When I first arrived at the hospital in the ER, they asked for a contact
number of a relative. Just in case. A simple question that I couldn't
answer. The nurse then asked if there was a friend they could put in the
file. That made me realise that the only real friend I have is Catherine.
Sure I know a lot of people, but I would only call them colleagues,
acquaintances. Not real friends. So now Catherine's number is on my chart.
I called her later that evening. I needed some clothes, toilet requisites and someone to feed my pets. Catherine agreed to do it, but she wasn't too happy when she heard about the pets.
When she stopped by with my things, she made a joke about how it would just be easier to put the roaches in the terrarium with the tarantula. Her exact words were: 'To let the strongest survive.' I didn't really find it that funny, but Catherine thought it was.
The first three days have actually gone by fast. It is all a routine one quickly gets used to. I of course managed to become unpopular with one of the nurses the first morning. How was I to know that I had to wait until they had taken my blood pressure, an ECG and blood tests, before I could get out of bed? My argumentation was that I really needed to go to the bathroom. That nurse still gives me a suspicious look every time I see her.
The visiting hours are the worst time of the day. The man next to me, Michael Hiatt, gets visits every day. He's only four years older than me, but he has everything I haven't. A loving wife, kids, even a grandchild. A constant reminder that I'm alone. And for the first time in my life I've come to realise that I don't want to be alone. Not any more.
When I had the operation on my ears, I decided that things would change. But when I look back on the past few months, I can see that very little has in fact changed. Especially when it comes to Sara. Then nothing has changed. I really need to talk to her privately when I get out of this place. Explain things and stop pushing her away. Maybe we can figure out what this thing is we have between us.
Right now it just feels like judgement day is coming. For the past three days I've had several blood tests and ECG´s taken. Today I've had the stress test. They should really rename that to what it is: Ride the bike until you fall off. However none of the tests have given any clear answer as to what's wrong. All they know for sure is that I have angina, but so far they haven't found the cause of it. So tomorrow they'll do an angiogram. This should tell for sure if there are any blockage blood vessels on the heart. I guess that you can call it the final verdict.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Finally after five days, I am getting ready to be released. I was starting to feel like I was going nuts. I need to get out and more importantly home. It's no picnic living in a room with four other men. Even though, the patients in the other beds have changed in the time I've been here, there's always someone snoring at night. I just need to get out and go home, with my own bed and sleep for a change.
Coming home also means that I need to talk to Sara. She and the rest of the team paid me a visit the day before.
They all seemed a bit shaken by the whole thing. I hadn't told anybody that I felt sick for some time, so it had come to them as a shock. Sure they noticed that I wasn't quite myself, but they just thought it was another one of my quirks, as Catherine had put it.
Then of all the days, I been in the hospital they chose yesterday. Just returned from the exam room where the doctors performed the angiogram. So I was stuck in bed with a sand bag on my hip to close the wound and had strict orders to lay as still as possible.
The whole time they were here, Sara avoided my gaze. She was obviously mad and why? For not telling her how bad it was. Because I first called Catherine. Because I had hung up on her. Because I didn't tell her which hospital I was going to.
I tried to explain to her that at the time I didn't know. She just mumbled something about I could just have asked the EMT´s, which of course is true. I want to have her closer, I made that promise to myself a day ago, yet with everything I do I seem to push her further away. If I truly want her in my life, I need to make her part of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Before I can be released, I need to have a meeting with the cardiologist, doctor Mazrik Petersen. That is why I am sitting in this small office. There's barely room for the shelves full of books covering the wall. And between the shelves and the door there's a desk with a chair on each side.
Suddenly the door opens and in comes Dr. Petersen.
"Mr. Grissom, how are we today?"
"Anxious to be released Doctor."
"What?! You haven't enjoyed your stay with us? Now you've really hurt my feelings," he chuckles.
"If you consider getting needles stuck in your arms every other second, having ECG's taken two to four times a day as fun, then you'll have a really good time here," I reply as I shift impatiently in my chair.
"Point taken, Mr. Grissom. Now let us get to the serious part, so that you can go home."
He goes through the papers in my journal.
"So after the five days you've been with us, several ECG´s have been taken, a work test, the heart has been scanned. And then yesterday we did a cardiology angiogram and of course lots of blood tests." He closes the journal and looks me straight in the eyes. "There was one blood vessel on your heart that has a slight blockage. But nothing that will require surgery at this point of time. Most likely it's also one of the reasons that you suffer from angina. Other than that everything looks fine for a man at your age."
