Monday, August 9, 2010

Chapter 3: Appropriating the Couch

After getting out of the hospital, there was not much more I could think of to do in the way of recuperating. What do you do when the hospital tells you there’s nothing seriously wrong with you and that you’ll be fine with some mild painkillers? Ignore them and take the Rokacet (the codeine painkillers) that the other doctor at Maccabi had prescribed me. They seemed to be the only things that had any effect whatsoever on the headache. My second course of action was to call a friend of my mother who also happens to be a reflexologist. I’m usually the last person in the world who would subscribe to something as unorthodox as reflexology but I was desperate. A mysterious illness calls for an unusual treatment.

She came over and did the limited amount that she could with me stuck with my back to the couch. At this point that was pretty much the only position I could manage. In fact, I pretty much remained that way for the next two weeks. It’s going to be a while until the Natania shaped imprint fades from the couch. So she did whatever it was that she did. I don’t know if it helped or not; maybe I’d never have gotten off that couch at all if not for her. Who knows?

The rest of the week was pretty much spent with me sleeping on the couch, waking up every few hours to nibble something and take some Rokacet. I still couldn’t eat anything more substantial than a cracker every few hours or drink almost anything at all. My parents kept bringing food and water to the couch and reminding me to eat. All I could do was lie there with the shades drawn and pray that it would be better tomorrow.

It took me until Thursday to finally get back to my doctor, not with any hope that he’d actually know anything but I figured I could at least get some more pain killers before I ran out. He checked me out, told me he couldn’t find anything but that I should see the neurologist again (oh, how I’d missed Boris, my slightly caustic Russian neurologist from the hospital who coincidentally works at the Maccabi clinic in Ma’ale Adumim on Wednesdays). Frankly I couldn’t think of any reason in the world to see him again, considering there was NOTHING to be found in my C.T. scan and if there’s something else he could have done in the hospital, I like to think he’d already have thought of it and done it. Plus I just didn’t like him very much. My doctor also wanted me to do those tests that I’d never gotten around to.

I went to the lab down the hall where they do the tests and sat down in front of one of the nurses. At this point I was barely able to stay upright and she kept having to repeat herself because everything was kind of hazy. When she started taking blood she realized that I didn’t look so good. She had me lie down before I toppled off the chair onto the floor. She asked me if I usually reacted this way to having blood drawn and I told her that I hadn’t been feeling well beforehand- hence the tests. I’ve only ever fainted once (in an incident quite a few people will never forget) during a blood drive in our shul in Teaneck. This led to a short stint in the hospital and a torn ligament in my right foot which took about 6 months to heal. Luckily, I did not pass out this time. I did however pass my limit on how long I could stay upright for and when they sent me to do the urine test, I ended up using the toilet not in the way they expected. I threw up twice and unfortunately the only thing I’d consumed that morning had been two homeopathic concoctions (recommended by the reflexologist) that had not been particularly unpleasant going down but were a repulsive color green and even more revolting taste the second time around. I will unfortunately never be able to get any more use out of them; I can’t even look at the bottles without seeing that awful green mess in the toilet.

When I was done with all the lab tests, my mother helped me weakly hobble over to the nurse’s station where I was supposed to be getting a few more tests and hopefully some fluids via my veins to fend off dehydration from the vomiting and lack of drinking. I slumped into an armchair while she got everything ready but when she had me stand up to check my blood pressure I had to resort to the code I’d had the necessity of forming with my mother. If I suddenly yell, “Can! Can! Can!” it does not mean to break into a chorus line dance. It means you have about 5 seconds to find me a garbage can or you’re going to regret it. Well, mostly your shoes are going to regret it. If I just scream, “Can!” it means you don’t even have 5 seconds. The nurse quickly pushed over a garbage can (after my mom translated my message) and I threw up for the third time that morning. It was quite amazing really since I hadn’t actually eaten yet. We did manage to get that test done but it was decided that the doctor would come in and give me some intravenous fluids. After quite a bit of fumbling around, the doctor gave up after two attempts at getting the needle into a vein. Apparently my veins were “jumping around trying to get away.” Amazing considering the nurses at both the hospital and at the clinic had all been successful at getting the needle into the right place. This was about the time I realized I need a new doctor. Instead he decided that they should give me a suppository for the nausea. I asked him if he couldn’t maybe try again on the other side but he said I wasn’t a pincushion and that the only option left was a suppository. At least he let the nurse do it. I can’t even imagine where it would have ended up if he’d missed the intended destination.

