PART 1
OCTOBER 22- 28
The Music Box held its 24 hour horror marathon every year around this time. Music Box of Horrors is what they called it. Vendors were set up, sleeping bags in tow, coffee flew off the concessions like hotcakes. 24 hours of gut munching zombies, chain-wielding cenobites, bloodthirsty vampires, killer kids, a possessed hand and one ugly troll awaited me. But the sickness on screen wouldn't infect me the way the virus would 24 hours removed from the event.
By the 3rd to last movie (The Oracle), I was fighting tooth and nail to stay awake. The man next to me was a talker so I made point to move immediately after the feature was over. The last 5 or 6 features of the night, all seats are up for grabs. The people who I had sitting next to me left and I was given an unlucky card from the deck. I went over to concessions, bought a coffee and recharged for the final two. I had experienced this before. I ended up breaking thought this invisible wall of sleep into powering through the remaining films. Flesh Eater and Ernest Scared Stupid were two movies I had already seen and thoroughly enjoyed, so even with that boost, the final two proved a nice cap to a long day. My left ass check begged to differ. It swelled in soreness.
By the time it was over, I decided to text my girlfriend Charlotte and let her know I was on the way back to the apartment. I stopped at Jeni's Ice Creams to get something to eat then took the Brown Line back. When I reached her apartment, I felt fatigued. Well obviously it had to be from having no sleep for 24 hours. But something else set in. I didn't feel quite right. The plan was to hang out after the fest with Charlotte. Now I just wanted to go home.
I would go to urgent care the next day and they would find that it's a common cold. No antibiotics prescribed. Fine and well, I went on my way.
The next day I woke up to urinate and found an alarming development: my urine is blood red. Urgent care would ask me to give a urine sample, which I did. They told me to come back in the morning for the results, which I did. They did a test and found trace amounts of blood in my urine. Nothing indicating kidney problems or a urinary tracht infection. "If it happens again." the nurse said "Make sure you come back." I left the urgent care and went to work. That was that. My routine of going to work was back in full swing and everything was back to normal. Or so I thought.
PART 2
THURSDAY 11/17
I awoke at around 2 am covered in sweat. Echoing the feeling I once had a couple years ago around this time. A fever in November. Always fucking November. Turning to my left, then the right, the front, and finally into a fetal position under the covers. Fifteen minutes must have passed before I got out of bed and went to the kitchen, feeling a bit dizzy as my feet landed on the floorboards alongside my bed. I got a glass out of the cabinet and had some ice water. At this time, when I can't sleep, I usually look out the window to see who is on the road at this hour. Watch the nocturnal travelers of the night roam the roads, driving to whatever destination they intend to. I couldn't fucking care less at this moment. I just wanted to get back to my bed. Any pleasure I had was sapped by the misery I was feeling.
I drove to work thinking maybe I could make it. By the time I got there, I regretted even getting out of bed. It took all of 15 minutes for me to get out of my car, walk through the parking lot, tell the manager I was not feeling good. I ended up driving back home and crashing on my bed. Didn't get behind the wheel of my car again.
The urgent care that didn't give me any antibiotics wasn't in the options list for me. I made a means to avoid that one. So I went to one down the street. They were closed. On the door, they listed two other Urgent Care centers.
When I arrived at the Urgent Care, I waited for a probably 30 minutes before getting called. No big thing. "What brings you in today?" the nurse asks. "I have congestion, a cough and a slight fever." She took my blood pressure and temperature. Then took a COVID/Flu test and swabbed my nostrils. I waited some more for the next nurse to come in. When she did, she asked my permission to perform a chest X-Ray. I said yes. I was then led down a hall to a small waiting area where I sat for no less than 1 minute before the X-Ray specialist came and got me.
