No Stickers for You!

Man, it's been one crazy week. I was hauled off in an ambulance at the stroke of midnight because of dizziness so intense, I could barely walk. My wife was a little upset because four firemen and two paramedics were in the way and making it difficult to fulfill my dying commands. In my opinion, the firemen were kind of hot, but to each their own. I realize dying wishes can be very demanding. One of my last requests was to pack my iPad, which seemed very reasonable to me.

A little dramatic background music, please. I have an autoimmune disease called ulcerative colitis. It's simplest definition means, I have to poop and I have to poop right now. Not five minutes from now but right f#$&-in now. In other words, it is not a glamorous illness. As the seasons change every year, unusual bonuses come with this often fun disease. Sometimes I get a rash, erythema nodosum, abdominal pains, or, in my Dr. Google opinion, extreme dizziness. The equation: have to poop right now + too dizzy to walk = potential disaster.

Back to my adventure. The paramedics decided to take me to St. Mary's Hospital in Tucson rather than the local hospital, as they decided it was a great night for a drive. What the hell, it's a pandemic, and I haven't been anywhere lately, so let's saddle up and get the hell out of Dodge! Yippee, ki yo ki yay. I have to admit, things were going smoothly as I chatted things up with the young EMT. I figured at his young age, he could use some wisdom from an old seer. We discussed family, life during the pandemic, and, of course, erectile dysfunction. Old men are just full of cheery subjects past the witching hour. My newest amigo said vertigo is very common among the elderly and extremely hard to find the cause. Great, it’s equivalent to taking the old hardly running clunker to the auto repair shop and they tell you can't find anything wrong. That will be 200 dollars, please, for our valiant effort. Ambulance rides are not cheap so I really don't want to hear we can't find anything wrong. I figured he is just an EMT and I am a certified Google M.D.

At last, we arrive at the old, but very scenic, St. Mary’s Hospital. I should mention here my nightly homemade meds had not totally worn off. The paramedics start to get my gurney off the ambulance. I'm comfortably strapped in and feeling safe as my entry to the Catholic Hospital is about to commence. The song “Yes Jesus Loves Me” pops into my head. Odd, I have to admit.

People have asked me if I was scared. The answer is, not really. My thoughts were with my violin teacher. Without me, the only student she had left was an eight year old. I knew I had to hang on so she could still eat every three days or so. When you’re a young maestroess (made that word up) teacher, goth band member, and arteeeest every penny matters. Especially since the board of education in Arizona pays with the valuable copper but they don't allocate enough to make a decent living. So, educators need other means to earn these cents. The saying goes, nocents is nonsense.

Well, as my unload from the ambulance commences, suddenly the ambulance ramp unlatches and, boom, it crashes to the ground 30 feet down. Ok, maybe only three feet. Remember, I was still under the herbal spell. The gurney, with me in it, rolls at blazing speed toward the hospital’s parking lot. It reminded me of being on Splash Mountain and the only thing between my runaway gurney and imminent demise is the older ambulance driver.

Wham! He takes a huge hit and goes down in a heap.

All thoughts of my violin teacher’s fate escape into the air and I’m thinking, I’d better get my dizzy butt unbuckled and see if my newest hero is ok. Holy shit! His sidekick jumps out and checks if he’s going to get up. Slowly but surely, the older man gets to his feet. I have to admit, I was very grateful that he seemed to be doing well. Wobbly, but walking and talking. I could be charged with attacking an EMT with a dangerous gurney. In Arizona, the penalty is five to ten years in state prison. You never know, it is 2020. I asked the younger guy if ambulance ramp failure is unusual. He says it's the first time in five years something like this has happened. The cause, a piece of paper clogged the gears. I was almost done in by a lousy piece of paper. What an odd poker hand fate can deal.

It’s always good to enter the E.R. with a bang. Before I prattle on, I’d like to give my kudos to these and all the first responders in Green Valley. The job done in our community is second to none and was one of the many reasons we chose to retire in this little town. The moral of the story is simply, Shit Happens. I did tell the boys because of the oopsy doopsy, they were not getting any stickers. My wife forgot to pack them anyway.

I was excited and curious to discover what the hell was going on in my old body. I blame my colitis for everything. Climate change = colitis. Human selfishness = colitis and, of course, Fruit of the Loom stock increase = colitis. Colitis won't kill you but it can sure alter lifestyles.

This wasn't my first rodeo. I have been to the E.R. maybe a half dozen times but only twice in the life-saving iron chariot. Entrance is very important. Usually, when I show up, I'm not dressed to kill, so engaging the staff with witty humor is the key to good emergency service. Bringing a boom box when entering the E.R. would be an even better way to attract the attention of the best nurses and doctors.

