Photo of my mother’s hospital visit and my left arm with the “Penguin Pox”
On November 25, while visiting family in Colorado for Thanksgiving, I started feeling ill. Mostly, I had the classic symptoms of altitude sickness; tight chest, heavy breathing, headache, lightheadedness. The next day I had a fever and was feeling wrong. I also had developed red spots on my face, neck, arms and legs.
On Thursday I went to the emergency room with a resting heart rate of over 120 beats a minute. They put me on an IV to hydrate me, took some Xrays and a CT of my chest. They were afraid of a blood clot, which was negative. They said the spots were a viral infection and said I had a light case of bronchitis. They medicated me and sent me home.
That night the spots on my body became so painful I could hardly walk. This meant I stopped drinking water, as I couldn’t get up to us the rest room. So on Friday, back to the ER I went. They took me by ambulance to a better hospital in Colorado Springs, as they also wanted to get me to a lower altitude.
By the time I got to Memorial General, I could no longer stand. During my 5 days in hospital, I had a fever of 106, had a biopsy, a spinal puncture, was on oxygen, given lots of drugs, many with needles, and had what seemed to be half my blood taken for tests. There was another Xray and CT scan; I had a constant headache and the spots kept me unable to get comfortable and sleep more than an hour. But also, I could barely stay awake for more than hour at best. My esophagus was pained and even simply rolling from one side to another would have me winded; breathing heavily for a few minutes and elevating my heart rate again.
I was finally well enough to go home on Tuesday to be taken care of by Dr. Mom. But I really longed to be home. So my friend Ra came to the rescue by flying out on Thursday, a week after Thanksgiving, and flying me home on Friday, a week after I was originally scheduled to head back home.
And now, a week after getting out of hospital, I’m still recovering. The spots still exist and cause me a bit of discomfort. My headache is gone but I still feel ill, sort of like a flu, but not as intense. My esophagus, which has been giving me a lot of trouble, is much better. It often tickles a bit and makes me cough. I walk like an old man.
I’ve been assured that I’m not contagious, even though at first, anyone coming into my hospital room had to don a special gown, gloves and a mask. They don’t know what caused my spots, known as Erythema Nodusum. They said going in that they may never be able to identify the underlying virus that infected my system. But they did try, I have the track marks to prove it; on both arms.
In the days after being released, I kept thinking of the things that went through my head while in the hospital. I can’t remember everything, but I wrote down all that I could. Some of it is quite profound, so I thought I’d share it. Following are some of the thoughts and memories I have during my stay in the Springs.
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The family was concerned about the degree to which I snore. Last year at Thanksgiving, in Texas, I wound up sleeping in a tent near the house at my Aunt and Uncle’s ranch.
This year, with a house full of family and being the only single, I was positioned to sleep on the couch fold-out in the central TV room between the two bedrooms. Each day I did a snore check with my family members, who all seem to have to get up a few times a night, so I know they’d be able tell me, and be brutally honest about it as well. Each day I got the all clear, no snores! After the 3rd night I was admitted to hospital after getting a viral infection.
Now the next time someone complains about my snoring, I’ll tell them to go to hell, the last time I stopped for someone it put me in the ER!
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I closed my eyes and I saw a vibrant red ruby floating in the blackness.
I closed my eyes and I saw a sea of what looked like pot leaves. Just the outlines.
I closed my eyes and I saw an ornate black on black texture, very rich looking. In the near distance was a rapidly spinning shiny object. It seemed to be casting off diamonds as it spun. It was shaped like a thimble and spun faster and faster, the bright white diamonds flying from it in all directions, like a mirror ball casting off white light. I was amazed by it and have never seen anything so beautiful in my head before.
I closed my eyes and I saw bushes outside a window.
I closed my eyes and I saw a man standing behind me. His fist was in my chest, clutching it and making me hurt.
I closed my eyes and I saw a huge crowd, as in a stadium, cheering me.
I closed my eyes and I saw a huge throne in front of a large window. It was a red throne and no one seemed to be sitting in it. I thought I might.
