I Was Tryin' To Sleep...

It all started Thursday morning. About 1213 hours or so my clock radio would have me believe. I awoke with a 5-out-of-10 pain as if my stomach had been swabbed with gasoline and lit. I spent the remaining 4 hours or so until the alarm was to wake me in sort of a twilight sleep, orbiting between the bed and the throne room, trying to take a Pelosi or pass a Reid but only occasionally fouling the air with a Frank. The most pain-free position was a fetal ball. By 0445 I was sitting on the edge of the bed soaked in a cold sweat, semi-doubled over. I recognized the symptoms as the onset of an attack of pancreatitis.
(Longtime readers of my blog know I had spent 4 months starting March 15 in the Cleveland Clinic after my return from Katrina recovery work in 2006 with acute pancreatitis that led to the surgical removal of my gall bladder (still have all the gall I need) and 40-50% of my pancreas. A return bout in March 2008 had the same surgeon going through the same scar to bypass my duodenum due to surgical adhesions caused by the 2006 surgery. I spent 3 days in the hospital then a 3 day break prior to bypass surgery followed by a 4 1/2 week hospital stay for recovery. Now back to 2010.)
I was scheduled to make a quick trip to Chicago Thursday and return Saturday. One look at my posture and facial coloration prompted the Lovely & Talented wife to enquire when we were leaving for the ER. After a futile protest, we went to the ER around 0800. I was admitted about 0900 and transported via ambulance to Marymount Hospital around 1800. By this time I was running an 8-to-9-on-the-pain-scale and every 4-6 hours I was being whacked with Dilaudid.
Treatment for pancreatitis consists of nothing by mouth but an occasional ice chip and pain management. Blood tests for my serum amylase and lipase were initially very elevated but were down to normal by Friday afternoon. The pain scale had gone down to a 4 and I was refusing any further medications. I was also getting bored to death. No cable and no intertubes in the hospital, unlike the Cleveland Clinic. Between that and the Dilaudid I was sleeping around 22 out of 24 hours.
I was put on clear liquids only Friday evening. That meant dinner consisted of 6 oz. of beef broth and an orange popsicle. Pain was down to a 2-3. Breakfast Saturday was 6 oz. of chicken broth, orange popsicle, and 5 oz of grape juice. Then the weekend doc came through. He said that due to my normal numbers he could see no reason not to release me if I could eat a low-fat meal without having the pancreas spaz out. Enter - whole wheat pita w/1 oz of sliced roast beef (one lousy slice you could see through!), lettuce and onion with 4 oz of 1% chocolate milk. Exit - the Old Man, back to what I laughingly call reality. The L&T has extracted a promise that I stay home from work tomorrow and I shall. (She does have a whim of iron, you know.) I do not wish a re-run of 2008 - I've got too many things planned between now and Labor Day.
I can see I've left out some of the details (like my 2nd roomie who suffered from dementia. At 0200 he was screaming "OK SHORTY! GET UP AND MAKE IT RIGHT! HEAR ME SHORTY? GET MARYANNE AND MAKE IT RIGHT! DO YOU HAVE A YELLOW PAGES? GIMME THE PHONE, SHORTY!" He was 5'2" and 128 lbs according to his entrance interview. This went on until they moved me about 0600.) but the main thrust is there.
"And that's why I didn't go to Chicago, Boss...."