hospitals are not fun

Skipping the Boxing Day sales for a trip to the ER

tl;dr: Signs of a returning infection led met to take action, which mostly involved sitting.

The Chronology before the ER:

Thursday: Wake up and feel a dull ache in my abdomen, the same area where I had my Big Infection a year ago (this fun guy started in my urinary tract and made its way to my kidney). I make an appointment with my doctor for Monday.

Monday: The symptoms have vanished, so we agree to monitor.

Tuesday: I go for a run, things seem normal.

Wednesday: The ache is back, but worse. It continues for several days and is worse when I lay down. No other symptoms.

Saturday: I decide to go to the ER to have it checked out.

Now, Royal Columbian Hospital is a fine facility, but its ER is meant for trauma patients, so people like me tend to have to wait. A lot. I left the condo at 10:28 a.m.

The ER Chronology:

10:28 a.m. I leave for the hospital, which is conveniently next door.

10:45 a.m. I am checked in. The ER is rapidly filling up. No one is fainting or vomiting. Yet.

11:09 a.m. They take my temperature and blood pressure. I can’t see the monitor, but from the expression on the intake person’s face, I’m assuming they are normal.

11:17 a.m. I now begin my wait for blood work. I am sitting next to the gift shop, but even though the entrance with the giant automatic doors in a room over, I still get regular gusts of cold air.

11:40 a.m. The blood work is done. It’s quick and efficient, but I later discover when I remove the cotton ball, that it’s soaked in blood. My blood. The usually nigh-invisible pin prick on my arm is very visible. I am displeased. Photo below.

12:30 p.m. We are now into the afternoon. A guy comes in and sort of collapses on the floor across from me. He might be in pain? He’s wearing sunglasses, so he looks vaguely cool while this is happening. Someone observing this leaves to get help and comes back with three security guards. One of them grabs a nearby wheelchair, they help him into it and park him near the gift shop. He seems OK now> Time will tell. At least there is still no vomiting.

1:15 p.m. I am still waiting. I don’t know precisely what is next, but whatever it is, it is not being rushed.

1:20 p.m. It turns out it’s a CT scan! I’ve gone from no CT scans ever to two just this year. Fun. They apparently have to take you to the CT scan room in a wheelchair, and I feel a little silly in it. The woman pushing me said she was my Uber driver, no charge today.

The scan is quick. I have to hold my breath three times as the machine sends me through and back out. I got a photo! (After I was done, but before they took me back to the waiting area.)

1:30 p.m. I am back near the gift shop, waiting again.

1:35 p.m. I am finally moved to the next waiting area, the inner sanctum: Zone 2 Intake. There is also a Zone 3, but I’m hoping that they are parallel, despite the numbering, and I won’t be shuttled to yet another waiting area. Although the guy sitting next to me is coughing, so maybe moving would be good. He has a mask–but isn’t wearing it. He eventually gets up for some reason and when he returns, sits farther away, which is dandy with me.

2:20 p.m. After the better part of an hour, my blood pressure and temperature are checked again. This time I can see the monitor and my temperature is a perfectly cromulent 36.7C. My pressure is 176/79? I think. I don’t remember the numbers exactly, and I can never remember what’s good or bad, but no one reacts with bulging eyes or anything, so again I assume all is normal. I am told I will need to provide a urine sample.

2:25 p.m. I am given a little bottle and directed to the washroom. I place the sample on a table outside the washroom and return to my seat. This was handy because I really had to go.

2:45 p.m. There is now only one other person here. She came in after me, so hopefully something will happen soon.

2:50 p.m. Success! I am taken to the exam room, where I exchange my t-shirt for a gown and wait on a bed behind a curtain, with others to my left and various employees milling about or walking by. Finally, my long wait is nearly over!

3:42 p.m. I am still in the exam room. My long wait is lengthening.

4:30 p.m. It is now past sunset and dark outside. I can’t see outside because there are no windows here, plus I have blue curtains all around me. It is not as captivating as it sounds.

4:40 p.m. The doctor arrives. Woo. Most of the results seem to be normal. The doctor asks some questions, prods about the abdomen and notes my non-verbal reactions (this time it is my eyes bulging when she hits the sensitive spots). She says they are going to run further analysis on my urine and will have the results in a few days. She asks if I want to start antibiotics in the interim as a precaution. I say yes, remembering the hell I went through earlier this year. She then reminds me it would be IV therapy. I still say yes, grudgingly.

5:04 p.m. The IV guy comes over and talks to me. IVs are also old school to me by now, so I just smile and nod a lot.

5:12 p.m. The worker prods the crook of my left arm. I advise him of my apparently rolling veins. He points one out to me, and demonstrates the rolling. In the end, he opts to put the IV near my left wrist. This is good in that it leaves me with most of my flexibility intact. It’s bad in that my shallow skinny wrist seems to provide less cushioning for the IV than the soft, flabby crook of my arm, meaning I can feel it more. Oh well.

