can be a good thing; it certainly makes you appreciate even just moderate health, much like deep hunger makes any food seem delicious.
When I was in the ER yesterday for a few hours, getting treated for some suddenly aggravated breathing problems related to the intersection of a chest cold and my chronic asthma, I was told by both my attending nurse and the doctor on call that I was in relatively good shape, based on my measured lung output and my chest X-rays. And though I was reassured, I wanted to say, great, so why do I still feel like shit?
But I kept my mouth shut - again, the wisdom of the ages - and reflected on the other people I saw and heard being treated there that day. One guy was on a gurney in the hallway, apparently because he was in so much pain from some mysterious damage to the nerves in his feet that he couldn't be moved. He moaned in pain till he was given the maximum pain meds they could administer without knocking him out altogether; then he sang a bit and told lame jokes to his wife who sat silently in a chair next to him. They were having a much worse day than me, that was plain to see.
I was ready to go home.
On a related note, part of the treatment I received was prednisone, an oral steroid I also got when I had my first really serious asthma scare. That time, I went from being in the ICU on a Sunday night with oxygen tubes in my nose to being back at work on Tuesday, carrying a ten-foot-tall oak armoire up three flights of spiral stairs in a Victorian in San Francisco with just one other guy.
I'm not experiencing that same miracle drug bounce, I thought to myself earlier today. Then I realized, hey, bonehead, you were only thirty-two then. Tick-tock.
When I was in the ER yesterday for a few hours, getting treated for some suddenly aggravated breathing problems related to the intersection of a chest cold and my chronic asthma, I was told by both my attending nurse and the doctor on call that I was in relatively good shape, based on my measured lung output and my chest X-rays. And though I was reassured, I wanted to say, great, so why do I still feel like shit?
I was ready to go home.
On a related note, part of the treatment I received was prednisone, an oral steroid I also got when I had my first really serious asthma scare. That time, I went from being in the ICU on a Sunday night with oxygen tubes in my nose to being back at work on Tuesday, carrying a ten-foot-tall oak armoire up three flights of spiral stairs in a Victorian in San Francisco with just one other guy.
I'm not experiencing that same miracle drug bounce, I thought to myself earlier today. Then I realized, hey, bonehead, you were only thirty-two then. Tick-tock.
2 comments:
Understand. Had an incident in early March...blood clots in my leg. I'm okay now except I'm on a prescription med for the first time in my life and the rest of my life...enjoy these days!
Joseph, as the saying goes, this growing old stuff ain't for sissies!
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