A glitch in the schedule?
/David has been working assiduously on a video and accompanying guide for the plans and construction of the camping box he just built for our Kia Sorento. He was supposed to have it done and published on YouTube, Facebook and our website by last Saturday, but he didn’t publish a thing. What happened, you ask? As David indicated on Saturday, there was a little glitch in the schedule. Life got in the way.
No, we didn’t head off on some great, unplanned adventure nor did he lose interest in the project. No, our Friday morning started out much more mundane than that. We were up at 0500, had our usual coffee and newspaper read in bed, then we left on our ritual morning walk. We usually do a lap or two around the perimeter of the neighborhood. We finished one lap and thought we’d do another and that’s when the problem occurred. I’m not the most graceful woman and I’ve been known to trip and fall in most every country we’ve ever visited. My foot gets caught on a root or I stumble over a rock or in this case, some minor sidewalk pavement imperfection and down I go with a yip and a bang. I haven’t tripped in awhile, so I guess I was due.
Just around the corner from our house I tripped and nearly caught myself… but not quite. It was a good tumble as tumbles go, sending my coffee cup flying, knocking the the wind out of me and finally depositing me in the gutter midst the morning’s excess lawn sprinkler water. It surprised us both and after I gathered my wits, David pulled me up and dusted me off as best he could. Wet and discombobulated, I figured we could still continue once I caught my breath. After a few steps, however, I felt lightheaded and found a place to sit for a minute. And so the saga began.
While resting for a minute, it appears I passed out. David wasn’t prepared and I slipped off my seat and toppled to the ground. I came to with him saying “Marcie, talk to me!”. “Huh? talk to you about what?”, I thought, and then slumped over once again. When I came to again, David was quite concerned and asked me to recite the alphabet. I thought I did… he says I couldn’t. He was all set to call an ambulance, but I begged him not to, but rather suggested he call Paul to come and get us… and out I went again. Paul retrieved us, got us home where I changed out of my wet clothes and, as a reluctant compromise to an ambulance, agreed to an ER visit. This is a secondhand recounting of the incident as I barely remember any of it.
Off we sped to Desert Springs Hospital, a short ride from home. In triage, they asked questions I could not answer and finally they called David over to fill in a bunch of blanks. Due to COVID, he could not accompany me into the ER ward itself, however. For hours, I lay in a tiny cubicle waiting on tests and results. ER patients came and went… lots of them so inebriated they could barely walk or talk or, conversely, yelled and swore at the top of their lungs. “It’s the neighborhood” said one ER tech when I commented. Some folks there were actually sick.
The staff poked and prodded me throughout the morning and into the afternoon. On inquiry, I repeated my secondhand litany of events to countless people… ER docs, nurses, hospitalists, X-ray techs, passers by… the list was endless, but the story never improved with the retelling.
This has never happened to me before and hence the concern. All vital signs were normal. EKG… normal. I had a few scrapes and bruises from the fall, but nothing serious. X-rays of my hips and ribs were done as a precaution… all clear. Did I hit my head when I fell? I wasn’t sure, but David said no. An X-ray of my head was ordered anyway. Other than being blonde, all was normal. And they threw in a chest X-ray for good measure. Blood work was done… multiple times… all normal. By 3pm I thought they’d clear me to go home, but no, instead they wanted to admit me overnight for further testing and observation. After a phone consult with David, I grudgingly agreed. The good news? David could visit me in my room. Poor David. The person waiting and not knowing what’s going on always endures the worst of it, I think. My calm, even-keeled husband was a wreck.
It wasn’t all bad… here’s the view of Las Vegas from my window. Always look at the bright side of life, right?
I guessed we wouldn’t be enjoying the free concert on the green for which we had tickets nor the dinner out we’d planned. Instead, David joined me in my room and sat with me, waiting… endlessly waiting. By late evening, I’d also undergone two CT scans, a carotid ultrasound and more blood work, but it was too late for overreads and results. I was told to relax, I’d get them in the morning. We were both exhausted.. David headed for home and I hoped to get some sleep. Neither of us did.
It seemed to take forever to doze off and inevitably all through the night, someone would come in to take vital signs or hook up an IV or ask if I was okay. I mean, who needs my blood at 2am? Obviously Dracula did. When no one was bothering me in the room, various and sundry alarms would sound. The hospital bed was too confining and uncomfortable. I was lucky if I got a few uninterrupted minutes. I think if I was really sick, I’d be a miserable patient to deal with. Oh, yeah, and the food sucked.
David admitted he didn’t sleep well either, but nevertheless he was waiting at the hospital door when it opened to visitors and was up in my room with morning java by 0800. Seeing his face and the coffee was a great relief. He was there when the hospitalist (the new name for an attending physician) arrived, followed on the the heels by a neurologist. They shared the results of the previous day’s tests… all normal. Perplexed by no positive findings, the docs concocted a few more tests for me to endure: an EEG (electro-encephalograph - brain scan), an echocardiogram and a brain MRI. We waited none too patiently for the tests to be performed throughout the day and the results to be reviewed. The MRI was last and the most uncomfortable. No results were reported to us and I would spend yet another night at the Desert Springs Resort (and hospital).
On Sunday morning, David returned with more coffee in hand (God bless him) and we waited once again for results. The hospitalist showed up around 10am with the news that the MRI was normal, but still had no results from the echo or EEG. He offered me another resort night or, possibly, he could discharge me with the caveat and promise I’d follow up with the cardiologist, the neurologist and my regular family physician ASAP. I pondered this option for about a nanosecond and asked for the discharge.
So, I got sprung from the joint. At home, we enjoyed a late breakfast, took showers and headed for a nap. All is well and I’m feeling absolutely fine. I’ll follow up tomorrow as promised, but for tonight I’m appreciating just being home.