I spent another hour or so lying in a bed in the nurses’ office and then it was time for my acupuncture appointment. Something else I’d never have thought of doing if I hadn’t been desperate. Now I’ve gotten over my fear of needles after a hysterical childhood phobia of having anything sharp and pointy poked into me (which prompted my mother to sit on me during several doctor’s visits in order to keep me still- that is after they finally caught me), but that does not make it a pleasant experience. I was in such bad shape when I got there that they had to practically scrape me off the couch in the waiting room when it was time for the treatment. After about 5 minutes of inserting needles, they had to scrape me off the ceiling. After all the needles were in it wasn’t so bad. He let me lie there for half an hour (in which I took a short nap) and then came back to take them out. I think it may have actually helped. I was able to get up and walk out of there without collapsing on the sidewalk. I still had a headache but at least it was something. I got home and passed out on the couch where I pretty much spent the next week too.

Shabbat was pretty much spent on the couch. All I could think about was how much I wanted to eat my dad’s Shabbat meal. I’d started a list of foods I would eat when I was better. It was something like this: ice coffee, cappuccino, baguette with tuna and tomatoes, Doritos, falafel, sushi, popcorn, pretzels, Chinese food, chocolate, Indian food, hamburger, and the list goes on. I now added chicken and fried vegetables to the list. I’d had the list hanging on the refrigerator but had to move it when my mother kept confusing it with the shopping list and adding things like white napkins to it. I did not want to eat any color napkins. I was not that desperate yet.

There were more doctor’s visits and lab tests the next week. The doctor wanted me to come back in (not because he knew anything new, I think it was mostly to check that I was still alive so my parents couldn’t sue him for negligence). He wanted me to get an ultrasound of my stomach and do a helicobacter-pylori test because of the nausea. Helicobacter-pylori is a bacteria that inhabits the stomach and can cause nausea. My sister had it a while back and was sick for months before they found it. I thought it was a bit ridiculous to do these tests because my stomach was definitely not the cause of the headache, which came first, and it seemed like the doctor was treating every symptom as its own disease. But I agreed to do them anyway. I actually had no intention whatsoever of doing either but my mother convinced me to do the helicobacter test since we were there anyway. He’d told me it was a breath test, so I figured it was kind of like a breathalyzer where you just breathe in and out comes a reading. I was wrong. As usual. You have to drink a cupful of water mixed with awful tasting chemicals. I would normally just suck it up and drink it, but I hadn’t been able to drink more than a few sips at a time for weeks. I was like, you want to find out why I can’t eat or drink by having me drink a cup of water and then breathing into a tube? I tried, but I couldn’t get down more than a few sips. So I gave up. Then I had to take another urine test because the first time they had “technical problems.” At least they didn’t call me up like they did my father to tell me that I failed my urine test and that I have to come back in to redo it. He’ll never live that one down.

I also went back to the acupuncturist that week. My sister even visited me that day because she was worried. I still wasn’t eating much but I was eating and drinking slightly more than the previous week. I was even able to sit upright for a few minutes at a time. The most important thing however, was that I hadn’t thrown up since Thursday at the doctor’s office. She was the one who shamed me into doing the ultrasound, which I did that Thursday (and which came back totally normal).

Shabbat was again spent mostly on the couch, with me staring wistfully into the dining room during meals. And that was about it for that week.