I closed my eyes and I saw an ice floe and dark blue water.
I closed my eyes and I saw a large leaf covered by bees. They were just sitting on the leaf with very little movement.
I closed my eyes and I saw s-tubes, as in an ant farm, filled with small white pellets. The pellets were so clear-looking, like I was watching HDTV.
I closed my eyes and I saw thousands of black spots on a gray background.
I closed my eyes and I saw a spiraling river. It flowed rapidly towards infinity.
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I closed my eyes to focus the pain away. I had a vision that I was in a hole, I could look up and see a disc of light above me; a pale light, light blue, like the sun was setting. But I didn’t seem to be in a hole. The darkness was not dirt, but many, many faces. They were looking at me, most of them crying. The water left their eyes and fell at my feet like beads of sand, not at all wet. As the sand rose it felt so good.
But not all the faces were crying. Many were smiling. These seemed to be the faces who understood. They understood life and were not sad for my parting, but happy for my having come in the first place. And happy to see me move on, something I am not afraid of.
I wondered, then, why it was that the crying faces that created the sand could make me feel so well. Was I feeling happy in the sadness of others? I don’t want this! But I realized that it was not the rising sand that was making me feel so warm. It was the simple fact that there were so many faces to begin with.
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I was never scared while in the hospital. I’m not afraid of death. I kept pleading to be put in a coma but I was done with the pain. It’s been pain, not death, that I was afraid of all these years. But not even now did I feel fear of the pain. And I don’t like needles. A hospital is not a good place for such dislikes.
One odd aspect of being in hospital was the randomness in which someone would enter my room and announce that they were there for blood. This was code to me, saying, I’m about to stick you with a needle. They would come at 3am. They would come in at 2pm. Once they came and announced that they needed a blood sample from two different places. So that meant two different needles. They even came an hour before I was discharged; one last bit of blood before you go, please.
What’s worse was that during much of my stay, I was dehydrated, which made it more difficult to find a good vein. One woman seemed to give me a little arm massage as she spent a good 3 or more minutes gently pressing around my arm trying to find one. I was happy at this, for there was another woman who came for blood for who didn’t spend a lot of time, and wound up having to stick me twice for one sample of blood.
But I resigned myself to the fate of what I had to endure. If enduring needles to take my blood meant curing the pain, fine. But it was the pain that I was soon tired of dealing with, and is why I kept asking them to just induce a coma. I was tired of the pain; such intense and constant pain. I was worn down and not sure I could endure much more; it never ended. I understood torture more now. And in my pleas for a coma, only one person ever asked me if I was scared. It’s such an interesting question. “Please, put me in a coma.” “Are you scared?” If asked the right way, it would really sound twisted. But at least it was asked in a way that seemed to indicate that she cared.
No, I’m not scared. And after this, I’m not even quite so scared of pain. I mean, look what I lived through!
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At some point during my stay, I was taken to get one of my red bumps biopsied. I was taken into a standby room and sort of prepped for the procedure. Because I could not stand, they moved my whole bed downstairs for this. The doctor arrived and looked me over and soon I was led into a completely white room. I had only previously seen these rooms on TV. The walls were covered in white tile. The floor was white. The ceiling was white. One thought that went through my head was that this must be one of the oldest rooms in the hospital. Another was, who has to keep this clean?
The doctor selected one of my red bumps, and the 5 others started busily getting ready. Me, still delirious from pain, sort of came and went, watching the ceiling; the big lights; the large column that came down from the ceiling like a periscope on a submarine. I was warned that the anesthetic was a small needle but would be painful. He knew what he was talking about. It hurt, but not as much as the pain I already was in. But it allowed him to scrape the red bump from me down to its core without any discomfort to me.
They took me back to the prep room and I soon was being wheeled back to my 3rd floor room. I had one less red bump than before but now had a suture in its place. The stress helped me sleep for a while, until my pain brought more morphine from the RN. A burn; a sigh of some relief; a feeling of light headedness; more sleep.
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I had been ordered a lumbar puncture so that they could determine if there were any virus in my spinal fluid. Having had lumbar injections in the past with back injuries, I was not overly excited to hear of this.
