A Bump In The Road

A bump in the road the last weekend of August

Saturday morning I woke early in Montauk with abdominal pain. Not bad and I thought it mihgt have been from last night's dinner. Chicken and rice. White rice. Not likely. I walked to Ditch Plains beach for a swim. The southernly wind was cool off the Atlantic. I laid on the sand. Low clouds cloaked the sun. Summer was comIng to an end. Another three weeks. The pain was not ending.

I returned to my tent and dressed for work. Shirts, a polo, summer jacket, Sperry Rand boat shoes. Looking a true New Englander on teh East En of Log Island. A taxi ride to 771 p5 Highway. Winick Fine Jewelry. A coffee. My young co-worker opened the door. Izsa regarded me with concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Maybe."

"More like maybe not."

"I'm calling my doctors." I pulled out my cell. It was a Saturday. None of my calls were answered other than by answering services.

The pain increased with spikes into my gut. This wasn’t food poisoning. Something more serious. I laid on the floor hoping for it to subside. No. I googled the symptons. Possibility of a blood clot to my stomach. Very dangerous. 80% fatality within twenty-hours. No more toughing it.

My co-worker, Izsa, was so alarmed by my state that she called the owner and said she was driving me to the hospital. Richard asked if she could wait till he got there.

"No."

She ordered me to do nothing. I obeyed every letter of nothing. Five minutes later she closed the safe.

"You have everything?"

Wallet, phone, glasses ,house keys. Ready to go.

Izsa drove over Hither Hills across the Stretch through the blighted Pine Barrens and Amagansett. Fast. She was the type to panic.

The pain blankled out my five physical senses. A boa constrictor was devouring my guts. I breathed slowly and deeply. No help. My hands grew cold. Not a good sign. We reached the hospital. Very much a Easthampton boutique. No lines. I informed the triage desk that I was in very excruciating pain and also a liver transplant patient. The pain 12 going onto 13. I aske if my Medicaid covered this visit. They said yes. All systems go.

After registration I was wheeled to a spacious private room andd put onto a bed for tests. The nurse injected a strong painkiller in my vein. I thanked Izsa for the ride and her TLC. She smiled knowing I was in good hands.

"Go back to work." I was used to being alone in hospitals.

"Okay, but I need you back at the store next week"

"Thank you." She left me to the care of a hospital. We both knew the routine. Wait.

After a half-hour a young attending doctor confirmed my suspicion with his suspicion that I might have a blood clot and the nurse fixed a blood thinner IV into my vein. More worryng was his mention of surgery. He admitted that Easthampton wasn't set up to handle this emergency. At sunset an ambulance transferred me to Stony Brook Hospital. Everyone in Montauk sai it was a good hospital. Sirens and flashing lights. I was in no pain on the two-hour trip down Long Island. I had received another shot.

Stone Brook Hospital was bigger. The ER staff IVed blood thinner and more painkiller, but the hospital also coouldn't help me. My status as a liver transplant recipient demanded specialized care.

Another two hour ambulance ride to my old hospital Weill Cornell in the Upper East Side. No lights. No sirens. Arrive near 9pm. I finally felt safe in the Liver transplant recovery ward. Two nurses remembered me. THree years ago I had recovered from the transplant here. I had been hospitalized more than once in this war. I received of scans and blood tests. One last painkiller shot. Morphine. My toes looked so faraway.

Constant blood work scans and tests. No food. No water. Only ice chips. I called my family in Thailand. I said nothing. I felt like I had passed the worst.

The next day the pain gone. I eat bad hospital food. Three friends visited in the morning . Raoul, Nussy, Jack. I hadn't called anyone else, but Izsa and Richie in Montauk.

"I'm good."

And Sunday afternoon I was released to go home. Out to the street. No one waiting. Down on the Q train to Bleecker Street. Alive as always. Another escape from death. Alive. Lazarus II Resting__I am okay__

Thanks for your support. In order to avoid ads, please donate to blogger.com.mangozeen through Venmo. Any amount will help us. I do have a large family. My Venmo account is @Peter.Smith.18

Much more to come.

The Fall of the Mighty

Thais and farangs living in Thailand are accustomed to the sight of police blocking a major thoroughfare or highway for the passage of a royal personage. Every intersections are sealed by police for the speeding cavalcade of luxury vehicles and security escorts. No one complains about this noble right of passage. Big people do what big people want and small people get out of the way, if they know what is good for them. The first time I ever saw such a security measure was on the autoroute out of Paris to Charles de Gaulle Aeroport. CRS police squads guarded the overpasses, exits, onramps, and highways. My VW was the last car allowed onto the road and the gendamerie waved for me to speed up for the approaching dignitary. I later learned that the VIP had been Egypt's Hosni Mubarak. The 'president' was a good friend of the French government. His policies regarding Israel were in accord with their strategy for the Middle East and he had a long run at the top, but the deposed ruler faces judgment by the court in Cairo. His days are spent in prison not a palace. The people want justice. Mubarak wants to be released from his cell to die in peace. Not a chance, unless the USA somehow ponies up enough money for the army to spirit him out of the country and cold cash is better spent on the the forces of now than the dictator of then. Thanks for the memories. ps at least they have cut off his supply of hair dye. He probably uses the same coloring as old Ronald Reagan.