"What does that means?"
He clears his throat and puts the file on the table. "Mr. Grissom you've mentioned earlier that you're the supervisor of the night shift in the crime lab. Now would I be wrong if I assumed that there's a lot of stress that comes with the job?"
What is he trying to tell me? "Evidence is time critical. We have to work as long a case is hot. So I guess the stress is a big part of the job."
I can see the wheels turning in his head, while he is considering what I've just told him.
"Mr. Grissom. The angina we saw on some of the ECG´s is most likely a side effect of being exposed to much stress over a long period. It's your body telling you that it can't keep up with the pace. That you need to slow down."
"Slow down?!" I can't do that. Time is always of the essence. We have to work when the trail is hot.
Dr. Petersen leans over the table. "You need to understand that this was just a warning. You were lucky. Most people never get that chance, or they just ignore it for too long. Then suddenly they have a stroke and then it's just too late. Now the question is: Are you going to learn something from this or not?"
"Are you saying that if I don't change anything, this will kill me?"
"I never said that. Who knows what happens tomorrow. Maybe you'll get hit by a bus. I am just saying that if you want to live a healthier and longer life, you need to take care of your body. You seriously need to consider your work situation."
The seriousness in the doctor's voice troubles me. Maybe he's right. This sure has been a wake up call. I can't imagine a life without work though. My work is my life. I know that and have been accused of it many times. Can I really slow down? Can I really take a step back?
I heave a deep sigh. I really need to think about this. "All right. I'll see what I can do about my work situation. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
"Well, we've got you started on some medication, and I want you to continue with that. Then I'll prescribe you a Nitroglycerine spray that you need to take when you get angina. If the Nitro doesn't help after three sprays, you dial nine one one. You don't wait another thirty minutes to see if it passes, you make the call. Do you understand me?"
"Can't I just contact my regular physician instead?"
"No, Mr. Grissom. This time it was a warning, but the next time it might be the real thing. Now I want to see you again in six weeks for a check up. If you have any problems in the meantime, no matter how small they may seem, then you contact your regular physician."
"I'll do that, Dr. Petersen."
He stands up and reaches out and we shake hands.
"Please Mr. Grissom, take good care of yourself. Until the next time we meet."
"I'll do my best Dr. Petersen," I say while I get up and leave.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2004 by gittedl
I called her later that evening. I needed some clothes, toilet requisites and someone to feed my pets. Catherine agreed to do it, but she wasn't too happy when she heard about the pets.
When she stopped by with my things, she made a joke about how it would just be easier to put the roaches in the terrarium with the tarantula. Her exact words were: 'To let the strongest survive.' I didn't really find it that funny, but Catherine thought it was.
The first three days have actually gone by fast. It is all a routine one quickly gets used to. I of course managed to become unpopular with one of the nurses the first morning. How was I to know that I had to wait until they had taken my blood pressure, an ECG and blood tests, before I could get out of bed? My argumentation was that I really needed to go to the bathroom. That nurse still gives me a suspicious look every time I see her.
The visiting hours are the worst time of the day. The man next to me, Michael Hiatt, gets visits every day. He's only four years older than me, but he has everything I haven't. A loving wife, kids, even a grandchild. A constant reminder that I'm alone. And for the first time in my life I've come to realise that I don't want to be alone. Not any more.
When I had the operation on my ears, I decided that things would change. But when I look back on the past few months, I can see that very little has in fact changed. Especially when it comes to Sara. Then nothing has changed. I really need to talk to her privately when I get out of this place. Explain things and stop pushing her away. Maybe we can figure out what this thing is we have between us.
Right now it just feels like judgement day is coming. For the past three days I've had several blood tests and ECG´s taken. Today I've had the stress test. They should really rename that to what it is: Ride the bike until you fall off. However none of the tests have given any clear answer as to what's wrong. All they know for sure is that I have angina, but so far they haven't found the cause of it. So tomorrow they'll do an angiogram. This should tell for sure if there are any blockage blood vessels on the heart. I guess that you can call it the final verdict.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Finally after five days, I am getting ready to be released. I was starting to feel like I was going nuts. I need to get out and more importantly home. It's no picnic living in a room with four other men. Even though, the patients in the other beds have changed in the time I've been here, there's always someone snoring at night. I just need to get out and go home, with my own bed and sleep for a change.