The two crucial questions you must know are your name and your date of birth. I really don't know what happens if you fail to answer these correctly. It could be a ramification that one does not care to think about. I'm assigned my room, and on the wall directly in front of me is a crucifix of Jesus on not one of his better days. This is a fairly normal knickknack in a Catholic hospital.

The nurse comes in and asks, ”What is your name and date of birth?”

See, I told you so. I figured this is the perfect time to fire out some wit.

”Nurse! The cross of our Savior is slowly turning upside down.”

This doesn't elicit the response I expect. It's possible that she is either too young to have seen the Exorcist or not a fan of the horror genre.

With a straight face, she asks, ” When you fell, did your head hit the floor?”

I have no idea where this question came from.

My answer, “I didn't fall.”

The doctor on duty comes in and asks for my name and date of birth. Told Ya. She wants to know if my head hurts from my fall. I have no idea where this falling shit is coming from but I do try to nip this in the bud.

“Mr. Lukomski, we will be doing a variety of tests. Please relax and the technicians will be in shortly,” the doctor said.

Relaxing is something old people are truly good at.

It's a damn good thing I had years of practice at being the town drunk. Never in a zillion years did I think this skill would come in handy in my elder years. The first contestant is the blood drawing lady. She comes in and I can't tell if the phlebotomist is happy to be here or not with the mask she is wearing. The young lady just stabs and runs. Actually, like the EMT, she stabs a lot in search of my elusive vein. Unlike the EMT, however, she perseveres in the bloodletting procedure until her mission is a success, but not before she asks for advice from a senior Nosferatu. After this, I am starting to feel like a voodoo doll owned by a “you’ve done me wrong” bitter girlfriend.

Next up to bat, is the x-ray technician with the CT scan person in the on-deck circle.

She approaches my new abode and asks, ”What is your name and date of birth?” Followed by, ”When did you fall?”

I give her the information and proceed to explain that I did not fall and I believe that the Earth is round. I didn't want to give her the idea I was a Flat Earther. I may be old but I still have my pride, but thanks to the hospital gown, not much dignity.

Of course, the x-ray tech felt it was necessary to add, ”That wasn't hard now.”

This seems to be a relatively popular phrase for the medical staff to convey to the very young and the very old.

Next up was the CT lady.

As she wheeled me down for my cat scan she asked, ”What is your name and date of birth?”

I was going to rudely respond, ”Just look at my damn hospital bracelet.”

I thought better and figured I’d better play the game and get this over with. We arrived at the CT room for my headshot and she requested I slide over to another bed on wheels. I explained due to my lightheadedness that might be easier said than done. I was feeling kind of leery after my thrill ride out of the ambulance.

While managing this tricky maneuver, the young woman inquires, ”When did you fall?”

Man, these people are like a broken record. I'm again whisked away to my little chapel with the upside-down crucifix. Nobody seems to be concerned about the cross.

A very special guest, my E.R. physician makes a return visit. Hot damn, she'll fix me up! She’s the big Kahuna, the woman with all the answers.

“I would like you, with the help of your nurses, to walk around the E.R,“ she requests.

I was still pretty dizzy but my past experience of being over-served at local honky-tonks may serve me well in my current predicament. At this point, the dizziness would be equal to six beers and a sipping pint. At my current age, this would border on alcohol poisoning but in my heyday was just an excellent beginning for a great Friday night. So off we go. Round and round we go, where we stop nobody knows. By leaning on various counters I'm able to stagger back to my accommodations. That people, was a total rush and in my opinion quite excessive.

Her excellency states, ”You are free to go! All of your tests look good and your fall didn't cause any damage we can find.”

For at least the tenth time in the last four hours, I explain, “I didn't fall.”

”What about my dizziness? Aren't you going to test my digestive system for a possible problem or how about my ears?”

The E.R. doctor gets out her ear testing gadget and says, “Your ears are wonderful.”

I've always had cute ears. I think the hair growing in them now is taking away a little bit of their charm. Old age is not especially pretty.

“Just in case, can I get a Covid test?” I ask the lady of medicine.

She responds, ”Without a fever, we don't give a Covid 19 test.”

In hindsight, I should have just told them I fell and not mentioned the upside-down crucifix.

The doctor suggested I see my primary care physician in a week and pointed me to the exit. I call up my bride and back to Green Valley we go. A little poorer, ambulance rides aren't free, but wiser. When you become a senior citizen just tell the medical people what they want to hear. In the long run, it's a lot easier.

My name is Andy Lukomski, born 1/11/49 and I did fall.