You wake up the morning, thinking of the plans
for the day. It is a day off from work, and a full ten hours of
daylight lie before you. Movies? Go shopping? Visit
friends or relatives? Go out for lunch?
But, no. A migraine has woken you up, sends you to the emergency
room. The ER is packed with people elbow to elbow, jockeying for a
spare chair. It is a holiday and all the doctors’ offices are closed. Everyone in a city of 130,000 is lined up to get help for something.
I was there, oh yes, I was there. A migraine had emptied me out and left me a dried up worm of a person in agonizing pain.
During eight of those ten daylight hours, an appreciation for the plights of men swept over me.
When a gurney surrounded by curtains became available, I finally was allowed to lie down. In the bright cubicle with my eyes covered, my super hearing kicked in, and unwillingly, I became part of the drama* taking place on either side of me.
To my left? Oh, man.
On the other side of the curtain a young
man (early twenties, maybe) had come in with chest pains. Thinking it
was the remnant of bronchitis from weeks ago, the man/boy talked with
the doctor. His answers to standard questions rang an alarm in my own
chest. Drugs? Uh, not for a couple of weeks, only ‘coke and some weed. Drinking binge? Uh, only a few beers.
His answers were always followed by a silence
Each question was asked in different ways.
Tests were run, more questions asked. Then the man/boy was left
alone. No friends or family brought him in; no one sat holding his
hand.
Doctors came in, one after another, to talk
with him. Each time the questions were the same, but the answers came
closer and closer to the truth.
Ultimately, the cardiologist came in; he had the results of a Cardio-Ultrasound, which he showed to the man/boy. Enlarged heart. Stroke level blood pressure. Tell me again…drugs…?
The truth came out in almost inaudible
whispers. The next words from the doctor were that this man/boy was
being admitted to cardiac care unit, and then if there was any family to
be called.
His gurney with all its attached IVs and monitors were wheeled away with the young man/boy in stunned silence.
The ‘mom’ in me wanted to go with him, hold
his hand, pray with/for him. The first two I couldn’t do, but prayer
was what I could manage.
Then I was released after getting a ton of drugs that would kill the monster migraine and restore me.
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| ...and the curtains come down.... |
