Hospital...ity

Shit like this is why I don't go to the doctor unless I'm really, really fucked up for at least 24 hours. I just can't take those kinds of monetary hits.

God damn. So glad I don't live in America.

600 bucks. Hope you got a complimentary blowjob from the nurse.

That's the cost of an ambulance alone.

In some countries, if you donated 575 bucks to a hospital they would name a wing after you.

I've had a couple hospital stays and I'll just say that I dread even being near a hospital.

This didn't cost me since I still lived at home, but it was still a weird one.

Becasue of the 1994 Northridge earthquake, a bunch of soil, etc. was shaken into the air in Southern California. A month or so after the quake I got sick. I was running a good fever, so I went to the doctor. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and guessed it was pneumonia, so they gave me drugs for that.
That evening my fever got so bad (I can't remember exactly what it was, but it was WELL over 100 degrees - I was really out of it) that my mother filled a bath tub full of cold water and dumped a bunch of ice in it and had me lay inside to bring my temperature down. After a really scary 24 hours or so, my temperature broke and I got better.
Much later the doctors ask me to come back in for a follow up and asked me to get a chest x-ray. The results came back and my lungs were all scarred up. They told me that it looked like I had gotten Valley Fever, and that I had been one of the first cases, which is why they didn't identify it properly. Apparently a bunch of people died early on before they figured out what it was and how to treat it. I had gotten lucky.

I've had my share of bizarre medical conditions, this being just one of them. There was also the TB I was exposed to working at a coronor's office and the peri-tonsular abcess that required three throat surgeries to eliminate. Makes for some interesting conversations with the doctor when I go in for a physical.

Tell me you walked away with some morphine to recoup the financial hit at least.

When I was 23, I went on a company boat trip along the mighty (well, it aspires to be mighty) Toms River. It was my first time ever on a boat, and I was actually, finally, making progress with getting a date with one of our managers (cutie named Monica - she was digging on my loner personality).

When we returned, I had a date lined up, and was happier than I'd been in weeks. I drove home, went to bed.

An hour later I was throwing up, and had a stabbing pain in my lower back, on the left. My mother, a former nurse, was asking me what I ate (nothing) or drank (a Heineken), etc. We thought it might be some sort of delayed seasickness (the hell did we know, it was my first boat trip, Mom hadn't been on a boat in years...).

I'd been puking all night, couldn't hold anything down, not even ice chips. The stabbing pain had me doubled over, and I had this urge to piss or shit, but try as I might nothing happened but more puking and pain. In the morning, my Dad took me to our doctor. He took one look at me and said "Hospital. NOW. You're severely dehydrated and need fluids STAT." So, off we go to Paul Kimball Hospital (now Kimball Medical Center) in Lakewood.

I go right to the Emergency Room, and am hooked up to an IV drip. I'm feeling MUCH better - symptoms are gone, except for the need to go to the bathroom. I get x-rayed, scanned, and put into a room, where I meet my roomie, a nice Hassidic gentleman.

The doctor shows up later, and tells me I've got... KIDNEY STONES. The next day, I'm given a test wher I drink some iodine, then they hook me up to an IV with some weird fluid in it. As the cocktail goes through my system, I feel great, then I start feeling really hot. Then I start to feel cold, and then I get this pressure build-up in my head, so much so that I thought I was about to do my tribute to Scanners. Then I had to pee. BAD. I mention this to the nurse, who tells me I can't yet, I have to wait an hour. An hour and a half later (I know this 'cause there was a clock on the wall), they let me go to the bathroom. First, though, they give me this filter/jock strap thingie to piss through - so I'm standing there pissing like Austin Powers into this paper mesh for a good couple of minutes. I give the filter to the nurses' gloved hands, and am sent back to my room.

Next day, they tell me one of the stones is at the entrance to my urinary tract, but is stuck. I'm put on a liquid diet, in hopes to flush it out. The next day, they give me an x-ray, and tell me they have to operate the following morning. Now I'm stressed, and the priest coming in and giving me last rites before surgery didn't help.

