You Have GOT to be Kidding Me

I'll start out by saying that upon our return to the hotel, Stacey became super-wife. Not that she wasn't already, but she took care of EVERYTHING. We pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked the Jeep. Stacey helped me into the hotel and up to our room. We turned on the Niners game (what timing!), and while I sat on the couch and watched my favorite team being dismantled for the fifth time in as many weeks, Stacey transferred our belongings from the car to our new temporary home.

It felt good to be back at the hotel. No more pancakes, no more IVs, no more wondering if the person being wheeled down the hall complaining about the pain in his shoulder was going to be my roommate for the next 48 hours... what more could a person wish for?

My wound seemed to be healing nicely. So nicely, that we opted to take a snapshot of it to share with the world:


A stitch in time saves nine...

I was on a regular cycle of meds, and there was no pain to speak of. After a light lunch/dinner made by my wonderful wife, I opted to turn in early and get some rest. I wasn't sleeping well, and eventually woke up in a cold sweat and had the chills.

Stacey took my temperature, several times, and the range was 102 to 103.5. Panic mode was setting in, and Stacey called the doctor's office immediately. I didn't want to go back to the hospital, but I wasn't really in any mood to argue. The doctor instructed me to take some Tylenol to reduce the fever; if that didn't work in the next 60 minutes, I needed to get to the emergency room.

Three cheers for Tylenol! The fever broke in the next 45 minutes, and with that, so did any desire to stay awake. I went back to bed and snoozed through the night.

I woke the next day (Monday) feeling fine. Stacey kept me on a regular routine for medicine, meals, exercise, and naps, and I was looking forward to several days of quiet to aid my recovery. In between the moments of quiet, one can't underestimate the healing effects of surfing the internet. Those healing effects were limited to 15 ergonomic minutes every six hours:


Who needs expensive laptop lifters?

Later that evening, Stacey thought I might want to get out of the room, so we decided to treat ourselves to a light dinner at the always-empty grill downstairs. In hindsight, I should have had what Stacey had. Or more to the point, I shouldn't have had the Turkey Club. Of course, I didn't know that until later.

Later was now here, and I was not feeling as comfortable as I would have liked in the abdominal region. I chalked the pain up to constipation (I know, too much information, but it's relevant), and requested some pharmacy product to alleviate said symptoms.

My wonderful wife, yet again, went on a late run to the store to pick up something to hopefully reduce the bloatedness. By the time she returned, the pain was becoming unbearable, and I perhaps went overboard in trying to remedy this.

I'll keep the graphic detail to a minimum, but lets just say the contents of my stomach decided they weren't altogether pleased with being in me, and having two paths of exit, decided to partake in not one or the other, but both.

After 20 minutes of this, combined with the fever event from the previous night, Stacey decided I needed to go to the emergency room. Once again, I did not want to return to the hospital, but I lost that battle and by 11pm we were pulling into the emergency parking lot.

My emergency room experience started off, and ended, 180 degrees from my experience on the ICU and recovery wards. To begin with, they had apparently little concern for the guy who had just shuffled in, pale, weak, and with a complete lack of focus and energy (if you guessed 'Eric', you win!).

After my urgent request for and speedwalk to the nearest bathroom, they showed that same lack of concern for me, as I sat down and heaved uncontrollably into the nearest garbage can.

When I was finally checked-in, the nurse started me off on an IV. Now there are many places you can put an IV, but the one place not generally recommended is that bendy part between your forearm and bicep. Why? Because if you move your arm from any position past "straight", the needle digs in, and it HURTS. It should come as no surprise then, that the emergency nurse chose precisely that place to put the IV.

While I was being fed IV juice, the nurse told Stacey that my symptoms presented the same as someone who was having withdrawals from pain killers. Yes... I'm also presenting as someone who JUST HAD BRAIN SURGERY and you may shockingly not have noticed, but look at the giant zipper in the back of my head. That's Clue Number One.

Eventually the emergency doctor came in (who was nice), and when she found out I was a patient of Dr. Oro's, things changed dramatically. I was wheeled to the radiology room and given a CT-scan to make sure everything was still in working order (it was), and they went right to work getting me a room on the recovery ward.

We had to wait an hour or two before a room was ready, but by early morning Tuesday, I was back on the recovery ward, re-introducing myself to the staff that had been so relieved to be rid of me. My advice to anyone else getting a posterior fossa decompression: stay away from the Turkey Club.

Coming up Next: The Recovery Ward, Part Deux