When I entered, the X-Ray machine was against the wall next to me. In the center of the room was a upraised bed. I was instructed to stand facing the wall with my arms out. "Take a deep breath. Exhale". The procedure lasted about a minute. After it was over, I was led back to the room to wait for the results. A focal density was located on my lungs it would say. A CT scan is reccomended. "I recommend going to the hospital in Hazel Crest. Christ Hospital is next to us but you will be waiting a long time if you got there." I left and went back home and got a snack to munch on before going out into the vast night. Not knowing how long I will be occupying a chair in a hospital waiting room. Couldn't be more than 2. I could do 2.
"7 hours. At Christ Hospital, the wait is 14 hours." a worker said.
"Fuck that" I thought. I am one to want things like this over and done with. No use dragging it out. But 7 hours was just too much. Best to come back in the morning.
The dilemma I was facing was one I'm sure many Americans face. I was at a point where I had no primary doctor. I am on public aid because the insurance offered by my work was too much.
FRIDAY 11/19
When I woke up I tried to make coffee. This is my daily ritual. Closest thing I have to a devotional. I used a V60 pourover on some new beans I recently got. After the pourover dropped down into the pot, I poured myself a cup and tasted it. It was bad. Well, not bad. My tasting pallette was on the fritz. Coffee just wasn't in the works for me. For the rest of this illness, it was bottled water.
My parents took me to the hospital in Hazel Crest. When we got there we were told to register. Waiting in line, a nurse came up and asked what brings me in. I explain to her that the urgent care I was at took a chest X- ray was performed and they found something. "A focal density" as they called it. The nurse said a CT scan was not urgent if I was just having a fever and congestion.
After registration, I was asked to take a COVID test. Out came the swab and into the nostrils it went. I sat with my parents in the lobby area. I brought along some books to keep me occupied. Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing On the Campaign Trail was the one I was currently reading. Transporting to myself from an anaesthetized waiting room to being in the midst of an election with the inventor of gonzo journalism was what I needed. Reading about the George McGovern campaign, what went wrong, what lessons (if any) were salvaged from the campaign and applied to the campaign trail today. The 2022 Midterms were in the rearview mirror by this point. I made a considerable dent in the book before my name was called. All told: the wait was 3 hours.
When I got to the little room, a nurse was seated next to a monitor. We would go over my symptoms. At this point, I felt like I was reading from a script. Auditioning for "The Great Sick"
Int. Nurse's Office
Nurse
You COVID test came back negative so that is good news. What are your symptoms?
Luke
I have a slight fever and a headache. I also feel congested. Stuffy nose.
Nurse
Any coughing or vomiting?
Luke
I have a bit of a cough. I haven't been vomiting.
The nurse enters the information on her computer.
Luke
So I am not going to have a CT scan
Nurse
No not right now. It is important you find a primary care doctor. I am going to set one up for you so when you have the appointment, I recomend an MRI.
Luke nods. He knows very well that he needs a primary care doctor because all of the urgent care appointments could have been prevented had he had one.
Nurse
What have you been taking for your symptoms?
Luke
Advil and Tylenol
Nurse
I recommend Afrin to clear your sinuses, Cough syrup and continue taking Advil for your headache and fever.
Luke realizes that once again, no antibiotics will be prescribed and will have to make do with over the counter drugs. He gets up, thanking the nurse and exits the room. He feels a sense of relief that there will be no CT scan and that this whole thing only took 3 hours instead of 7. Finding comfort in the little things.
End scene.
After I leave that area. I discuss what just happened with my parents. I wait a bit and am called into an office with a doctor who tells me I have an upper respiratory infection. He advises me to drink lots of fluids. A date was made for a primary doctor- December 20th. So far away.
SATURDAY 11/19
I wake up and decide to take some Advil. The moment I put it on my tongue though, I gag. Luckily enough a sink is right by me. I puke into it. The bathroom is a few strides away and I run and end up puking into the toilet. The scale of "Should I Go to Work" and "Hell no man, you just puked. Call Off!" moved drastically to the right. I got some rest. Chinese food was ordered. A favorite. I tried to eat fried rice and only got half way through the bowl. First coffee, now Chinese food.