Then they postponed the surgery. Then they prepped me for surgery. Then they postponed it. Then it was cancelled. More x-rays, and then...

They send me home. "Drink plenty of fluids! And here's some Percocets, they'll relax you and take care of any pain". I get home, and start feeling better.

A couple months later, I'm at my "cousin" Michelle's wedding. I get to the reception, and I'm doubled over in pain. I decide to drive home, with my parents' blessing, and start feeling better. I'm also ravenously hungry and have to take a leak, so I go to the brand new Burger King near my house. I hit the can first, and start to piss.

Then this travelling pain hit, followed by some blood out of my John Thomas, then the "tink" of a couple of calcium rocks hitting the porcelin of the urinal, one of which I caught. All of this while I'm letting loose with an Arnold Schwarzeneggar in "Predator" Tarzan yell. Wide-eyed and in shock, I put the stone in my pocket, flushed, zipped up my trousers, and opened the door.

I saw people looking back at me in "stone" silence. Two little old ladies hauled ass out the door. I wasn't hungry anymore, so I went home, and crawled into bed.

I had at least two more kidney stone based visits to the hospital since (last was alomost 10 years ago), until my new bestest buddy and biggest toe, my urologist, hooked me up with Poly Citra K. It's this powdered stuff I mixed with a class of water and drank once a night to prevent kidney stone formation. Tasted like 85 year-old Wyler's drink mix, but damn if that stuff didn't do the trick. Haven's had kidney stones since (knocks wood).

Luckily, thanks to helath insurance, I only paid for my hospital room phone and the TV. Which was nice.

I have this image of you catching the stone in one fell-swoop, mid-air, as it shot out of you.

I know this isn't how it happened, but I prefer to imagine it this way.

Oh, buddy.... you have the most horrifying public restroom stories in the word, I swear. You're going to be our go-to guy for terrifying things involving toilets.

I've generally been pretty fortunate that my insurance covered any emergency room visits over the years, but I will tell you about my most recent one, which was back in May.

I'm laying in bed around 11:30 PM, getting close to midnight, and I'm starting to feel some pain in the lady-bits. I feel like I have to pee, but it stings quite a bit. So I go to the can, and it's just a few drops, but there's a tiny bit of blood in it. I recognize it for what it is - a simple urinary tract infection. Not a big deal at all. But it still hurts, and it's hurting more and more. So I think to myself - Do I lay here, awake and in pain all night long till I can talk to my doc in the morning for an antibiotic? Or do I suck it up, throw on some clothes and go to the emergency room at midnight in the hopes of getting an antibiotic maybe within a couple of hours? I opt for the emergency room, because I just couldn't see laying there all night groaning in pain.

So fashionable me throws on an Elvis tee shirt, a pair of good dress pants I'd worn to work earlier that day - even to the emergency room, there's always time for style! - call a cab, and head to the hospital at 12 AM. Now, I used to live in Forest Hills, which has a very good hospital. I got a bad burger after a family cookout once, and wound up there with what they suspect was food poisoning. They saw me in an hour and a half, which is pretty good for NY.

However, now I live in Astoria. Guess where there's no hospital? Astoria. I had to go to Elmhurst hospital, no big deal, as it's only 15 minutes away. But the problem is - it's Elmhurst. And I do understand the concept that in an emergency room, the sickest people are seen first. I get that. So if some guy has been shot, me and my little urinary tract infection can just sit and wait.

But this is Elmhurst, so it's not a matter of "we'll see you after the guy who's been shot." It's a matter of "We'll see you after the four guys who have been shot, the two guys who were stabbed, the three women in labor, and the guy with blood gushing out of his forehead, not to be confused with the guy with blood gushing out of his eyebrow." In a nutshell, I was there from 12 AM till 5:30 AM, and was never seen by a doctor. Oh, one came out, and those of us who were sick but not dying were immediately complaining how long we'd been there. His response? "Write to your congressman and complain that we're understaffed." ....'kay. I mean, there were people there who were far sicker than me who just couldn't get seen by a doctor.