5:21 p.m. The IV drip is started and as before, the process takes about 30 minutes. Another guy comes by when the machine starts to BEEP because I have absorbed a half hour’s worth of cool liquid into my veins. He removes the tube, caps the IV, then swaddles it in bandages. Unlike previous IVs, the swaddling isn’t so massive it looks like my arm has bisected a football. I am forced to wear my watch on my right wrist, and will spend the rest of the evening looking at my left wrist, wondering why my watch isn’t there.

5:56 p.m. I am finally released, nearly 7.5 hours later, with instructions to return at 3 p.m tomorrow for more IV therapy fun. I am very hungry and have to pee again.

Overall, a good test of my patience (hospital joke). I kind of hate my body now. But I do what I must.

When I got home, I ate pizza and kept looking at my left wrist to see what time it was.

And now, photos!

My view for much of the day. The gift shop (closed) is to my left.
The CT scanner that scanned me, post-scan. Good ol’ CT2.
This was my view for what felt like a hundred years. I eventally moved to the chair next to the bed.
A new IV! A new location! Same old drugs.
The first time in memory I didn’t have a tiny little hole where the blood was drawn. Ugly! And yes, there are two keyboards in the background.

After 11 days, I am IV-free

I did not expect 2025 to begin this way.

On Thursday, January 9th, I was administered antibiotics for an infection that was originally thought to be in the prostate, then the bladder, but in the meantime actually moved to one of my kidneys. Every day since then I have gone back for another daily round of IV therapy, the first five at Burnaby Hospital, the last six at Royal Columbian, which is literally a five-minute walk from home, so that part was at least convenient.

On Day 5 they removed the IV from my left arm, because the apparatus had bent, and switched to my right arm. This was better since I’m left-handed. But it still meant doing a lot of things was cumbersome and awkward, and I had to be careful not to damage the IV while sleeping and whatnot. A shower or bath was weird and vaguely unpleasant.

But now both arms are free and treatment has ended. I wait to see what happens next. Did the infection sneak into my prostate, and will I start showing symptoms in a week? I don’t know. I am not a pessimist (I swear), but am resigned to a 50/50 chance of more infection to come. But that also means I think it’s possible I’ll be good.

I’ll wait a few more days, then start thinking about running (not on a sidewalk) again.

Here’s hoping the rest of 2025 is kind of dull and boring for me. If there’s excitement, I request that it be of a pleasant variety, without any Twilight Zone-style twists.

The non-foot club

I started my IV therapy at Royal Columbian Hospital on Tuesday, so today was my fourth day (I double-checked the math, I think I got it right). On each of the three previous days, every other person getting an IV had a foot issue. Usually the left foot. Left feet seem kind of unlucky.

But today was a new dawn: Someone in the chair ahead of me was getting an IV for the first time (I both did and didn’t want to look) and lo, he had two regular feet. His therapy ended first and as he left, he turned and waved at me, as if we were brothers-in-arms feet. The guy that came in as I was leaving also seemed to have two ordinary feet. Seeing these guys made me feel less odd.

I have had nine (technically 10) treatments, with two more to go. The desire for everything to be OK after that is something I cannot yet put into words.

And now, straight from Discord, a cat reacting to a foot:

I am a human pincushion

And I love lists! So here’s a list highlighting various random things on my Health Adventure 2025 (which technically began in 2024):

  • Having never had an IV before, I’ve now had, as of today, seven IV treatments, with at least four more to go. I can’t say I enjoy them, but I am pretty much used to them now.
  • The first four were in my left arm, the last three switched to my right.
  • The switch to the right was a bit bumpy. The nurse tried twice closer to my wrist (more flexible for the time between visits) but thanks to my tiny, impervious veins, she settled on a third closer to the crook of my elbow.
  • While I had the IV in my left arm, I tried brushing my teeth with my right hand (I am left-handed). This was actually kind of hilarious. I could hold the toothbrush just fine in my right hand, but once it went in my mouth, my brain went haywire and didn’t know what to do. I am glad my left hand is available again.
  • If you had asked me if having an IV needle stuck in my arm 24/7 and swaddled in medical wrap to protect it between treatments was kind of grossbuckets before this became my reality, I would have said yes. And I still say yes. But you get used to things.
  • It always kind of hurts a little, though. I once did a full stretch and the arm with the IV needle in it sent me a reminder, something like DO NOT EVER DO THAT AGAIN.
  • Yesterday, the treatments transferred from Burnaby Hospital to the next-door Royal Columbian Hospital. It’s nice that it now only takes five minutes to go to or exit from treatments.
  • Every other person getting IV therapy in the same room has had a foot issue, so I’m now thinking of this as The Foot Room where people are sent when they need antibiotics. My foot is fine, but maybe they just don’t have any other rooms.
  • I have had two prostate exams, which are kind of like someone goosing you, but being extremely serious about it.
  • I have had blood taken three times. I have gone from being traumatized over getting blood taken to, “Yeah, whatever.”
  • The beep the machine makes when the IV bag is empty is a sound I will associate with IVs for pretty much forever now.
  • The staff at both hospitals have been very nice.
  • My partner Jeff was a veritable angel through the worst parts of it, staying with me for all four hours of my first ER visit last Thursday. Horribly, I have actually had longer ER visits in the past.
  • I was told today that inflammation is pretty close to back to normal. I was not told what was inflamed. My kidney, I’m guessing, since that’s what they are targeting.
  • Mentally, I find myself up and down like the proverbial roller coaster. I am a bit down today, but can’t pinpoint exactly why. It could just be a cumulative effect.
  • It will be very nice to sleep without an IV needle in my arm.
  • It will be very nice to be healthy again.
  • It will be very nice to resume running again while avoiding nasty sidewalks that try to trip me.
  • This concludes my list. For now.

