Sunday fun, part 2
About 12.20 am
The paramedic arrives. He takes my details and information about what has happened, doubtless as much to check my mental state as for diagnosis purposes. He then encourages me to sit up very slowly, before helping me to my feet and walking me through the kitchen and into the lounge, where we wait for the ambulance. His name is Les or Len, I remember -- it was on his name badge -- and he gives me some oxygen to help counter my lightheadedness. He also takes a small blood sample from my left thumb to check something...
The ambulance arrives and Wife lets the staff into the house. They are two young blonde women. Even in this debilitated state, my vanity allows me an internal chuckle at how much of a mess I look sitting there, at 37 years of age, probably with vomit round my mouth and wearing a Simpsons pyjama top. This same top (which is T-shirt stylee) will go on to feel more conspicuous as the night runs into early morning.
The ambulance girls ask many of the same questions that the paramedic had asked, and between the three of them and Wife (who was concerned I may have had some kind of seizure) they decided I ought to get checked out at the hospital. We are advised to bring some money to get back from the hospital afterwards. I am helped to the ambulance, where I lie down on a gurney and am given more oxygen by mask. Wife joins me inside, and many of the same questions are asked yet again, this time for the purposes of documentation. We then set off on the 10-mile journey.
Wow, talk about a bumpy ride! I stay on my back the entire time, feeling every dip and hump in the road on the sparsely padded gurney. Once in a while I smile at Wife, who is seated down near my feet, though I don't know how visible my smiles are through the mask.
The short trip takes about 20 minutes, I guess -- difficult to say -- and on arrival I am unhooked from the oxygen and helped down the steps and into a wheelchair in the hospital car park. I sit and immediately throw up once exposed to the cool night air. And again. And again. And I think once more. Wife heaved as the wind carried the scent of my expulsions towards her.
I seem to have emptied myself, so I am wheeled into the A&E (accident and emergency) reception area to await the triage nurse.
The paramedic arrives. He takes my details and information about what has happened, doubtless as much to check my mental state as for diagnosis purposes. He then encourages me to sit up very slowly, before helping me to my feet and walking me through the kitchen and into the lounge, where we wait for the ambulance. His name is Les or Len, I remember -- it was on his name badge -- and he gives me some oxygen to help counter my lightheadedness. He also takes a small blood sample from my left thumb to check something...
The ambulance arrives and Wife lets the staff into the house. They are two young blonde women. Even in this debilitated state, my vanity allows me an internal chuckle at how much of a mess I look sitting there, at 37 years of age, probably with vomit round my mouth and wearing a Simpsons pyjama top. This same top (which is T-shirt stylee) will go on to feel more conspicuous as the night runs into early morning.
The ambulance girls ask many of the same questions that the paramedic had asked, and between the three of them and Wife (who was concerned I may have had some kind of seizure) they decided I ought to get checked out at the hospital. We are advised to bring some money to get back from the hospital afterwards. I am helped to the ambulance, where I lie down on a gurney and am given more oxygen by mask. Wife joins me inside, and many of the same questions are asked yet again, this time for the purposes of documentation. We then set off on the 10-mile journey.
Wow, talk about a bumpy ride! I stay on my back the entire time, feeling every dip and hump in the road on the sparsely padded gurney. Once in a while I smile at Wife, who is seated down near my feet, though I don't know how visible my smiles are through the mask.
The short trip takes about 20 minutes, I guess -- difficult to say -- and on arrival I am unhooked from the oxygen and helped down the steps and into a wheelchair in the hospital car park. I sit and immediately throw up once exposed to the cool night air. And again. And again. And I think once more. Wife heaved as the wind carried the scent of my expulsions towards her.
I seem to have emptied myself, so I am wheeled into the A&E (accident and emergency) reception area to await the triage nurse.
permalink posted by * (asterisk) at 12:31 PM
7 Comments:
for god's sake, what exactly happened???
I hate cliffhangers! *makes eastenders music drum beat*
As you're writing this it is safe to assume it wasn't fatal. If it was I need another drink.....
C'mon then, what happened next? And why is your Simpsons pyjama top relevant???????
One of these days I HAVE to do a post on the time I was rushed by ambulance to the hospital after putting my back out at the gym...There are some similarities, believe it or not...
Looking forward to the next episode!
what was the blood prick for? To see if there were drugs in your system? White blood cell count? COME ON! Give it up! Whats the story???? (no patience over here at all)
scary business, man... I hope you're feeling lots better!!
I'm assuming you are well now? The prick of blood from finger was for blood glucose levels. I imagine it was worriesome for both wife and you.
I've travelled in back of ambulance many times, several times trying to perform CPR on someone, many times being bounced about by the bumpy ride.
Your paramedics don't travel with ambulance? Are they part of Fire Department?
They were probably checking your blood sugar to see if you were having a low blood sugar - that could cause a seizure.
So, now what happened?
Post a Comment
<< Home