, I consider that to be the message from hell.
The “I don’t know where we’re going guys” finally agreed that Beth Israel Deaconess Health Care (BIDHC) hospital in Needham would be a good place to drop their bundle. I must have passed out again because the next thing I knew I was laying in the emergency department of a hospital where I had only been a visitor on other occasions. It’s a small community hospital…or it was a small community hospital. It still has only 29 beds, but since it became part of the BIDHC, construction is going on daily…upward, downward, and outward. I was surrounded by nurses, residents and who-knows-who-else and being asked to tell my story over and over and over again. It must be wonderful to be able to tune out if it’s not your question that’s being answered. Of course, it could also be a sneaky way to learn rather or not I’m actually compos mentis…still sneaky.
It appears that I answered everything to the satisfaction of the group, most of whom I didn’t see for the rest of the day, but who cares. The nurse, who was mine for the day – isn’t that a great way to put it – was Erin, but to protect the innocent, we won’t use a last name. Let me just say that the hospital is blessed to have someone with her degree of professionalism and with such a wonderful personality [She doesn’t know it yet but I will be crashing her wedding reception]. The ER doctor on duty was Edward Ullman, M.D., and I give you his last name because it’s one of which to be proud. Doctor Ullman loves the emergency room; he lives for the moments of excitement when he can stabilize a patient and pass them on or send them home. His dedication to his task is enviable. He’s witty without being condescending; he’s thorough without being pompous; he’s everything you want to see and hear when you go into an emergency room situation. Throughout the day, as I waited for this test or that test, in corridor after corridor and in room after room, the staff was terrific. Having to wait even a few minutes for a test to begin brought apologies for the delay. One cardiac test required the injection of thallium. Thallium is a chemical element with an atomic number. It’s a minor radiation makes it, at least at this hospital, something you order only when you need it. Mine had to be schlepped in from Attleboro, some miles away. This particular wait was worth it because the technician was a lovely Japanese lady named “Mako.” It seemed to shock the daylights out of her when I thanked her in formal Japanese. I may not know much, but there are certain things you learn when accepting gifts at a college, and one of them is how to say “thank you” in many, many languages!
I could go on and rave about Mike who transported me all over the hospital, first on my gurney and later in a wheelchair; or talk about the professionalism of Doctor Meghan York, the cardiologist who never appeared to stop moving. There was Philip, the retarded desperate child of Satan – he had the initials RDCS, after his name but I never did learn what they meant. All-in-all, the people I met during my lengthy stay at BIDHC were the same folks I’d like to have sitting in my house, drinking a few beers and just chatting away an evening.
Did they find my problem? No, they did not. However, they eliminated so many potential problems that I left there feeling a whole helluva lot better than when I was wheeled in. Doctor Ullman and I identified potential problems, and I will be following up with my primary care physician. As a piece of advice, I would offer the following: If you work out be sure to keep yourself hydrated. I’m not saying it was the cause for my fainting; I’m not saying it wasn’t. Who knows, but from now on, I will finish an entire bottle before leaving the gym.