ER visit, January 2025: New hospital, new infection!

This story begins with an upset tummy, which does not seem particularly ominous.

The sore stomach began three days ago. I was puzzled when it struck partway through the night, disrupting my sleep. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I had an inkling in the back of my mind that took the form of the word: Infection.

And here we rewind to early December, or possibly even late November, when in true guy fashion1Spoiler: Guys can be kinda dumb, I began to feel something (an abdominal ache) that I knew from previous experience was likely to be something specific (a bacteria infection centred around my plumbing) and did nothing about it. “I’ll just wait a bit and if it goes away, it’s nothing!” (And if it doesn’t, I’ve given the infection time to grow and spread. You can probably guess how this played out.) By the end of the first week of December, I began experiencing symptoms that were bad and could not be ignored:

  • High fever
  • Chills (not the cool kind of chills)
  • Body aches
  • Headache
  • The sweats (not the cool kind of sweat)

I saw my doctor and he ordered blood work. This is where the story takes its next dumb turn. DO NOT BE LIKE ME. HEED MY WARNING.

I dragged my feet on the blood test because the last two times I’d had blood taken, the experience was awful. The second was especially bad, with the tech approaching my arm like it was a dart board, and she was on her fifth beer. So I kept trying to steel myself to just go in. What are the odds I’d have three terrible experiences in a row, years apart?

My doctor prescribed me the “best guess” antibiotics in the meantime, for a prostate infection. At first, the drugs worked. Yay drugs! But over the two-week dosage, the effectiveness waned, until at the end they just plain stopped and all the aforementioned symptoms came back, as strong as ever. Just prior to this, I did muster up the nerve to get the blood work done. And it was fine. Painless, really.

The work revealed that this was more likely a bladder infection, so a week of new antibiotics were prescribed. Again, as if my magicke, the drugs worked. Yay drugs again!

Everything seemed good. I felt normal, healthy. I even went on my first run in four weeks, which may have been an omen, in retrospect. After a week, my hands were healing nicely from my spectacular trip on the sidewalk, but I was otherwise still OK.

We catch up now to three night ago, when midway through my sleep I awoke with a stomach ache, or at least what I took to be a stomach ache (this was almost certainly incorrect, but I’m no anatomy expert). I thought it couldn’t be the infection, because it feels different. Then the smart guy in the back of my brain said, “But what if the infection has spread and moved? It might feel different as it settles into a fresh, new organ.” I made a doctor appointment on Wednesday. Wednesday was bad. My doctor confirmed the infection might have spread. He ordered more blood work, then to see him on Friday.

Thursday (yesterday) felt like an extended and unpleasant dream. Per my Garmin Forerunner 255, I walked 190 steps. All of them to and from the bed. I ate about 500 calories of food, most of it soup. I burned, then froze, then sometimes did both at the same time, which is both unique and maddening. I felt horrible. I no longer wanted to feel horrible. I had met my quota, I felt.

My partner had been insisting I go to the ER instead of the lab for the blood work. My doctor also said I should go to the ER if the symptoms got worse. So we did, after I peeled myself out of the (unsexy) sweat-soaked sheets this morning.

We went to Burnaby Hospital, rather than Royal Columbian, which is literally next door to us. I did not know this in advance, so I felt a bit like I was kidnapped. But apparently RC is a trauma hospital and prioritzes people who are, like dying, so you can wait a very long time if you are not facing imminent death (the very long waits have been true for me in the past).

The visit took about four hours, but it was actually more efficient than it sounds, because a lot of that time was waiting for test results.

They took two vials of blood. It was pain-free again. They made me pee into a bottle. They had me lay on a bed and periodically someone would come by and inform me of various steps and things. I was feeling a little less gray, but very thirsty. They would not let me drink yet.

I had my first CT scan. It wasn’t as intimidating as I thought. A male robotic voice would tell me to breathe in, then hold my breath and exhale. The bed slid me under the scanner about three times. It took a few minutes. The one freaky part–which they warned about in advance–is when they inject dye into your IV. This makes your entire body go weirdly warm for a few seconds, and also makes it feel like you’ve just loosed your bladder big time (this does not actually happen).