To add to the pain I was in for five hours, I couldn't even keep running back and forth to the bathroom like you always have to do when you have a urinary tract infection, because there were to completely crazy homeless women camped out in the ladies' room for a couple hours. I wasn't dying, but I felt like it. When you can't hit the can in that situation? OUCH.

Anyway, when 5 AM rolled around, I left voicemail messages for both of my bosses explaining that I'd been at the emergency room for five hours, was still sick, and wasn't coming in to work that day. Then at 5:30, I thought, okay - at this point, it's probably smarter to go home, catch a couple of hours sleep, and call my doctor at 8 AM. Which is exactly what I did - he didn't even need to see me. He said, "Yup, that's a urinary tract infection. I'll phone a prescription in for you." He did. I showered and changed clothes, walked down to the drugstore and picked it up, took my first dose, and went back to sleep. I was already feeling better by 10 AM.

Moral of the story - Next time I'm sick enough that I need to go to the emergency room, I'm making sure I have enough cab fare to go to the hospital in Forest Hills.

Ah, if only it did, like in a John Woo or Sam Raimi flick. The doctor told me when I passed it, he'd want to see it to know the type of stone it was (it looked like a tiny pebble. I've seen pics of ones that look like WW2 mines with spikes and stuff - pass one of those and I guarantee life takes on a whole new fucking meaning).

Lisa, I sympathize re: urinary tract infections. When I had my first one, I had been working the night shift (I was up for about 24 hours at that point, saw a bit of blood, and something in my head sais "that ain't right.") and made an immediate morning appointment with a urologist (not the same dude for the kidney stones).

The urologist mentioned I'd need a catheterization so they could see what's going on. I'm sitting in an examining room, surrounded by pictures of catheters from days of yore, dying inside. I express my concern about fitting a sewer pipe into my stickshift, and he reassures me - "Oh, NO! That's how they used to do it! Nowadays, we use fiber optics! Much easier on the patient, and the end of the fiber has a miniaturized camera. You'll barely know it's there!" Fiber optics. Hmmm, I think, fiber optics are thinner than a human hair. Yeah, that should be no problem. "OK, Doc. Let's do it."

The doctor disappears, and the nurse comes in with this big ass cable, like the ones you see on telephone lines on the sides of the road. "Doc, what's that?"
"That's the fiber optic cable we're going to use. Tim, the window's locked. Please Tim, put down the chair. Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. Sure, this isn't going to be your best day, but it'll be fine. I've had the same procedure a bunch of times."

So they do the procedure, and right then I knew EXACTLY how John Hurt felt in Alien. You could feel this... THING... twisting and moving inside you. Then when it came out, I had to piss. What came out would freak out Eli Roth.

He gives me a prescription for antibiotics, but I have to see my doctor first (terms of the insurance). This ordeal started at 9 PM the previos night, ended with my first dose at 9 PM the following night - I'd been up 48 hours straight.

Interesting postscript - my current urologist, when I first met him, told me the guy who treated me was nuts. All I should've had to do was explain my symptoms, piss in a cup, get an analysis, and get my prescription.

Oh, and re: the toilet tales - yeah, I got some stories. I've also got a few weird sex tales, travelogues, and other fucked-up stuff, too. Not a one-trick pony is what I'm getting at here. Just waiting for the appropriate thread to start up. ;D

