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Category:
Published: December 2006
Our own Tommy Bisceglia gives a humorous take on his recent illness and the health care system.
Dr. Moe, Dr. Larry, Dr. Curly. Why does that pop into my mind any time I think about stuff like doctors, nurses, or hospitals? Maybe from the childhood years plopped in front of the TV eating peanut butter sandwiches and watching reruns of the Three Stooges hours on end.
My journey over the past few months gave me a great deal of exposure to doctors, nurses and hospitals. This past July I began to experience extreme fatigue performing the simplest tasks. Even a flight of stairs would exhaust me. I thought to myself, "Let's see, I'm 56 years old, and a diet of pizza, chicken wings, and doughnuts has made me 10 inches to short on the male weight chart-angioplasty. I concluded with all my fat intake surely my arteries were clogged like and overused septic tank at summer camp. I made an appointment with my family doctor for an exam. Arriving at the doctors office the nurse hands me a gown and a small cup, "put this on and can you give me a small sample?"
"A small sample? I could fill a gallon jug if you'd like, give me that cup!" That task completed I returned to the examination room. Doctor Doom steps in and begins the exam.
"Let me stick this in your mouth, this in your ears, and..." As I looked over his shoulders and observed a medical implement that looked a great deal like a cattle prod he continued, "and now we'll check for pallops." I began to sweat profusely bracing for the worst. Fortunately, the "prod" wasn't used for the exam, but it still wasn't a fun experience.
"Doc, I really dislike that aspect of the exam." My doctor replies,
"I'm glad to hear that, if you ever start to like it don't come back!"
"Diagnosis?"
"You could have a serious heart problem. I've scheduled an appointment for you with a specialist-it's in six weeks."
"Six weeks? Glad it's an emergency otherwise I'd have died of old age waiting for the appointment!"
As my condition deteriorated further, even a short walk to the mail box would exhaust me and make my heart race. I had a vacation to Gloucester scheduled and despite my malady went anyway as not to disappoint the family. Bad year to rent a three story condo, must have been an early stress test. Climbing the stairs was torture. I contacted the heart doctor to advise him of my worsening condition. He asks, "do you have any chest pain?"
"No," I replied.
"You're great! See you in two weeks!" and he hung up. Well, I guess if he's not worried I'm not either.
I returned from my vacation and a few days before my appointment I was instructed to have a blood test done. So on my way to work I stopped by the hospital to have blood drawn and went on my way. A short time later while on a roof installing shingles my mobile phone rang. It was the emergency room. "Mr. Bisceglia, you're still alive? Get to the emergency room right now, you have acute anemia!"
I knew that was not a good message and there was nothing "cute" about it. Even a better clue was the word "anemia," it sounded so much like "enema" and I knew how bad that was. So I finished my roofing chore and made my way to the emergency room.
To Be Continued...
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