Oh, I should mention–they started to administer antibiotics by IV before the CT scan. Because the handy machine attached to the IV drip had not reached INFUSION COMPLETE yet, they chose to have me wheel the whole thing down the hall for the CT scan. Also, I had to put on a gown, with the IV attached. It took three of us to get it on without having IV medicine spray everywhere.

Fun fact: The doctor who attended me called me James, which happens a lot. All of my names are interchangeable, and I guess James is the most popular.

After the scan, the IV concluded, but wait, there was a second bag. I’d never had an IV before, but the experience was not horrible as I’d expected, even when they turned on the pump to get the drip moving along.

I have four more daily treatments of this. The best part (?) is they keep the IV in, so you don’t have to get newly-stabbed each time. Problem: The bandaging to keep the IV safe and cozy is a tad bulky. I’m also left-handed.

It’s not muscle.

I may see if they can switch to my right arm, even if it means an additional stabbing. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll become ambidextrous as a result, and a whole new world will open up for me.

During these four hours of fluid removal and insertion, I got the results: the infection had moved up the urinary tract and cozied itself in one of my kidneys. This is not good. The five daily IV treatments are the usual, but they will reassess during the process, so I might need more. At this point I am willing to learn to love country music if it makes me healthy again.

And that was my Thursday morning. Tonight, as I type this, the fever is gone, my tummy feels normal and I have a bit of a residual pressure headache. I’m sure my watch will read my stress as off the charts, but I feel significantly improved from 24 hours ago. I don’t expect to sleep well tonight, but I do expect to sleep decently.

FINAL WARNING TO GUYS (and really, everyone): If your body show signs of something wrong, go to the doctor right away. Do not wait. Do not make excuses. Do not be macho. Do not be me (not that I am macho).

My view for most of the morning. The doctor who attended can be seen in the background.
I think you can tell I’m having a good ol’ time here. Also, I look kind of chunky. It’s the posture, I swear.

Sit up straight and chew your food ~or~ How a simple dinner turned into my 2021 emergency room visit

Last night I was eating dinner:

  • Jasmine rice
  • Brie chicken (baked)
  • Veggies (carrots, peas, brocolli)

This is entirely unremarkable.

I was eating on our old couch, which is terrible and tends to turn your body into a spaghetti noodle when you sit on it. Your body just naturally tends to slouch. I sit up as straight as I can when eating, but slouching can occur.

Last night I ate and slouched simultaneously, and the consequences of doing this were rendered quickly and severely.

I began to feel a pain in my chest that said, “The food is not going down the way it should per digestion/gravity/etc.” I got up, went to the bathroom and attempted to clear my throat. This has happened a few times before and usually in about ten minutes or less, the food is sufficiently dislodged to allow me to resume eating.

Not this time.

I spent an hour with that increasingly searing chest pain, constantly trying to swallow and failing, having my gag reflex kick in, with resultant attendance to the sink to allow for any food that decided to journey through my system in reverse. It was exhausting. A few sips of water seemed to go down, but when I tried more, it did not and the pain intensified. The water eventually made its way back out.

I decided it was time to get a second opinion or replacement organs at the hospital conveniently next door.

We arrived between 7:30 and 8 p.m. I left just after midnight. It wasn’t even my longest ER visit. But it felt very long.

After checking in, I was issued a K95 mask to replace my own, then moved to a waiting area that is really just the entrance to the emergency room. The hospital has utterly run out of space, which is why I’m not objecting to the construction now happening across the lane from us, as the new hospital building looks like it’s five times bigger.

There was a woman with a baby sitting across from me and the baby was a bit fussy. I tried to not let it stress me out, because relaxing seemed very important in not making the pain worse. Jeff gave me a couple of small white towels. I excused myself, stepped outside and basically barfed into one, though at this point nothing was coming up but liquid. I threw the towel away and returned. I told Jeff to go home. He did.

I later went to the washroom and gagged over the sink. Initially I felt better. I later went back and accidentally swallowed some of my saliva, causing me to choke and cough on it. This went as well as you might expect. The pain at this point seemed unbearable. I tried to think of other things to distract me, like kittens or skateboards.

Eventually I and several others were moved to the next waiting area, to a row of seats with Plexiglas partitions between them. This was also not a real waiting area, it was a hallway, so people and people with equipment were regularly walking past me. Then they parked an XPS right in front of me, which remained there until I got moved to an exam room. An XPS is an eXpandable Patient Surface, not a sleek Dell laptop:

Not pictured: Two women sleeping in beds to the left, also in the hallway

I didn’t realize until later that the two guys with him were not paramedics, but corrections officers. I couldn’t ascertain why he was in, but when a doctor came by and talked to him, I heard something about seizures. I hoped he would not have a seizure in front of me. He did not. When the doctor left, he curled back up to sleep again.