Wow. Tim's story totaly blows mine away, but I'll toss it in just 'cuz it made me look kinda silly, and makes doctors & hospitals look kinda like the bastards they are. I was in a car accident in aught one, wherein I fractured my clavicle pretty badly. After what seemed like an interminable wait and form filling out session in the waiting room, I'm ushered into an exam area, given an open backed hospital gown, checked, given a couple percocet and sent - not brought, as in escorted by a doctor or nurse or orderly or somebody, but SENT - to x-ray. "Just follow the dotted lines on the floor. Lead you right to it." I stumble around, my left arm non-functioning due to the fracture, my right hand trying to keep the back of the gown closed, because I of course can't tie the fucking thing with one hand, looking for radiology, which was a lot harder to find than the doc had led me to believe (I'm sure the percocet didn't help). And it's about 3 AM at this point, so there's no one around to ask. I eventually find it and get my x-rays, but then have to find my own way back to the ER. I always have trouble doing things in reverse, so this trip is even more long & drawn out than the trip out there, but I eventually find my way back. I think the films made it there before I did, and the doc promptly informs me: "You've got a hell of a break." And they give me a sling and this big velcro band that goes around my chest & shoulder to immobolize the arm (looked kinda like a straitjacket, as I heard someone remark over lunch at the next table of the diner where I used to eat while at work). I follow up w/ my own orthopedist a few days later, and he's horrified. "Where did you get that thing?!" he asks. "The ER", I reply. "That's the WORST thing to do w/ a fractured clavicle! This thing moves the ends farther away from each other! Theyll never knit together like that!" Whereupon he prescribed the proper kind of clavicle strap. Ultimately, no harm, no foul. I healed well, thank God, w/ only the occasional twinge to remind me it's there. But the moral of the story is: Couldn't SOMEONE have saved me 20 minutes or so of aimless, ass grabbing wandering thru the early morning silence of the halls of Union Hospital by fucking walking me to x-ray? I know I wasn't that bad off, all things considered (I could walk, and had all my wits about me, I think. At least until I took the percocet.). But it just seems like common courtesy to show someone unfamiliar with the home where something is in your own house. Shouldn't a theoretically customer based business like a hospital be at least that courteous, especially to somewone who's injured? Arrogant bastards.

Yaaaay! Weird sex tales and other fucked up stuff! (*Runs to make popcorn*)

Actually, I'm not sure if peeing in a cup and getting an antibiotic would be the correct process for a guy with a urinary tract infection - I think because of the different plumbing, they're not as common as when women get them. We get that crap all the time.

I've had moments like Iggy's too - and that was at good hospitals. Wandering the halls with a really really high fever from an ear infection, trying to find my way back from one exam room to the other. I think they make a game out of it - "Hey, let's watch to see how long this idiot wanders around before they find their way from the exam room back to the ER."

Sorry for the long post, but this was something I remember all to vividly. I, too, know the horror that is the kidney stone. One day during the summer before I went off to college I started feeling this dull pain somewhere near the bottom of my stomach. I pretended it wasn't there until I couldn't anymore and got up to tell my parents that something was really wrong, but I could barely move when I stood up. They found me curled up, face down on the couch and took me to the hospital as soon as I could get to the car. I hadn't eaten in at least a day, but I had that horrible feeling that you absolutely need to throw up. I found an empty old McDonald's cup under the car seat and proceeded to puke stomach acid into it.

We get to the hospital, they put me in one of those drafty gowns, and wheel me around on a gurney for a few hours doing tests. When the nurse came in to tell me it was kidney stones, the pain had miraculously disappeared. I got up and took what seemed like the longest piss of my life. Everything was fine and good until a few weeks later

My first week of college and I barely made it through the first day before the pain abruptly came back. I called my parents and ended up back in the hospital. They told me something similar to Tim, that the stone was lodged in the exit path/output/whatever it's called of my bladder and that I needed to have a procedure to remove it.

Of course, they only had time in their schedule to do it a week after that, so I went back to school to experience my first week of classes in constant pain. The day finally comes to have the procedure and I have this pain in my stomach that's so bad, I don't know if I needed to shit or puke or what, but I wanted any sort of relief I could get. I got the bright idea to take some laxatives. A couple hours later, I'm at the hospital (which, by the way, looked more like some weird heavily guarded fortress/castle thingy with tons of nuns walking aorund) wishing death upon the makers of those laxatives because they don't work when about 15 minutes before they call my name, the damn things kick in.