HOSPITAL
SUNDAY
When I got up I went to the bathroom to find an unpleasant development: there was blood in my urine again. This is just what I needed. I crawled back into my bed aching. I tried to go back to sleep but it just wasn't happening. My chest hurt, my head was pounding. All in all, I was feeling miserable. At that point, my upper chest felt like a a handful of hot daggers were being pressed into it. I was screaming for help. My mom heard me and asked if I wanted an ambulance called. I said yes. I got dressed and lay down on the couch in the front room and my mom made the call. In record time, I heard the sirens down the street. The front door open and a bunch of paramedics came in to lead me from my house to the ambulance. Two followed me into it. One of the them was a dead ringer for Jesse Plemmons. Was this research for the role of a medic he would be playing a new feature? My immediately drifted from Todd from Breaking Bad and slammed back as fast as the ambulance door slammed behind me. A question and answer session commenced.
"Are you on any medications?"
"Paxil for anxiety."
"Have you been taking anything for what you are experiencing?"
"Advil, cough medicine, Afrin"
Around the same time, a female paramedic was beside me, taking my blood pressure, pricking my finger to check my sugar levels.
"Do you want to go to Little Company or Christ?"
I hesitated in answering. I chose Little Company.
This brought up a memory I had years ago. When I fell through my neighbors basement glass door and my wrist was cut. I staggered to my house to the shock of both my parents. "Company or Christ?" my dad said. The question didn't fully register to me. I was still in shock myself. Why the hell were they asking if they wanted company over? Quite the time for a family get together, eh? I'd say I needed Christ in that moment rather than company. His Divine Presence would be a little more comforting. The second of confusion cleared itself up when I realized they were asking what hospital they should take me to.
After all the questions were done, the ambulance took off towards the hospital.
When we arrived I was put in a wheelchair and wheeled down to a place where I registered my name, social security and insurance. My parents arrived about 10 minutes later.
The security guard opened two sliding glass doors and I was wheeled into a room with a bed.
The nurse came in and I was given a hospital gown. She was my height, brunette, her hair in a ponytail. Her name hinting a Middle Eastern ancestry. It escapes me now, but it was as unique. She had a good bedside manner and charm. It made the next handful of hours go by quicker.
When I get in the bed my parents are outside the door. I say it's ok to come in and there is no response. Resting on the bed, I start wondering why they haven't come in yet. The door opens just a crack and there is the sound of larvae dragging itself across the ground. I could see a thin trail of viscous trailing out from the door. I clutch the bed in abject terror at this unknown organism that could be on the floor. Half naked and vulnerable with nowhere to go. I hear it's slimy body skirt up the bed, poking its head as if to say 'hello'. It had an elongated snout like some alien ant eater. I could feel it at the bottoms of my feet, deciding that if I lay perfectly still it should scurry away. The thing started crawling up my sheeted legs and toward my belly, making a left toward my arm. It had three flippers on each side. All of which started to grab on to my arm to secure the position of this unknown organism. It's head rested on my arm, elongated snout toward the bend of it. A slight sting was felt and a sucking sound was heard. It was draining me of my blood.
This didn't happen of course. But when you see an IV put inside you, the sheer length of it, your mind starts to wander toward the imaginative. It was the first of many pokes.
Down the hall, I heard a commotion going on with one of the patients. "Do you believe in God? You don't. I can tell. I am a true believer." There was a pattern to this woman's behavior that would last for around 3 hours. "Lord, please don't take me away from my kids. I am a good mother. I am NOT crazy." She would say. After this, she would sing religous hymns, praising Jesus. The orderly across from her would tell her to keep it down because other patients are on the floor. Then she would hum the hymns. A nurse or doctor would enter her room and start a dialogue. One doctor in particular calmed her down and her cadence remained neutral. Her voice rising in excitement when she'd get to a piece of her life she most cherished.
I didn't see this happen, but my dad did. There was a broken sanitizer dispenser on one of the carts in the hallway. This woman, let's call her Mary, said she'll fix it. And she did. The orderly was amazed. Her cycle of behavior went on for some time before she was taken away on a stretcher. My dad was outside seeing it all happen. Tears streaming down her cheeks, the woman was frightened. "God's looking over you." my dad said. "He is?" the woman said in a hopeful voice. She strapped herself into the stretcher, gave a thumbs up, and was taken away.