The guy sitting to my right did not have anything obviously wrong with him (spike stuck in head, missing fingers gushing blood, etc.) but as we waited and waited he seemed to become more anxious. He would pull his mask down, take a long breath, exhale slowly, then put the mask back on. He repeated this several times. I almost asked Anxious guy if he was OK. By this point the lodged food had finally started moving down my throat as nature intended, so I was feeling better and my instinct to help kicked in. I ultimately refrained, and he got called in before I did.

I eventually also got called and was taken to an exam room around 10 p.m. By 10:23 I was thinking it would be spiffy if someone came in to see me by 10:30.

Ho ho. How naive I was!

As I slouched on the exam bed, I caught a glimpse of Anxious Guy walking down the hall, this time with his cap removed. His hair looked different than I expected. You can make your hair very mysterious by wearing a cap. I got the impression he might have been giving a urine sample. Conveniently, I could see a collection of such samples across the hall from the exam room, sitting on a counter. One of them looked almost orange. Ew. I reminded myself that I did not have to look at everything while in a hospital.

As time continued to tick by, I began fighting the urge to sleep. With the pain now gone, I was very tired. I thought about finding a nurse and saying I was splitting, that I was totes OK now. I set a deadline of midnight. If a doctor didn’t appear before then, I was getting the heck out of there.

The doctor arrived a few minutes before midnight, so my trick worked! She was very nice and immediately apologized for being so late. After some prodding and poking, she determined that:

  • The condition was not cardiac-related
  • Was unlikely due to aspirating (food going down the windpipe)
  • Was likely food lodging in the esophagus
  • Did not require urgent treatment

She recommended I follow up with my doctor and perhaps arrange to have a camera shoved down my throat to see what’s going on in there. I do tend to be a bit phlegmy, which no doubt makes these things worse.

I also promised to sit up straight when eating. She frowned on watching TV while eating. I’m like, “But we don’t even have a table to eat at in the dining room! Also, we have no dining room.” But I didn’t say this to her.

To allay my anxiousness over ever putting food into my mouth again, she suggested I eat a couple of small cookies and drink some juice before leaving, to see if anything horrible might happen. I did so without any notable issue, other than my throat feeling raw from the evening’s shenanigans. I managed to find my way to the exit and walked home under mostly clear skies. I got in at 12:09 a.m., with six minutes already on my exercise ring,. Woo!

Since i’d only had half my dinner before Throat Catastrophe 2021 hit, I decided to eat, but wanted something that would be very difficult to get lodged in my throat. I had a small bowl of ice cream. It did not get lodged.

This morning I felt some trepidation eating breakfast, but it was fine. I’m not sure how I’ll handle meals at the couch. Do they make sit/stand tables for dining?

Anyway, let this be a lesson to all those who would oppose mom’s advice to sit up straight and chew your food. Mom is right!

And no more ER visits for 2021. Or preferably ever, please.

Ultrasound-off

Yesterday I had my third ultrasound. I have yet to be pregnant.

The first was to nail down what turned out to be a prostate infection. The second was to figure out if the unwelcome lump in my pair of coconuts* was something nasty (it was not).

This time, after a sort-of-diagnosis of possible kidney stone or stones during an Emergency room visit (see the previous entry for the epic tale), I called to arrange the third ultrasound to see if there really might be a kidney stone down there.

My doctor will have the results by the middle of next week. It kind of bugs me that the person doing the ultrasound can see everything plain as day in real-time but can’t say a word while the procedure is being done.

For this one I was given one simple instruction: drink three cups of water an hour before and then don’t pee until after the ultrasound.

I figure this is some kind of test, because while three cups may not sound like a lot, drinking three cups of water in a row is a lot. I felt very bloated. I drank them at work, as I was heading straight to the hospital from there. I made it as far as downtown before I had to pee. This was about twenty minutes. I had a 30+ minute SkyTrain trip ahead of me. By the time I got off at Sapperton station my entire world had been reduced to a mad dash to the nearest toilet.

I went home. I peed. I broke the one ultrasound rule. However, I was running early and still have 45 minutes to go, so I downed another two cups, thinking that would more than compensate, while hoping that I wouldn’t experience the same fierce desire to urinate, having just done so.

On the latter I was wrong.

I needed to pee during the ultrasound, but it wasn’t too bad. The ultrasound was about the same as the others. Well, not quite the same as the second one, as the magic wand was not rubbed all over my testicles in a decidedly non-erotic manner. This time I just had to yank my shirt up a little while the technician pressed (rather firmly at times) the wand into my lower back and adjacent areas. She was very thorough. She mad me take deep breaths and hold them a lot, so it began to take on an almost Zen-like quality. Plus the jelly was nice and warm, unlike the nightmarishly cold stuff of the first ultrasound. What I’m saying is that as hospital experiences go, it was not that bad.

When she completed the ultrasound she said she needed to confirm with the radiologist that the shots were good and this would take a few minutes. By this time I had to pee again very badly. They were a very long few minutes. Fortunately the shots were deemed okay, and the nearest washroom was right outside the ultrasound room. I made liberal use of it.