I flushed what I hoped was all the crap my bowels were holding, zipped up, and went on in to be prepped. Then they tell me what exactly it is they are going to do. Good thing they didn't tell me beforehand because I don't know if I would have shown up knowing they were going to shove a laser up my penis to blast the stone, even with how much pain I was in. Anyway, they took me into this room with a really creepy looking crucifix-like operating table, which further added to my doubt that I was actually in a hospital. They gave me some weird gas and started to put in an IV when I was somewhat out of it (I requested it that way because I have a tendency to try to kick people in the face when they try to put needles in me).

When I came to, I was in a nice quiet room with pretty flowy curtains and I was feeling the most relaxed I had ever felt in my entire life. Then the thought pops into my head "You better not have shit all ove that operating table!" which, as far as I know, didn't happen, but I never found out for sure. Then some nurse comes in and says she's moving me. The bump from the door's threshold clued me in to the catheter, which was not a nice surprise. Then they stuck me in this really noisy room, next to a guy who had a toddler who seemed to really enjoy pulling on things that resembled tubes. Every time the kid came near me I threatened to punch the kid in the head.

A few hours later, a nurse came by and said I was ready to go, she just needed to take the catheters out. I thought the pluralization of "catheter" was strange. It turns out they can somehow fit more than one catheter in that tiny hole, and these weren't tiny little tubes either. The first one, which I swear looked as thick as a sharpie, felt like rug burn all along the worst parts of my insides when she pulled it out, which happened to take a good five minutes. The second one I couldn't really feel, but it apparently ran way up past my bladder and was covered in the most gruesome gory redness I've ever seen.

Right before leaving, the nurse informed me that it might be a little painful the next time I pee and that there might be a little pinkish discoloration to my urine. That was a bit of an understatement. I tried not to pee for as long as I could, but around 4:00 a.m. I couldn't take it any longer and cautiously began to take what really was the longest piss of my life. There was no urine in my urine. It looked like I had turned into a tomato soup fountain. And the stream was intermittent with random spurts of air, which actually freaked me out even more than the blood. I mean, at least blood is a liquid. The cone shaped filter thing I had to piss through started out white, but ended up a shiny deep crimson color well before I was done. I thought to myself "that is something I never want to experience again," and then went to bed. In the morning, I had completely forgotten about it all. I had also forgotten to flush the toilet the night before and freaked out when I found the toilet filled with blood and a trail leading over to the trash can, which held some unrecognizable reddish brown crumpled thing.

Then I went back to school and told all my friends that entire last part in great detail while eating dinner.

Iggy, bro, my sympathies. Especially since you had to go to (shudder) Union Hospital.

I salute you, Kiluhs. I too pissed red ("Malvert pee red!") after my procedure, so I know your pain.

Wait, you said you had TWO CATHETERS?!?! AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(hides under desk, in a fetal position, sucks thumb -"think happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.)

Lisa, the good stuff will come, and those tales will hopefully make you laugh. I-I have to lie down now... (happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts...)

Kidney stones scare me more than anything I've ever heard of that could possibly happen to me. I pray that I never have to experience that.

I could be in the hospital, and the doc could tell me "Son, you have Ebola. It's going to liquefy your internal organs from the inside out."

"You're not putting any tubes up my cock, right? Thank God."

Back in my halcyon days of being single I had the usual diet of trash and ended up with gall stones. Made the appointment to have it taken care of during the new year and went to my parents for the holidays.

During the New Years dinner I had a severe attack that didn't let up after a few hours like usual. For those who need to know, women say its like labour pain. I only knew it like I was trying my hardest to pass my liver.

First hospital, spent couple of hours in waiting and another few hours in triage with absolutely no one paying attention to me. Pain was really starting to ramp up and I was starting to look pretty wild eyed when we decided to hit another hospital. This couldn't happen until the staff physically stopped us until we signed a waiver.