One of the other things that soundtracked those first handful of hours was an announcement that the west wing fire alarm system was down. "For access, call extension 5315." This lasted the entire time I was at the hospital.
I would give a urine test and find out the reason for the blood in my urine was me being constantly bed ridden. The blood flow in my system wasn't broken up.
My blood was drawn into various vials. This was done from the IV. After the blood was drawn the nurse left. An antibiotic ended up being pumped through it. I stared at the chart on the wall with 6 faces on it.
0 No Hurt
2 Hurts Little
4 Hurts Little More
6 Hurts Even More
8 Hurts Whole Lot
10 Hurts Worse
I was at an 8.
The doctor came in and said I will be undergoing a CAT scan. I've never had one before, so I was a bit nervous. There was a TV in the room and a control that allowed me to call the nurse if needed. I flipped it on to see what was playing. Christmas Vacation was on TBS. I watched a bit of it. All the way to the part where Clark Griswold is watching home movies while trapped in the attic. The CAT scan specialist came into the room, let me know about the procedure and wheeled me through the hallways. She said that I will be injected through my IV with a liquid that will light up my insides. I will feel a metallic taste on my tongue and a warm sensation on my bottom.
When I arrived at the room, I saw a massive machine. One I recalled from pop culture. This was in The Sopranos and Breaking Bad. Though I am nowhere near the circumstances that brought Tony Soprano or Walter White to this machine in those shows. I was transferred from my bed to a bed that led into the machine, a giant half circle above me. "The machine will be asking you to take a deep breath and hold it in. It will then ask you to exhale." the specialist said. My IV was hooked up to two metallic tubes to the right of my head. I felt the liquid run through and experienced it exactly as she described. Metallic taste, warm sensation on my bottom. I heard a click and the bed I was on moved forward until I was under the half circle. "Take a deep breath and hold it" the machine asked of me. I complied. This happen a couple times. A whirring sound emitted from the machine and I watched something spinning inside above me. "You were awesome." the specialist said. "All done."
The specialist took me back to my room and I awaited the results of my CT scan. A doctor would come in and tell me that I was going to have to stay overnight. They found that my right lung was collapsed. They would like to perform a bronchioscopy to have a clearer picture of what caused my lung to collapse. I was taken from the room through the halls to an elevator. I was then wheeled into a new room where I would stay until they decided to discharge me.
Through all of this, I wasn't feeling the pain I was feeling that morning. A loosening of the limbs, a relaxation of the chest and hands, breathingdeep knowing that I was here for the long haul. Those antibiotics started to kick in. Come to think of it, from that scale of pain I was staring at earlier, I was at a 4.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the new room, came a new nurse. There were four nurses assigned to the floor and each nurse had a maximum of six patients. It was usually four patiemts, but call offs gave them the extra two.
My nurse came in introducing herself. She had glasses, was modestly built and was Latina. She informed that around midnight, I was to no longer consume any fluids or eat anything because of the bronchioscopy being performed the next day. I was took toward the next thing any overnight patient was given next- hospital food. It was a turkey sandwich with graham crackers. I finished both in record time as that was the only thing I had to eat all day.
The view from the window was relaxing and peaceful. The small town of Evergreen Park was lit up and on occasion, the sound of a plane could be heard headed toward O'Hare airport. It was the type of view I envied. What I wouldn't give for an apartment with a night time view like this.
Little Company of St. Mary's Hospital was established in Evergreen Park in 1930. Three sisters traveled to Chicago from Rome and set up a convent with the help of a civic leader, Charles Mair. These sisters would go to the various residences on Chicago's South Side providing nursing care and spiritual guidance. They would soon find there were more people than they were able to care for. Their dream of opening a hospital was finally established in the winter of 1930. When I entered my room, I was reminded the hospital was a Catholic premises and the nurse asked if I wanted a chaplin. I said no thanks.