The two lackeys arrived to move me and my bed to the room for the procedure. I had been fighting a fever of 105 and had endured severe shivers, which lasted over an hour and left me battered. I’d even hyperventilated and the RN spent a good deal of time at my side keeping an eye on my vitals machine. A temperature this high is dangerous, so I’d been kept iced down. When the shivers started, they did take the ice away and gave me blankets. I had 4 blankets on me and I wanted more but was refused. They were very concerned with my fever. So when they wheeled me down for the lumbar puncture, I was not exactly with it to say the least.
I have no memory of the room but I can tell you it was not as white as the biopsy room. I could not tell you how many people were there but I do recall them bantering. I seem to recall being asked to roll over. I left consciousness. Looking back on it now, it’s a scary deal- losing consciousness.
This is being written on my last night in Colorado on this visit. My friend, Ra arrived today to assist me in going home tomorrow. He mentioned something to me today about the lumbar puncture. I’d completely forgotten it even happened. And if I didn’t recall part of the ride down, being asked to roll on my side, and being told it was done, I may not have recalled it at all. I don’t remember the ride back to the room but I do recall the doctor telling me it was all over and I asked, “It’s all over?” I don’t know what time of night or day the procedure was done, although I think they did it Saturday morning.
I think the fact that I don’t remember so much of this event scares me more than knowing what they did and that it most likely was painful.
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On the second night in hospital my pain level reached high limits earlier than normal. Nights seemed to be worse for me than days. I skipped dinner and was asleep around 6pm. When the RN woke me at 10 for vitals and meds, I was in a daze. I thought it was morning. I thought I had slept through the night, mostly beating my viral infection. Surely I could go home now! But it was only 10pm. I still had a whole night to go through. My temp was over 105, my heart raced, my whole body sang out in pain. I thought I might surely die before the sun came up. I called out to Adelie. I cried that there was still so much I wanted to write. Falling asleep with tears in my eyes made me feel more alive for some reason.
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There was a light knock followed by the sound of the door opening. It awakened me. Sleep for more than 20 minutes was really rare at this stage. I was lying on my left side. I was under a sheet and 4 blankets and I was shivering. A nurse was here to check my vitals. Knowing this, I began to move in bed so she’d have better access to my arms. The BP cuff hurt so much as it squeezed my bumps. The finger thing that checked for pulse and oxygen was no issue. My temperature would be taken in the ear; that was the easiest.
Every part of me ached and the spots all over my body were erupting in pain. My chest hurt and I was wearing one of those rotten overstuffed headache hats that I couldn’t tear from my head. With one eye open I looked up to her and pleaded, “Please, put me in a coma. I can’t do this any more.”
“Are you scared?” she asked. “No, I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid of this pain.”
“I know how you feel, dear. Be patient,” was her reply. She did her job, tucked me back in. I sort of passed out from the effort and stayed asleep for 30 minutes or so, until some part of my body moved and the pain would again wake me. I would moan, move, fall back asleep. This was my third night.
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Mom was my only visitor while in hospital. Her visits always seemed a bit odd to me. I always think of my mother as needing to be entertained. I know she can be happy just sitting with a good book, but she never seemed to bring anything with her, so her visits from the start just seemed like they would be brief. I always felt like I was keeping her from something.
I was admitted on a Friday, and she called me that evening to say she wouldn’t be in until the following day. Knowing that she was an hour away, I could understand this. She raised a very independent boy, after all. I would be fine. But I wanted her near me.
At some point on Saturday I opened my eyes from napping and heard her voice. At least I thought it was. Sure enough, there she stood in the medical gown, cap, mask and gloves she would be required to wear while visiting me. With the get up, I couldn’t tell what her expression was. Horror? I looked awful with all those red spots on my face and arms. No, she was calm and clear as far as I could tell. She was strong and independent. And perhaps she was not aware of just how much I hurt.