Ironically, the horrible soreness that caused me to go to the Emergency room has largely disappeared, because my body has decided to be weird and bothersome. But the ultrasound doesn’t lie**, so I should have the results soon.

* clever euphemism
** assuming the foreign object wasn’t some sort of clever alien shapeshifter, of course

Emergency room visit, 2018 edition

It shouldn’t be convenient to live only a few blocks away from a hospital and its emergency room, because you should never have to go, making the convenience irrelevant. But life is nutty and ignoring the dentist because of irrational fear can have consequences.

As I am about to demonstrate.

About six years ago one of the teeth in my upper jaw cracked (oh, I should warn you, if you get squeamish about anything tooth-related, stop reading now and instead do a search on this blog for the tag “cats are funny people” and delight in the results). It wasn’t painful, it just happened. I don’t know why it cracked, other than maybe a family history of bad teeth–and my neglect in visiting a dentist regularly (or at all) as an adult. A few years after that the remaining tooth gave up and I became the owner of a toothless gap in my left upper jaw. Except it wasn’t really toothless, as the roots and a tiny bit of the exposed part of the tooth remained.

I avoided brushing this part–much like I avoided dentists–because it was generally pretty tender and an accidental brushing would leave it sore.

A few days ago it felt sore and I thought perhaps I had accidentally brushed it. Then I woke up yesterday and it was still sore and further, it felt more like a toothache, actual pain and all that. I took some Advil and Alleve. These had virtually no effect. The whole area around the ex-tooth was tender and seemed inflamed.

Weirdly (or more likely, because I’m a guy) when I woke up today and felt the same pain, I almost still went out for my run. It was sunny and mild, so I didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Sanity prevailed, however, so I promised myself to visit the emergency room first, then I could go for the run.

I did not go for the run.

Approximately an hour and a half after arriving at the emergency room, I left with:

  • confirmation that the ex-tooth was infected
  • orders to see a dentist in the next 24-48 hours (“No later than Monday” was stressed several times)
  • one Tylenol 3 and one Alleve (in my tummy, since a nurse handed them to me with a cup of water)
  • a prescription for Tylenol 3 and antibiotics
  • affirmation again that hospitals are a place you never want to be

Here is my visit, with timestamps where applicable:

3:50 p.m. I have arrived. I go to the check-in counter and have a hard time hearing the person talking through the glass. I am given a surprisingly hard to remove bracelet with my info on it and have a seat. I expect to wait awhile and am not disappointed.

There are a few people here, but their injuries or ailments are for the most part not immediately obvious. a guy wearing a Tool t-shirt is here with his partner and I assume he has an arm injury, as he only has his left arm in one of the sleeves. I can’t quite see the other arm. This is probably a good thing.

A nicely-dressed woman keeps walking in and out, talking on her phone and holding a tissue to her nose. She eventually goes back to the check-in desk and complains that her nose is bleeding again. She gets to cut in line and is ushered away. I’m not going to try a nosebleed. I can wait.

I try to ignore my ex-tooth, which is currently getting Straight A’s in pain-causing right now.

There is a young Asian guy with a trendy haircut. He looks completely fine.

To my left is a woman around my age or a bit older. She coughs in a loud, wet, unhealthy way. At one point someone comes up to her and says they need a blood sample, then proceeds to do it right there. I don’t remember them taking blood in emergency before. I am glad she’s at least one seat over.

A guy in his 30s shambles in slowly. He is wearing open-toe sandals, is unshaven and looks terrible, as if he hasn’t slept in two months. I can’t hear what he is saying at the check-in desk, but the tone and manner suggest ailment over injury. He then reaches down to the small trash bucket by his feet and sticks his head into it, barfing. I can tell he is trying to throw up quietly. I am not unappreciative. He’s given a bracelet and looks like he might sit next to me–still clutching the plastic trash bucket–but he decides to stand, then to just amble about. His wife and baby arrive a short time later. The baby looks like he is deciding whether or not to cry.

Eventually a staff member takes away the garbage can and gives him a plastic barf bag instead.

To my delight, the baby never cries.

4:20 p.m. I am called to Triage 2, which is…right beside the check-in desk. I get asked questions about allergies and such and am given a bracelet that reads GIVE PENICILLIN ONLY IF RASH OVER ENTIRE BODY IS DESIRED. I sit back down and wait some more.

4:27 p.m. Mr. Self-Treatment arrives at the check-in desk. In a firm and articulate voice he describes various symptoms–a heaviness on the chest, chronic tiredness, etc. and laments over how he has had to self-diagnose and treat himself, even in the presence of professional doctors. I never figured out what the distinction was with professional doctors. Maybe he originally sought treatment by actors who played doctors. He went on for a bit, spending equal time complaining about the system and then complaining about himself. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. His vocal chords were very healthy.

