| The following E-mail, is a starter kit to my life that I am living right now. A quick synopsis of what has occurred in the past 2 months. I decided to send emails about what is going on in my life, not for you to read about them, but, for me to write about them and get them off my chest. So, anytime I feel like talking about something, you will receive an email. Really Yours, Steve Quinn.
BLAME RAY LIOTTA(The E.R.)
November 9 2004- Feeling fatigued and too tired to grace the wonderful city of Watauga with my presence, I am clunked in the recliner. I decide to study up on what could be my medical condition and diagnosis, so promptly at 9 pm, I turn on E.R. Ray Liotta has a guest spot on the program, a very fine actor in films such as Goodfellas and movies where he plays characters like the gangster from Goodfellas. I sip at my chicken noodle soup and hope he is good at acting tired and fatigued. Twenty minutes into the show they wheel him in, and diagnose him with an extreme bleeding ulcer in his stomach. Then they shove a tube down his nose, tell him to swallow and blood starts flowing everywhere. It is utterly disgusting and revolting, but Noah Wylie brilliant leaps as a thespian make it all bearable.
Nov.10.04- My father comes home from work, notices that my color has turned to a yellowish-green shade. And we decide to go see a doctor. (I actually have been this color and felt like crap for weeks, but one of the genetic traits of the Quinn family, is stubbornness.)Â The next couple of hours go by fast:
Blood Test
Doctor flips out
-You should be passed out right now the doctor says, Go to the ER
-Ray Liotta
-Get to the ER
-In walks the nurse Your too young for this shit, comments Roberto, What are your symptoms
-Tired, fatigued, coughing up some blood.
-Blood Tests
-Roberto thinks it could be an ulcer
-Ray Liotta
-Results of Blood Tests all of my counts are extremely low, I’m losing blood.
-Probably in my stomach
-Ray Liotta-They come take more blood.
-Roberto walks in with a tube, and I swear to God says, Mr. Quinn, did you see ER last night
-Next thing I know, I am Ray Liotta, but, without the blood and without Noah Wylie.
-I am admitted to the hospital, for further tests, and leave the ER.
THE MALE VERSION OF GIVING BIRTH (P.C.U.)
It is early morning, my nurse has introduced herself to me, I could care less what her name is, I am stunned by new surroundings. I have never been so called real sick before. My boyish mind almost finds it cool, that I have an IV connected to one of those drippy bags, that I a have a call button, where the nurse beckons with whatever my little sick self could request. I leave the call button alone, and fall into a deep sleep, to dream of what hospital adventures could possibly tomorrow.
I don't know if you realized it, but apparently human blood is at its best at four o'clock in the goddamn morning. A doctor comes in a couple of hours later and tells me they are going to do a scan of my stomach, It involves swallowing a small camera and breathing tube, is that okay Steffen? The mispronunciation of my name to make me sound like a tiny gay French man immediately makes me hate this guy. What am I going to say, No, its not okay, cant you just open my mouth real big and get a telescope. They perform the scan and find nothing. But I do have a beautiful portrait of my stomach hanging over the fireplace.
The doctor brings up the possible idea of doing a colonoscopy, to get further pictures of the stomach. My first thought is: Do they use the same camera? When he brings this up to me, I start praying to have a heart attack to divert their attention from the idea of having a tube shoved up my ass.
I have been put on a liquid diet, even though my stomach seems fine. Today for lunch I had a bowl of chicken broth, milk, and a Popsicle. Thank God I had a light breakfast.
I really would rather not admit it, it is embarrassing, but today, I had what I like to call: The Male Version of Giving Birth Yes, the mighty catheter. Imagine having a hose the size of a BIC pen jammed into a hole the size of the ink dispenser of the same BIC pen. Every single R rated comedian should call me and get a list of the profanities I donated to the human vocabulary as the speeding train entered the doggy door.
A chest exam and x-ray have discovered where the blood that I am losing is going, straight to my lungs. That's where I put it, I wonder if my car keys are there as well. This is extremely bad news, and it begins endless breathing treatments and two oxygen masks to get all of this crap out. Crap consisting of blood, five years of smoking, and the air the world has offered me for twenty-three years.
Positive that it has to do with the kidneys, they must do a kidney biopsy. Those unfamiliar with the procedure, simply, a long needle into the spine. To make matters worse I have been in and out of my hospital bed and into a wheelchair more times than I can count, I have grown so tired I can barely accomplish the easy feat of sliding from one bed to another, I am in bad shape. My doctor has informed all nurses to leave me in my bed, and I am to be wheeled everywhere for all tests. I am dead tired. Every time I start to shut my eyes its time for another test, time to take blood, time to take medicine, time to drink some goddamn broth. The test results come back, and the doctor informs me its not good. He mentions I have been diagnosed with Goodpastures Syndrome. I call my father and attempt to tell him the name, but I am barely able to speak at this point. I close my eyes and sleep for maybe five minutes before I am awoken to go to surgery, to install a device for Dialysis. They tell me to get in the wheelchair they have brought, I glare lazily over at the nurse, and tell her, I cannot move. She chuckles and inches the wheelchair closer. She thinks I am kidding.
The surgery is very vague in my mind. I remember just not giving a shit the entire time, and happy, just being in one place and not having to move, I am at the point where people have to move me from bed to bed.
Honestly, I am at the lowest of the low. I am barely breathing, I am unresponsive to anyone, and feel like someone has just beat the crap out of me, and they are still going at it. Now I know my situation has reached the extreme when I hear the three letters that have been uttered many a time on the small and big screens, Mr. Quinn, you are being moved to I.C.U.
I was in ICU for 8 or 9 days all of the details are pretty hazy. It involved a lot of tests and recovery, so I won't bore you with all those details.
I was discharged the day before Thanksgiving. And so, started my wonderful journey of dialysis, seeing doctors, and living a new life of which, I wish to share the interesting details with you fine people. So
From here on, my mind, my thoughts, and whatever else follows ... |