Her visits were always somewhat brief. On Monday she arrived early, before going to work, which she does in the Springs, so I guess it was convenient for her to be there. To entertain her, I turned on my TV, which was attached to the wall behind my bed on a long arm that I could move and manipulate. I knew I couldn’t stay awake and thought maybe the TV would keep her there longer. I didn’t want her to go and I didn’t want her to be bored.
On another visit, I tried my best to keep a conversation going to entertain her. As I wore down and knew that a nap was coming, I thought about just fading off and I’d see if she would still be there when I awoke. But she knew I was fading and cut things off by announcing that she had some things to do in town and would be by later.
I think it’s funny, my being sicker than ever in my life and still thinking that I needed to keep Mom entertained while I was the one she was there to visit. She brought me a large photo book and a magazine. I was never able to do anything with them and after a few days I asked her to just take them away. (Now that’s sick, if I can’t even read a magazine that I asked her to bring!) But I guess it says a lot about the man she raised.
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I’ve always said that I am not afraid to die. Then as I went through this past week, and there came to me two times that I actually thought I might die, I pleased myself to know that I didn’t back down. I really was not afraid to die. When I really thought I would not leave the hospital alive, I didn’t chicken out and plead for more life. I accepted it, although a bit disappointed that I have not written all that is in my head. I must now work on that, so the next time I think I hear death, I’ll again be content to follow.
But thinking about death and my life has me wonder, have I lived my life well enough? Have I gotten from it what I need, what I should have? Are there holes? Did I do well? There is yes and no for all questions. But I am happy with the footprint I’ve left. I’m happy with my status and the things I’ve accomplished. I’ve done more in my life than so many do in theirs. And even though I feel left out on a good deal of things, I don’t think I got a short stick. I may not know an instrument and made it in a band, but I’ve traveled the world as if I were in one.
The meaning of life is different for all people. Once you discover the meaning of yours and start applying that meaning to your life and living that meaning to its fullest potential, you can never be disappointed in death. You’ve been doing it right. And for that, there is no disgrace. Live life well, take all opportunities, learn, listen and watch, and have few regrets.
The bottom line is this- real or perceived, I came close to dying in the hospital and I have little plans for any change to the manner in which I will live my life. I may have new goals, but I think I’m doing pretty darned good here.
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I’m starting to hear stories of things I don’t remember. Mom tells me I had a nice conversation with Blossom. I do recall that we spoke and I recall him saying I should come up for his birthday later this month. But she told me other things I asked about that I simply don’t recall.
Ra tells me we had almost the same conversation twice. Apparently I didn’t recall the first one. I remember Terry calling to tell me not to worry about the cats, but did we say anything else? My grandmother called nearly each day, but I really don’t even recall those conversations. I hear this is very typical of fevers and pain and hospitals.
I watched very little TV. I remember watching Sponge Bob. I remember laughing at one episode and thinking how nice it was to laugh. I wanted to wait for the next episode, but fell asleep. When I awoke, it was nearly over and I just turned off the TV. Mom says we watched the Today Show together one morning, must have been Monday, but I don’t remember that. For the most part, the noise from the TV simply irritated me and I didn’t have the attention span to watch more than about 15 minutes, which is the length of a Sponge Bob episode. It was rare that I was awake for more than 20 minutes at a time.
And in reading back the text I sent out to a few select good friends, it did not sound like something I would have written, especially in ending it by writing, “pray for me.” As spiritual as I am, I would normally never ask for prayers.
Lesson learned here, I can not be trusted with a phone while feverish. Maybe it was a combination of the pain and the fever, but I was simply not myself during my 5 days in hospital.
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Morphine a poem by Penguin Scott 7Dec09
Four dose an hour
I need me some more
A little burn going in
To even the score
The effects of the light headedness
Will fade in time
But until then enjoy this drip
I’m set up
Ruler of the pain
Seer through the rain
And circling down this golden drain
Sleep tight on the rope
Sweet dream in the dope
An hour more
Then I’ll get another four
Racing through my bones
For a second it gives relief
But I see through the haze
Please are-in, take it from me
I’m done in
By the maze
They drop it in bit by bit
To even the score
Four dose an hour and
I need me some more