4:32 p.m. I am finally moved to…the second waiting area. In a call-out to The wizard of Oz, you are told to “Follow the yellow brick line.” Okay, they leave out the “brick” part, but I remember this line from before. I follow it and then get confused because the end arrow is mostly peeled away and I’m not sure if I’ve actually reached the end. A kindly old woman confirms I have and also shows me where to put my chart, which is also in a yellow folder.

She seems smarter than me, for which I am grateful.

The second waiting area is more crowded, so I anticipate a long wait here. Some people are dressed in gowns or sitting in wheelchairs. Occasionally someone gets wheeled through on a stretcher. I look to my right and see I am sitting next to a Nellcor sensor. I don’t know what a Nellcor is.

I wait.

Several people get called but no one responds. This may work to my advantage.

4:55 p.m. I am finally brought into the exam room and explain my predicament. The doctor marvels over how I went so long with the tooth equivalent of a bomb in my mouth not going off. I admitted I knew a day of reckoning would come. A curtain is drawn in the middle of the room and it is clear someone is on the other side. I am glad I cannot see who or what is on the other side because I get an unpleasant vibe from it.

The visit with the doctor is done in about five minutes. She is very friendly and asks if I have any questions after explaining things. I get my first warning to see a dentist in 48 hours max. She warns that T3’s can cause constipation and affect decision-making, among other side effects. She warns against arguing with my partner or getting a haircut while under its effects. I like her.

I go back to the second waiting area and once again wait, as one does in these areas. After a short period of time a nurse comes in with my prescription and the T3/Alleve combo. At 5:15 p.m. I am heading out the way I came in, off to get the prescription filled at Save-On Foods, where I will also buy Goldfish crackers as a pick-me-up.

The pharmacist is like the doctor, friendly and informative. She advises me of one of the side effects of the antibiotics, which is diarrhea. She in unsure if the constipation from the T3s will cancel out the diarrhea from the antibiotics. I like to think they will.

I finish my shopping, come home and indulge in my new prescription drugs. The first T3 works amazingly well, almost completely masking the pain. I can take one more before bed (if needed). I’m feeling a little light-headed as I write this, which is one of the other side effects. I have no immediate plans to drive a bulldozer or other vehicle, so the neighborhood is safe. For now. I may suddenly decide driving a bulldozer is a totally excellent idea. I’ve never been on T3s before.

I need to decide if I want to find an emergency dentist tomorrow or wait until Monday and see if Jeff’s dentist can take me on as a new (emergency) patient. I’ll probably go with the former, as it seems time is of the proverbial essence.

I’m not looking forward to the dentist visit. I mean, who would? You’d need to eat a lot of T3s to think the dentist is fun. Because most of the tooth is gone, removing the rest will require excavating through the gums. I’d like to think dentistry is all lasers and painless now, but I suspect we’re not quite there yet. I’m hoping getting anesthetized is an option. I can deal with waking up all loopy afterward and then experiencing exquisite pain (provided I have my T3s).

All in all, I’d have preferred a better weekend. If it turns out I won the $26 million Lotto 6/49 jackpot tonight, I will come back to amend the preceding statement.

Hospital visit: The Unintended Sequel

11:00 a.m. In a scene reminiscent of Groundhog Day I find myself back in emergency exactly 24 hours after my last visit.

I had neglected to mention the mild annoyance of a general achiness in my left leg. This achiness worsened last night to where it interfered with my sleep, so I’m back. Whee.

The first guy ahead of me has come because he got a call from his sister that his mother had died. As he said to the receptionist as she arranged for someone to take him up to her, “This sucks.”

11:06 a.m. Busier than yesterday. I am expecting to be here a good while.

11:16 a.m. A kid in full hockey gear (minus skates) sits next to me, holding an ice pack over his right wrist. He is wearing pale blue crocs. He is quiet. I like him.

11:31 a.m. Still waiting in triage. This is definitely going to be a long visit.

11:35 a.m. Initial check-in complete, temperature and blood pressure taken.

11:38 a.m. A daughter and mother arrive, the daughter in tears. She has broken a finger. I get a glimpse of it as we pass. It looks pretty bruised and ugly.

11:40 a.m. More questions, I get my chart and am sent to the Minor Treatment Waiting Room. This place looks familiar!

I notice two clocks, one above the other. They disagree on the time. The incorrect one, an analog, still believes it’s daylight savings time. It also has a second hand that only ticks forward every five seconds. It’s a bit unsettling to watch.

Phone battery stands at 92%.

12:10 p.m. Moved into the exam room, woo. Same intern, wondering why I am back.

12:20 p.m. I am put into a gown for the initial leg prodding. Tentative diagnosis is ‘I dunno!’ I am advised to take Advil as I wait for the doctor to show up.

12:25 p.m. The doctor shows up, I repeat a few stretchy moves and he tells me the same thing as the intern — take Tylenol or Advil and come back if it seems worse or no better by mid-week. Oh, and stay mobile instead of sitting in a rocking chair all day like I normally do.