Quick stop to the next nearest and found out it was only a children's hospital. Nice lady doctor gave me a quick look and said, "you're not well at all", and off I went again.

Last hospital (the previous year the premier of the province had blown up the other alternative) was at the opposite end of the city. Waited another couple of hours and gradually curled up into fetal position and screaming to be born while waiting in triage. When they finally admitted me, they had pumped me with about the triple recommended dose of morphine and hauled me to a bed.

Long story short, my gall stones had gone acute and they couldn't clean it out using endoscopy (a small incision) but had to give me a cool 12" diagnoal scar across my abdomen and remove the gall bladder.

The worst part of it was the JP drain. When it came time to leave and the drain had to be removed, the cute nurse that had been attending during my stay couldn't yank it out. She calls her Nurse Ratched supervisor who unceremoniously gives it a heave and I watch bits of me go flying across the room.

All I gotta say is: Colonel I have never loved you more than at that moment.

I'm waiting for kidney stones. Seems inevitable for me. I heard you can get them from.. too much soda.

Ditto.

What do you do if you really need medical attention but you don't have any money? I don't even understand how the health care system in the States is functional.

Believe it or not, I went there by choice, sort of. The accident happened in Hillside on Route 22, and had I asked for an ambulance, the officer taking the report told me they'd take me to Hillside Hospital. The Hillside ER on a Saturday night seemed like a lot less of a joyride than going to Union, so I had my then girlfriend, now wife, drive me there when she came to pick me up (since my car was totaled).

Diet plays a big part of it - mine were calcium (hey, milk does a body good. Sort of...). Some people also just make 'em regardless.

Seriously, you DON'T want 'em. The doctor in the hospital explained it to me; the tubing leading from kidney to bladder is about as wide as the ink reservoir in a Bic Stic pen. Now take a piece of gravel, like the stuff in a fish tank, and try to make it fit. The tubing will expand to a degree, but the pain is so bad (picture Peter Dinklage on your back, stabbing you repeatedly, as he's kicking you, hard!) you'd happily take a shotgun blast to the face just to make it stop.

Best thing to do - drink plenty of water. Keep your system flushed out. Yeah, you'll pee alot, but it beats the hell out of the alternative.

I'd also heard that they usually don't do surgery for removing stones (depends where the stone is). One treatment is you put on swim gear, get in a big tub full of water, and they zap the stones using sound waves - they sound like gunshots. The vibration supposedly pulverizes the stones, and you just piss 'em out.

Iggy: this is why I always listen to the police. That and they're usually armed, so... Anyway, I'm glad you're OK and you got through that stuff. And the fact your girl do taxi service for ya... damn right you marry her. My wife did something similar to me when we were dating, almost fucking up my engagement plans (another tale, another thread - sorry, Lisa! It's a hoot, though! ).

No problem, bud, as long as you promise to start that thread.

Ever have anything freaky, health-wise, happen to you that was never expiained, and never happened again? I remember when I was in college, I went into the bathroom to shower and get dressed. It was 8 AM when I got out of the shower, which was the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor of the bathroom an hour later at 9 AM. I didn't feel sick or dizzy, and I have no idea what happened to this day, other than apparently I was unconscious for an hour on the bathroom floor. I don't know if I fainted - I mean, I suppose I did. But I never told anyone or got it checked, and I was fine to my knowledge. That was 22 years ago, so I guess I'm okay...

That sucks and all, but what the fuck happened with Monica?

The funny thing is that there's still something wrong with you. They just didn't feel like finding it.

That's the way those bastards do it. I got into a car accident and people called an ambulance and everything when really I was pretty much fine. The hospital is only like 3 miles away, it's a short ass Ambulance ride and they put me on oxygen and tied me down and all this other unnecessary crap. I could've walked my ass to the hospital from the accident just fine.

