I AM IN THE PREDNI-ZONE (Stories from I.C.U.)
Life is like a basketball game, sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. Life is like a basketball game, sometimes you make it, and sometimes you don’t. Life is like a basketball game, it really helps if you have a lot of black people on your side.
Crystal was the first nurse in ICU, that I didn’t want to stab with my fork. She was a large intimidating black woman, who when first entering the room, introduced herself and shook my hand. All of the other nurses must have informed her of my actions the past couple of days, but she had shown me respect, so I returned the favor.
Let me explain, I had gone crazy. Not like, Oh, that Steve, he’s crazy, more like, Your Honor, we find Steve Quinn, freaking insane. The past two days, I was constantly tearing off my oxygen mask, refusing medicine, removing my heart monitor and then lying as still as possible to see the nurses reaction. They must have hated me. I was sure the nurses were tampering with my meals before delivering them. I didn’t care; some nurse spit and pubic hair couldn’t have made my sponge like pot roast taste any worse.
So, what had made me go Nicholson Cuckoos Nest on the nurses? They had put me on a potent steroid, Prednisone. It is the normal treatment for Goodpastures, as it kills antibodies. I don’t know how the doctors throw around that word normal; figuring only one in two million people, have this stupid syndrome.
There is an incredible amount of side effects the body goes through when taking Prednisone, especially when they give you enough to kill the antibodies in a newborn rhino. (And those of you unfortunate enough to not live near a zoo and see a newborn rhino with your own eyes they are quite large.) Sadly, I experience most of the side effects. It makes your neck swell up, and gives you a Brando like chin from Godfather. Your appetite increases, causes dizziness and at times makes your hands shake so bad you can hardly type. Alkjjfalfjijjri;eiknl;faflk;nv;lkdz. But, worse of all, it makes your emotions unstable, to say the least. I’m not going to sugar coat it for you: I was talking NONSENSE.
I yelled at nurses:
You need to get me a warm wet towel right now, MAM!!!! I have been waiting ten minutes for this towel, they not teach you promptness at nurse school. What if my head was so cold that, I went into shock? If you could have been a little more prompt with this here towel it would not have happened. They should take your license to practice nursing, wait, and license to practice being shitty at nursing, away!
I spoke to the nurses as if I was that drunk guy at the party, attempting to make a really deep political point.
By far the worst effect of the pills was the sudden urge to be completely truthful to my parents, and to apologize for actions I had done twenty years ago. I said I was sorry for everything, being up to late, sneaking out, playing with knives, telling my stuffed animals that I hated my parents, faking being sick to skip school. If I did it between ages 5-8, and I thought it was wrong, my parents found out.
Now, when I look back at apologizing so much, I don’t know why? Why say sorry? Was I afraid they were going to punish me right then? Well, son. Since you burnt that hole in the couch were going to take away your oxygen for 2 days. That should teach you.
The biggest apology came because of the famous ketchup bottle story. It is discussed in the Quinn family circle at all major holidays. When I was about four years old, my parents had this great big glass dining table. One night my folks were out of the house for the night, and so my two older brothers were in charge of watching me basically, I was free to do whatever I wanted, but if I went anywhere near my brothers rooms I would promptly be punched in the throat by my brother Mike. My parents better have not have paid them for there extreme babysitting.
Anyways, there I was seated at this glass table with a bottle of ketchup in my hand. Ask me now why I had a bottle of ketchup, I could not tell you. I have always had a vivid imagination, so maybe the bottle was a sailing ship, and the table was the ocean, it could have been an airplane, and the table the sky high up above. Or, I was just practicing the greatest response of all time to the statement; We need to talk, hold up the bottle and say, No, we’ll ketchup later.
Either way, at some point the bottle ended up about three feet above the glass and dropped clear through the table, making an almost perfect cartoon hole in the surface. I don’t know much about physics, or any complex science for that matter, but how the glass didn’t entirely shatter is a case Stephen Hawking and myself are still working on to this day. None of that really matters, because there is a big hole in my parent’s table.
My young mind immediately goes into overdrive and comes up with a great solution. I decide to put a pillow over the hole and then cover it up with a tablecloth. I don’t think that it’s a big deal that our dining room table now has a small plateau at one end of it. I imagine explaining this to my folks; Well, you know how you guys are always a little tired after eating and want to take a nap, now you don’t have to go to the couch or your room, just climb right up on the table.
Back in ICU, I retold this story to my parents and to the nurses, with my eyes pouring out tears. I felt so bad for what I had done, I put them through hell with that bottle, and I guess I felt I was putting them through hell all over again by lying in this hospital bed and being sick. Having people worry about me is something I don’t like. All I wanted to do was throw a pillow and a tablecloth over my kidneys and make it all better.
Crystal brings me my lunch, I look down at the plastic wrapped fork and up at her, and I have no murderous intentions. Something has happened in the past 2 days, I feel liberated. Confessing trite wrongs that I did so long ago, is very cathartic. I ask Crystal if the other nurses hate me, she informs me that they are well aware of the side effects of the drugs I am on, and they understand. It makes me feel slightly comforted, but I am still not content.
Maybe four or five days later, Lisa, the nurse who was not very prompt with the towel, (my mother later informed me, it took her about 30 seconds to retrieve it), passed by my room. I called out Lisa, listen, I’m sorry, we need to talk. I looked at her with my best puppy dog eye’s, that just screamed, I’m a huge ass, I am SO sorry’. She stared back understandingly, gave me a sarcastic glance, held up a bottle and said, Mr. Quinn, we’ll ketchup later. |
