The Third Trip to the ER

The Third Trip to the ER

The first night with oxygen I was able to get a decent night’s sleep but getting used to having an oxygen tube stuck in your nose took a while. We had gotten a pulse oximeter a few days earlier, from my mom, who was a life saver bringing groceries and other items we needed. She would leave them on our front porch and wave at us through the window. I had the O2 reader on my finger pretty much all the time.  Nothing much had changed but the focus became my oxygen levels and heartbeat. The first morning with oxygen my O2 levels were very low in the low 70’s but when I started breathing deep, It could creep them into the low 90’s. As long as I stayed focused on my breathing I could do ok. My heartrate lived around 120 bpm, that’s where it hovered, sometimes lower sometimes way higher.   We continued calling around for advice or help of any kind and we either couldn’t get through or the answer was always the same, don’t come in, there is nothing we can do. Go to the ER.

 Three days after my last ER visit, I had my nose piece in my nose from one tank and another nose piece from another tank in my mouth sucking as much O2 as I could.  I’m feeling hopeless at this point, so I tried calling my local doctor’s clinic again and finally got a nurse that said she would have the dr. call me when he had a chance. So, we waited. A couple of hours later he called and to my surprise he acted like he didn’t know me. I didn’t go to the doctor much but when I did, it was to his office; he had been my doctor for the last 10 years. Now, I mostly just came in for my yearly and a couple sinus infections, but I had many talks with him about our school which he graduated from. I coached wrestling. He had been a wrestler, he knew me, that bugger. I told him a story about my daughter’s roommate that went to her doctor (in a different town), and they gave her some pills, and she was better in a couple days. He said there was no such drug and that there was nothing he could do. Go to the ER. “I’ve been there twice!” I said. It went quiet for a bit, then he said, “Well that’s too bad; I guess it up to you then.” He finished with, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go again.” I tried to see if he would meet me there, there was no response. I hung up and headed back to the bedroom. My wife asked me what he had said. “Screw him, screw them all, I’m going to bed”, I said. Now if anyone knows me, by this time I’m pissed and was most likely using different language. Against Deb’s better judgement she let me go to bed.  I don’t remember much of that night but when she woke me in the morning my O2 was extremely low, my heartrate was very high. “We are going to the ER,” Debbie made it very clear. All I could say was, “Why, just let me sleep”. She told me to get ready, we were going and started to pack a bag for me. I had no energy, I felt like I was made of lead. It was all I could do to put my socks on; it took me at least 40 minutes to get ready and another ten to get in the truck. When we got there, I sucked up all the gumption I had left, remembering what my dad used to say, “Never let anyone know how bad you’re hurt,” and I walked in pushing my oxygen tank with my head held high trying to act like nothing was wrong.