Visiting hours were from 8 am to 8 pm, so I said goodbye to my parents until tomorrow. After which I was alone with my thoughts. Silence filled the room only to be interrupted by the announcement of the west wing fire alarm not working properly. Feint voices carried through the hallways. Followed by the footfalls of nurses and aides.
MONDAY
There is a small bathroom kit complete with a toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, deoderant, body lotion. I went to the bathroom and set all of this up. Taking a hand full of water, the other hand was a no go due to an intravenous needle sticking into the crook of my arm, and splashed it on my face. I brushed my teeth rigorously and got back into bed. The nurse arrived with an antibiotic and was followed by the pulmonary doctor about an hour later. He introduced himself and went onto to detail the procedure.
"The lung is in three rings and the bottom two are fine. The upper one is collapsed.The procedure you are going to go through will today will help us determine what caused the collapse. There is a chance it could be pneumonia." Then he said something that shook me to my bones. "Or it might be cancer. But people your age normally don't get cancer."
"We are going to insert a camera down there to see what is causing it. We will sedate you through all of this so you won't feel anything."
"Do you have any questions?"
"No I don't."
"Alright. See you in an hour." he said, giving me a fist bump.
The hunger in me was starting up. Just one more hour, I thought. My parents came in around this time. A half hour later, it was time. A nurse came in and wheeled me down the halls to a room where a large desk that formed a half circle was in the middle. Various doctors, aides and other workers millied about on computers. Along the wall, separated by curtains, were patients laying in their hospital beds. I was wheeled into one of those sections. I overheard a nurse giving a fresh patient intravenous drip. "You never are bothered about the needles until it's you." the patient said to the nurse. "OK, slight pinch."
A doctor of Asian descent approached my bed. Told me about the sedation. I was going to la-la land he said. Can't wait.
They wheeled me into the room where the bronchioscopy would take place. A technician, aide and specialist were in the room. The technician getting everything prepared. The pulminary doctor who I said about an hour ago came in ready to perform. Gloves on and all. Before the sedative was used, I was given a breathing mask that would pump smoke in and out. It was used to help open up my lungs. I felt like a dragon for a minute, smoke going in and out each time I breathed.
"You are going to experience twilight." the specialist said.
I recalled a song at that moment. Twilight Time by The Platters.
Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time
Out of the mist your voice is calling, it's twilight time
When purple-colored curtains mark the end of day
I'll hear you, my dear, at twi--
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Out of it. Woke up a just a little bit to see a doctor talk to my parents. I was back in the area with the other patients. Foggy memory. Remember the pulminary doctor saying I did great. My dazed condition offering up a smile. Back to sleep. Woke up back in my room. "How long was I gone?" I asked my parents. "An hour and a half. We were told it would only take 30 minutes." my mom said.
If I were to walk into a vault of memories, where aisles expanded as far as the eye could see and rows upon rows of books documented my conscious being, the chapter written from 1:30 to 3 pm on Monday, November 21st, 2022 was redacted. Missing. Flung into the ether.
The biopsy that was performed on me had them extract three specimens. The doctor said because of the holidays, the results are going to take a while.
I settled back into the bed in my room. Dinner was served and it was tasty. A burger with sweet potato fries. My parents brought me some books. Cinema Speculation by Quentin Tarantino and Liberation Day: Stories by George Saunders. I figured I needed a dose of fiction to go along with the movie book I was reading at the time. Anything to escape.
A new nurse came in and introduced herself. Said she would be taking over. An antibiotic was given to me intravenously. This specific antibiotic would take 30 minutes. Upon which it was done, the nurse would come back and inject the IV with solution that would make sure all the antibiotic went in.
She told me that I was going to have to get a Heparin shot. This would be in order to prevent blood clotting from sitting in a bed this whole time. These would be given every 8 hours. I would have to change up where I would get the shot. I chose my right arm for the first one.