12:28 p.m. I am done and out of there. The exam room has two other people in it, getting a bit crowded. Today’s theme seems to be leg injuries. I spent a good deal of time sitting near a guy with crutches reading a copy of Runner’s World. I felt sad for both of us.

Now, seriously, I DO NOT WANT TO GO BACK.

Live blog: Hospital emergency room visit

Two days ago I finished off 10 days of Cipro. This fun-sounding antibiotic was prescribed to deal with what was diagnosed as a bacterial prostate infection. After separate 7 and 10 day doses rather than feeling all fresh and zesty I found it hurt to pee. Having one of the world’s smallest bladders, this has proven inconvenient, to say the least.

And so it is that I begin my weekend sitting in the emergency of Royal Columbian Hospital in New Westminster.

11:00 a.m. I check in. Almost immediately I am called over, tagged and given an initial probing–blood pressure and temperature.

11:05 a.m. I am sent back to triage. Only a few moments pass before I am moved along to the area beyond triage. The people in this area do not look happy. There is someone in a bed with the curtain not quite pulled far enough to completely obscure him or her. The shadowy movements bring to mind a Stephen King story.

11:15 a.m I am told to follow the green arrows on the floor and wait in relative seclusion for the doctor. Nearby and unseen a child is crying out as if in agony.

At 11:25 the child is still crying but I can hear someone trying to calm him and talking about how they need to make sure they stop the bleeding. The kid seems unconvinced. Wailing continues.

11:28 a.m. Someone moves me further along to the Minor Treatment Waiting Room. There are more green arrows leading here. I think this is where I was supposed to be. Oops.

The man takes my chart and the wailing kid is farther away which serves to give his cries a more dream (or rather nightmare) like quality.

It is 11:31 a.m. There are five other people here, four of whom appear to be couples. The real waiting mow begins.

11:33 a.m. That kid is really starting to get on my nerves.

11:37 a.m. A young couple arrives with a girl of about three. They listen to the screams and the mother says, “She’s going to sound like that.” That’s the spirit!

11:40 a.m. I am moved to the room I initially went to by mistake and about five minutes later a young doctor attends to me to begin the ‘men of a certain age’ diagnosis in earnest.

After numerous questions and some hands-on probing I am asked to pee in a cup–again. I comply with attendant discomfort. She then decides a rectal exam is in order and for probably the only time ever a woman gets intimate with my butt. The thought of this being an indignity doesn’t occur to me due to being that certain age.

12:05 p.m. I await the initial results of the pee analysis. I notice now that the kid is no longer wailing. Smothered with a pillow, perhaps. The waiting room is now standing room only.

I have drained 5% of my phone’s battery typing this.

12:07 p.m. A man gets called in. He gets up very slowly. He fell off a ladder. I wonder if a person can walk with a broken back.

12:15 p.m. My thoughts turn to food. Mmm, food. I have no food.

I wonder why I am waiting for the urinalysis when the doctor said it would take several days to get a detailed sample of the culture. I will be very hungry in several days.

12:24 p.m. A little kid is taken in and starts crying. Pace yourself, I say. At least wait until the gloves come out.

Meanwhile, the other kid here decides to have a mini-tantrum. I say mini because I know she is capable of so much more.

They just wheeled a woman by in a bed that filled the entire aisle. Three people guiding it and there’s a machine on it that beeps like a heart beat.

12:30 p.m. My phone is down to 91%. I blame Bejeweled 2.

12:50 p.m. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m actually still supposed to be here.

A guy who sheared off his fingertip sits down next to me. No gushing blood. Yet.

1:00 pm to 1:45 pm. I am finally introduced to the actual doctor (the woman is a resident). He asks a lot of intimidatingly personal questions and I answer plainly. The initial pee sample comes back clean save for a very tiny trace elevation in blood glucose — consistent with other results. No infection to be found. He suggests a few possibilities, like a yeast infection (possible in men, says he) or maybe irritation in my manhood as a result of the antibiotics. But he doesn’t think these are the causes. He thinks it’s an STI even though I’ve been in a monogamous relationship for the past year. I am given pills to take for a week and another pee sample is taken which will be tested for STIs. I’ll know if I get a call in the next five days or so. no call means everything is fine there. He tells me to practice safe sex and for me and my partner to get tested for the biggies like HIV and such within the week. This is sensible advice and I’ll definitely follow up, even at the risk of getting Very Bad News because knowing is better than not knowing.

I’m going with the irritation theory, though. It’s the least disturbing.

As I make my way out of the exam room I notice another guy on the other bed. He is on his side and curled up in a bit of a fetal position. That doesn’t look good. At least he’s not screaming.

The person in the rolling bed with the beeping machine is trundled by again with even more people in attendance. I’m wondering if they’re just getting scooped up as the giant bed is wheeled down the halls.

All told my visit lasted a little under three hours but actual waiting times were not bad. The staff was friendly and efficient so as far as icky hospital visits go it went about as well as can be expected. My phone battery stands at 83%.

I do not want to go back.