Saturday night,
we all got together at the usual place,
like we usually do.
Saturday night,
we tried something different.....
Peanut Butter Bagels and goldfish stew!
From a folk song I heard in 1968 - unsure of the author.
SWMBO* and I spent Saturday night at the local Emergency Room. This is not how I recommend spending that oh so precious night of the weekend. This was the culmination of hours of nagging by the aforementioned significant other as well as my brother and various stepchildren and inlaws/outlaws and the doctor covering for my physician.
By now you may have a suspicion I didn't want to go. You'd be right on the money, Sherlock.
Actually, the problem started on Friday evening. It had been a long day and I was tired by early evening. Upon sitting down to supper I discovered I was having some difficulty with swallowing. My lips didn't want to cooperate on the right side of my face. I figured it was just muscle strain as it felt sort of like I couldn't open my mouth all the way -- like when your jaw is having a cramp, y'know? So, being a guy, I just ignored it and proceeded to stuff my face as best I could, trying hard to minimize the slurping from uncooperative lips.
So I ignored the problem and come Saturday morning I can't get my eye to work as it should on the right side. But there's a blizzard coming and the snowplow has to be fired up and readied to do battle with that nasty white stuff. No mean feat as it hasn't moved from where it was parked after losing its last battle with the tag team of Jack Frost and Mother Nature. Gas needs to be got. Wipers must be found. Battery needs charging. Then comes climbing up into the cavernous engine compartment (it's a 1978 3/4 ton 4X4, 350 c.i. with a 4 barrel Holley) and priming the carburetor as there's a hole in the suction line from the tank to the fuel pump that will necessitate complete removal of the tank to repair - one of those "roundtuit" jobs for another day.
Keep in mind it's 11 degrees and the breeze is blowing. So the fact my eye is drying out doesn't bother me - it's windy, after all. And the stiff neck and pain behind the ear - that's OK, too - must have strained it. Except it turns out that wifey has noted the bloodshot eye and the slack jaw and has been on the phone all morning rousing the (ire of) troops. Coffee break time brings an irate stepdaughter who accuses me of not thinking of her wellbeing - seems that if I croak then she'd have to take care of her mother and she wouldn't want THAT in a million years.
Huh? Where in hell did that come from?
Well, trust me to procrastinate some more until the other half is near frantic enough to pull out all the stops. First, she has my brother threaten me. Then the doctor. So finally, I relent. With 2 inches of snow on the ground and more promised, off to the ER we go, slipping and sliding along merrily. More waiting in the waiting room. At Reception. In the cubicle.
Nurse Jim interrogates me and then opines, "Looks like Bell's Palsey to me." I've been at this job for over a week and that's what I think the Doc will say. Get undressed put this "johnnie" on and wait for him on the bed."
More waiting, this time with my back exposed to the wall. In bounces Tigger, er, Dahwayne, the P.A. "Nurse Jim tells me you are competing for Bell's palsy Poster Boy."
Oh joy. A jokester. "Grrr -- hold still so I can beat you," thinks I. But no, Dahwayne stands there with his full arm and shoulder Eagle tattoo flexing, up and down, as he literally squirms in his scrubs, picture of 30 y.o. health and vitality, intoning how he has been on the job for more than a week (ER catchphrase of the day?) and that there was nothing to be done except keep the eye moist when sleeping with saline eyedrops and a patch taped over the eye. "Things'll resolve themselves in a couple three months or more and that recurrences, er, recur."
Nurse Jim returns, shows me "how to patch up" and tells me to get dressed and "get outta here." No one has examined me. Why the phreak did I have to get undressed in the first place? Oh well. On with the clothes and out the door. White knuckle it home on greasy roads in low visibility. But wife is relieved. I suppose that's worth the aggravation and expense. It's only Bell's palsy, not a stroke or TIA.
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