I flipped on the television for a bit and they had a Seinfeld mini-marathon. The episode currently on was the one where George was given women's glasses and Elaine gets bit by a dog. "She's foaming at the mouth!" Step Brothers was on one of the other channels. Comedy is always a good medicine.
Going to bed, I continued sweating. Beads dripped down my forehead. I couldn't go through enough of the kleenexes on the desk next to me. Sleep would eventually catch up to me. Around 4:30, I awoke. My head rising out of what felt like being submerged underwater. My bed was soaked.
TUESDAY
Around 5 am, a blood technician came in to draw blood. She had tattoos on her arms. The only worker in the hospital who I saw that had tattoos. That were visible, at least. She put a band around my arm to make the vein on my arm pop out. A slight sting. It was over. Back to trying to sleep.
A new nurse came in. She had glasses and was older than the last two. Seemed to be in her mid 40s. Had a cheerful demeanor. She let me know breakfast would come shortly. Something I looked forward to.
I read a good chunk of Cinema Speculation throughout the day. Along with three stories from the George Saunders story collection. Didn't even feel like watching the television. Helped that there was nothing of interest on. Rather just get lost in my books.
I went to the bathroom to find that my urine was no longer blood red. I was pissing normally. Thank God. Walking back to the bed, the footfalls of the nurse sounded louder and louder. I anticipated her coming in. It wasn't the nurse but a doctor. "Your blood work so far is all good. There will be an Infections Specialist coming to see you in a bit. So far everything is looking good for."
"Does it look I will be released soon?"
"If all continues to go well, you should be released tomorrow."
The relief flooded my body.
The infections specialist would stop by. Tell me everything is ok with my body and there was no spread. This was in the evening.
I got a visit from the pulmonary doctor. He told me that what he found was a lesion on my lung that was blocking a passageway. He called it a papilloma. For reference, he had a picture of my lung with the foreign agent. It looked like an enlarged wart. "I'm going to schedule you to see someone at Christ Hospital in a week."
Another appointment. Another procedure. Another waiting room. At this point, I wanted it all to be done with. Poked and proded like a pin cushion. The needle itself didn't even bother me. It was the accumulation of it all that felt like carrying a boulder up a hill. Eat your heart out Sisyphus.
It was the end of the shift for the nurse in her mid 50s. To my surprise, the first nurse I had on Monday, the Latina one, came in. The normal procedures were done. 30 minute antibiotic, Hefrin shot (this time on my right abdomen).
Around 10:30 pm I decided to get some sleep. Sweat started to trickle down my forehead. It was something that scared me. I prayed that it would stop. "Please God. Please. Let this fever pass." I pleaded. I couldn't bear waking up soaked in my own sweat again. Thankfully, the sweat stopped and I was able to get much needed rest.
WEDNESDAY
It is the day before Thanksgiving. A blood technician came in with a cart full of blood vials. She was different from the last one. She drew blood from my hand. I elected to watch the blood go through the tube. Wonder how much lighter I am with all of this blood now in little vials?
The nurse came in again and gave me what was to be the last needle inserted into my skin. It was the final Heparin shot. This time it was my left arm.
It was 8 am, the beginning of visiting hours and my parents would come in. They looked as exhausted as I was but relieved that I would be coming home with them today. The doctor came in with my discharge papers. The best thing I saw all week. She went over them, give us her name and number if we needed to discuss anything. The results from my bronchioscopy would be coming in in a week. The delay being because of the holidays.
We walked down toward the lobby. Passing a statue of a saint and a window display showcasing historical photos of nurses who worked at the hospital. My dad went out to the parking lot to get the car.
Walter Cronkite said "America's health care system is neither healthy, caring, nor a system." The staff at Little Company, from the nurses, the aides, doctor, various specialists all treated me wonderfully. But I couldn't help but think, had an ambulance not been called, would I have been dumped into a waiting room? Chest full of pain, head full of throbbing, waiting for my name to be called. Populated with people whose ailments I don't know, but look uniformly unhappy at the slow grinding process they were going through.
The sliding glass doors opened. I stepped out into the daylight and a gentle breeze enveloped me.
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