Mortality Rears Its Ugly Head

Readers who follow my Twitter are aware that I spent three nights last week sleeping in a local hospital. I did this because my blood pressure was measured at around 190/130, which, if numbers baffle you, can more correctly be read as "Jesus Christ" over "Holy Shitfuck". The doctor at the cheapo clinic I go to for these things freaked out and literally ordered me into the hospital. I came to learn that my body fundamentally does not work. They don't know why yet, but something in there is causing my blood pressure to escalate, causing my heart to over-exert, causing that very important organ to fail. If I had dicked around and let myself worsen for another week or month, I'd be posting this blog from the grave.

So, yeah. I am now in the position of "living with heart failure". I take five pills every morning to manage my BP, including aspirin, which makes me feel like one of those actors in a Bayer commercial, only 20 years younger. The one thing I heard from nurse after nurse during my stay is that I'm way too young to be experiencing this; I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

The thing about staying in a hospital is that death stares you in the face all day long. There's nothing to do but sit around and think about how poorly you feel (the usual manner of relieving boredom--masturbation--is not really available to you with people sweeping in and out all day. Statistics for the curious: three attempts, one success.), and you are constantly reminded that people are literally dying all around you. Pages that contain coded messages about dying patients are blaring all about the halls, machines are pinging and beeping everywhere, and the old man down the hall has a thundering cough that you wake up to every morning. Death is loitering in the room, impatiently tapping his scythe and looking at his watch.

My blood pressure was taken several times a day, so I could know how close to cardiac arrest or stroke I was at any minute. They took blood twice and inserted two IV's. I had things glued and stuck to my body then later painfully removed. I experienced an angiogram, which required a nurse to shave part of my pubic hair so that the doctor could make an incision in my groin and stick a catheter inside me to have a look around. Complete strangers saw my genitals at this point and I was well past caring. Another hospital phenomenon: the loss of modesty. It happens around the third time a nurse grills you about your urine.

More than anything else, a hospital stay teaches you this: it's not a very pleasant place to be. I'll be damned if I'm giving them an excuse to put me back in there. So, I'll complain about it, but I'll take my pills, and I'll cut way back on sodium, and I'll limit my fluid intake, and I'll try to get some excercise. Because I'm not particularly afraid of death, but I am afraid of lingering forever in that cold environment, where people are constantly pricking and poking and prodding you, and where you can't even get enough alone time to play with yourself.