The Place: a remarkably comfortable hospital bed, watching Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? starring Sidney Poitier, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.

The Moment: I was reminiscing about an acting student at Duck U when I was getting my tech theater BFA. I'll call her "Kate" because she looked remarkably like Hepburn at a similar age, and for once because that actually was her name. I actually met her before I was a student at Duck U, during an orientation day/night, when us prospective theater folks (all three of us!) got to watch the current show. Us three n00bs unofficially teamed up against the ravening hordes of real students. I was struck by three things about Kate: first, her remarkable resemblance to K Hepburn. Second, her nose stud, the first I had ever seen, which I found to be quite fetching. And third, she actually seemed to like me. But that's a different story for a different day.  Anyway, watching hi g the film and reminiscing when The Event occurred 

The Event: I barfed.

Now you may say "But Wonderduck, you hadn't been eating much, how did you.. ," which is a fair question, and one I had no good answer for at the time. I didn't even feel poorly, it was a very strange occurrence, and one that happened so quickly I had no prep time. One moment I was fine, the next I had a brown-green slurry about the consistency of a melting vanilla shake from WcRonald's down the front of my gown, the blanket,and a pillow.  Quite a bit of it too, if I may be so bold.

Surprised, I hit the call button, explained what had happened to the nurse on intercom duty, and a few minutes later I had been tidied up all my bedding changed, and the poofy air mattress wiped down with something that smelled of equal parts bleach and Satan's left armpit. While I was rolling around on the bed and biting back tears from the pain in my leg, I explained that no, it just happened, ykonw what I mean, and that I felt okay.  Just in case though, she handed me one green barf bag, a rubberized plasticy thing that looked like a bondage getup for a cucumber.

One. Oh, if only...

And almost immediately barfed again. Oh dear, that can't be good. Called the nurse, told her what had happened, and she called the  doctor on duty. The doc listened to my guts, and I saw his face go from professional boredom to surprise, then concern. 

He hadn't heard anything. There's supposed to be gurgling, crackling, and various other sounds, but my belly was silent. Definitely not good. He went off to schedule me for a date with the Angry Growling Donut the next afternoon. Overnight, I threw up a few more times. It was getting very old.  Worse, we confirmed that the ingestion of anything caused the launching to occur.

A few hours before the AGD visit, the nurse came in with two glasses of an off-white liquid. Contrast for the Donut to see stuff better. I gave her a look; what did they think was going to happen? Drink one, then 15 minutes later drink the other. I shrugged, grabbed a new barf bag, and pounced it down in one long chug. Cherry flavor, not bad! Less than five minutes later, the vomit poured out in a decent imitation of an oil well gusher... a cherry flavored gusher, no less. The nurse called someone, I assume one of the Keepers of the Donut, explained what had just happened, and she obviously didn't care for the answer. "Try to drink the other one." The look I gave her was an incredulous stare this time, but I did as directed like a good little patient.

Almost as soon as it hit my stomach, it was coming back up.

For the next few hours, I wandered between sleeping, barfing, and trying to ignore just how bad I was feeling now. A bit before my visit to the Donut, two folks from transportation showed up with a gurney to transport me to the little room with the big machine.

Oh. Oh no. They moved me very professionally, very smoothly, and the pain in my leg was blinding. And then I hurled again. Clutching a bag, they hurried me down to the CT scanner. I barely noticed; I was exhausted. The scan went by quickly, and a few minutes later I was back in my room.

Some time later, the doc came in and told me what was going on. I had an Ilius. WebMD describes an Ilius as when the muscle contractions in your intestines that move waste products South, or as a blockage in the intestines. They can cause pain, infections, and serious unpleasantness. In really bad cases, death can occur. It was caused by lying in a hospital bed for days on end. The good news was they knew how to fix it.

The bad news was they'd have to stick a drainage hose up my nose (instant major barf trigger)then down my throat to the stomach. It would be hooked to a small suction pump and squirt the evil brew in my guts into a container. It could take up to three days, and during that time, no food or drink would be possible.

Well, fsck.

By the end of the first day, over a liter of ugly gunk had been removed, and I was seriously suffering. My lips were dry and chapped, and any time a member of the medical profession came in, I begged for water.

On the second day, more gunk had been hoovered out, and the nurse allowed me some ice chips. By the end of the morning of the third day, they decided I'd suffered enough and pulled the hose out and allowed me a small amount of water. Then came the wait.

Nothing. My guts were making normal noises again too. Success.

Yay.

Next time, Hospital pt7: Why U No Want Duck?

Posted by: GreyDuck at June 04, 2022 08:25 AM (rKFiU)

Posted by: jabrwok at June 04, 2022 06:33 PM (T4WaI)

Posted by: Ed Hering at June 05, 2022 11:26 AM (/cXdK)

Posted by: Suburbanbanshee at June 15, 2022 02:27 PM (sF8WE)

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