Michael Gravel Edmonton Writer

All About The Inspiration

Got hauled into emerg last Friday. Ambulance and everything. I was having some dizziness, shortness of breath, significant chest pain, and a BP of 90/40 – way low for a guy of my size. The medics immediately threw an EKG on me and sunk a painful IV into my arm. I wasn’t in too bad of shape, but bad enough to go to the hospital. The ambulance rocked its way through the side streets of King Eddie Park and finally came upon Whyte Avenue. A few minutes later, flat on my back with a dozen lines coming off me, I heard the Whyte shitshow through the windows. “Fuckin’ zoo down here t’nite,” the one medic said. “We’ll be busy tonight,” said the other one. Business as usual on the strip.

That was my first ride in an ambulance (during my previous episode Kerry drove me). Wasn’t long before we got to my old haunt, the U of A Emergency Ward. I’d been there so many times I’m sure I could’ve walked the place blindfolded. We waited 90 minutes for a bed. Just before I got wheeled in, a young guy with a bleeding head was escorted in. “Sew my ear back on!” he yodeled. He was wearing a shirt that said, “I Put Out.” With blood down his face and arms, he seemed pretty proud of his battle scars. All I could think of was Avenue Douchebaggery. An hour later I was rolled in for a chest X-Ray. I saw the guy get wheeled past in a chair, his head all taped up, dried blood all over him. He gave me a three-mile smile and a double thumbs up. I returned the gesture out of courtesy and compassion. Who knows. Maybe he took a tumble. Maybe it wasn’t a fight.

My nurse was the same guy who received me back in December. There was this weird moment of recognition when he said, “what the hell are you doing back here?” Dean? How the hell are you? A funny moment. My most excellent lady doctor gave me some pain meds that pretty much assuaged my pain. When they asked me if I had lifted anything heavy that day, it clicked. Earlier in the day I had hauled some heavy shit out to the garage – 50 pounds worth. Not good. I’m under docs orders to not lift anything more than 5lbs. That little superman moment aggravated the scar tissue in my chest. And the BP drop, dizziness, etc. was due to lack of fluids. Another stupid negligence on my part. The weird thing was that my chest hurt only when I breathed in. In medical parlance, breathing in is called “inspiration”.

I’m laying on my back and it’s shift change for the nurses. I can hear my good buddy Dean giving his replacement the rundown.

“They guy in bed 13 is OK. Surgery back in December, I remember the guy, bit of chest pain today from overexertion.”

“Is the pain consistent?”

“No. The pain occurs only upon inspiration.”

How bloody true, I though as my the doc yanked out my IV and booted me home.

Entry #72 · February 20, 2008 in