Coming home also means that I need to talk to Sara. She and the rest of the team paid me a visit the day before.
They all seemed a bit shaken by the whole thing. I hadn't told anybody that I felt sick for some time, so it had come to them as a shock. Sure they noticed that I wasn't quite myself, but they just thought it was another one of my quirks, as Catherine had put it.
Then of all the days, I been in the hospital they chose yesterday. Just returned from the exam room where the doctors performed the angiogram. So I was stuck in bed with a sand bag on my hip to close the wound and had strict orders to lay as still as possible.
The whole time they were here, Sara avoided my gaze. She was obviously mad and why? For not telling her how bad it was. Because I first called Catherine. Because I had hung up on her. Because I didn't tell her which hospital I was going to.
I tried to explain to her that at the time I didn't know. She just mumbled something about I could just have asked the EMT´s, which of course is true. I want to have her closer, I made that promise to myself a day ago, yet with everything I do I seem to push her further away. If I truly want her in my life, I need to make her part of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Before I can be released, I need to have a meeting with the cardiologist, doctor Mazrik Petersen. That is why I am sitting in this small office. There's barely room for the shelves full of books covering the wall. And between the shelves and the door there's a desk with a chair on each side.
Suddenly the door opens and in comes Dr. Petersen.
"Mr. Grissom, how are we today?"
"Anxious to be released Doctor."
"What?! You haven't enjoyed your stay with us? Now you've really hurt my feelings," he chuckles.
"If you consider getting needles stuck in your arms every other second, having ECG's taken two to four times a day as fun, then you'll have a really good time here," I reply as I shift impatiently in my chair.
"Point taken, Mr. Grissom. Now let us get to the serious part, so that you can go home."
He goes through the papers in my journal.
"So after the five days you've been with us, several ECG´s have been taken, a work test, the heart has been scanned. And then yesterday we did a cardiology angiogram and of course lots of blood tests." He closes the journal and looks me straight in the eyes. "There was one blood vessel on your heart that has a slight blockage. But nothing that will require surgery at this point of time. Most likely it's also one of the reasons that you suffer from angina. Other than that everything looks fine for a man at your age."
"What does that means?"
He clears his throat and puts the file on the table. "Mr. Grissom you've mentioned earlier that you're the supervisor of the night shift in the crime lab. Now would I be wrong if I assumed that there's a lot of stress that comes with the job?"
What is he trying to tell me? "Evidence is time critical. We have to work as long a case is hot. So I guess the stress is a big part of the job."
I can see the wheels turning in his head, while he is considering what I've just told him.
"Mr. Grissom. The angina we saw on some of the ECG´s is most likely a side effect of being exposed to much stress over a long period. It's your body telling you that it can't keep up with the pace. That you need to slow down."
"Slow down?!" I can't do that. Time is always of the essence. We have to work when the trail is hot.
Dr. Petersen leans over the table. "You need to understand that this was just a warning. You were lucky. Most people never get that chance, or they just ignore it for too long. Then suddenly they have a stroke and then it's just too late. Now the question is: Are you going to learn something from this or not?"
"Are you saying that if I don't change anything, this will kill me?"
"I never said that. Who knows what happens tomorrow. Maybe you'll get hit by a bus. I am just saying that if you want to live a healthier and longer life, you need to take care of your body. You seriously need to consider your work situation."
The seriousness in the doctor's voice troubles me. Maybe he's right. This sure has been a wake up call. I can't imagine a life without work though. My work is my life. I know that and have been accused of it many times. Can I really slow down? Can I really take a step back?
I heave a deep sigh. I really need to think about this. "All right. I'll see what I can do about my work situation. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
"Well, we've got you started on some medication, and I want you to continue with that. Then I'll prescribe you a Nitroglycerine spray that you need to take when you get angina. If the Nitro doesn't help after three sprays, you dial nine one one. You don't wait another thirty minutes to see if it passes, you make the call. Do you understand me?"
"Can't I just contact my regular physician instead?"
"No, Mr. Grissom. This time it was a warning, but the next time it might be the real thing. Now I want to see you again in six weeks for a check up. If you have any problems in the meantime, no matter how small they may seem, then you contact your regular physician."
"I'll do that, Dr. Petersen."
He stands up and reaches out and we shake hands.
"Please Mr. Grissom, take good care of yourself. Until the next time we meet."
"I'll do my best Dr. Petersen," I say while I get up and leave.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2004 by gittedl