After two weeks off and watching the kids, I woke up for work today quite ill.
“That’s because you didn’t have time to get sick before,” is Amy’s theory. Perhaps like people who live a little longer for a special day or visitor. But I don’t really have time to get sick now either.
The withered old man asked. So I told him, my words stumbling unprofessionally, that if he stopped dialysis, he probably had less than two weeks left. That if he got a feeding tube put into his stomach and continued dialysis, he might live for a couple months. And that if he didn’t get the feeding tube in his stomach, he might live for a couple months.
“So why do people get a feeding tube?” his son asked at bedside.
“They want to try,” I said.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” the old man grabbed my hand. (Don’t worry, I wash them before and after each patient.)
I saw a delirious man miraculously recover (actually someone just treated his bladder infection) and save himself a trip to the psych ward, but now he doesn’t qualify to stay in the hospital and his nursing home doesn’t want him back.
I saw a man in the psych ward for “ear infection, anemia, high cholesterol,” according to the psychiatrist request. The ear infection was gone, the anemia was more of an “emia” (not a real word), and his high cholesterol was not. But the patient liked me and wished me well in my endeavors.
It was busy but I had to lie down for a bit. Chills and muscle aches with each step: fucking viral. I moved in slow motion. I coughed a blot of yellow sputum on my white coat. I spilled chicken soup over my tie. I laid down in the call room with my winter coat wrapped in blankets until the cold turned to fire. I could feel my temples pounding. My blood trying to burn the infection away. No Tylenol. Got to sweat this out. Then I got paged about someone someone else forgot to tell me about.
One of my senior colleagues has a theory that the ages from 50 to 65 are the Judgment Years. It’s when the results of your lifestyle and health choices up to then show themselves. If you can make it to 65, she half-jokes, then you’re home free to 80 or so. Unless you get the cancer wild card.
I don’t know. I’m a little delirious and I’m going to sleep early. Somedays it’s like Wonderland.