Then the nurses clean me up and stuff. I spent at least 5 to 6 hours there and I only saw the doctors for a combined 45 minutes to an hour of that time. They also wouldn't let me call anybody. I had to get a nurse to bring me near the phone. Then just to be released from the hospital, I had to pay them 100 bucks.

Then we got the bills. Apparently, they bill EVERYTHING separate. The 5 minute ambulance ride is 500 bucks, then we got a 400 dollar or so bill for the doctor, and then I think an additional couple hundred for the hospital. It was obscene. There is no fucking way the tape/oxygen/gas on that ambulance costed that much at all. Motherfucking doctors barely saw me, the nurses did most of the work. I really would like someone to explain to me how they add up these costs because goddamn bandages don't cost tons of money.

They're worse than oil companies.

My kidneys can't process cystine, which means I get kidney stones fairly regularly. I've been in the hospital like four times and I have passed 5 or so at home. They really are amazingly painful.

Well, you can go to the Emergency Room and get treatment, then they bill you obscene amounts after the fact (if you have insurance, there are all sorts of ifs, ands, and buts about what each plan does and doesn't cover, so who the fuck knows). The American healthcare system blows.

Here's a fun and terrible story: I was without health insurance and one night I double over in pain. I crawl to the car and someone drives me to the ER where I have to fill out paper work. I can't see straight, it hurts to breate, and all I want to do is curl up in a fetal position and scream. I feel like I'm about to have a small Xenomorph burst out of me.

But no, gotta fill out the paper work.

So I fill out the paperwork and turn it in. They tell me it will be a roughly THREE HOUR wait.

So here I am, in the most intense pain of my life, waiting for three hours. The doctor comes in and schedules me for an abdominal X-Ray. While I wait for that, get the X-Ray, and then wait for the results, it's another couple of hours.

So the doctor comes back with the X-Rays and tells me I have a lower intestinal blockage that likely started out as a severe case of constipation and never got resolved. I wasn't paying attention to my dumping habits, I guess. Whatever the case, your body keeps creating crap even when you don't expel it. After a while, it piles up, becomes impacted, and....

Well, I don't know. You've got an immovable brick of shit inside you.

Luckily (I guess), the doctor says that this won't require surgery. It was caught early enough and he thinks he can get it with a series of powerful laxatives.

And while I take absolutely zero pride in this, my bowels withstood everything he threw at them.

First up- A suppository. I got to administer that one myself. That was fun. It didn't work.

Second- A soap and warm water enema. This was administered to me by a huge male orderly named Rick. I'm not sure what was more awkward- Having a big guy named Rick shove a tube into my ass that filled my rectum with warm water and soap, or the fact that I didn't find it entirely unenjoyable.

Third- A combination of a second, chemical enema and an oral treatment of magnesium citrate, which is a powerful laxative which tastes a lot like 7-Up...If you dumped a pound of salt into it. Rick again paid me a visit. This time me made we look at the wall while he did his work. It wasn't pleasant.

So at this point, I sit and wait. The pain is subsiding, and my stomach is making sounds like Thor and Zeus are duking it out within. Frankly, sounds you should never, ever hear your body make.

And then, the wave hits.

I'll spare you the details but I spent the next two days on a toilet, went through one of those bulk packs of three ply Charmin, and when it was all done I couldn't sit down for about a week.

But hey, problem solved, right?

Well, it passed out of mind until the bill came.

I was charged for the ER visit, the X-Rays, the laxatives, the enemas, and Rick's firm but loving healing methods. No insurance to cover any of it. It was in the thousands of dollars.

At that point, my ass started hurting all over again.

Igs

My dad broke his collarbone once while he was riding a motorcycle. The closest hospital was thirty miles away, so we piled into the car and took him there. They put this big strap around his neck and chest and sent him on his way.

A couple of weeks later he went to his doctor for a followup, and the guy about hit the ceiling. They'd put it on backwards, so the bone was healing improperly. They took a hammer and rebroke the the bone and put the brace on correctly.

My dad is a very religious man. But I heard him curse like a sailor that day for the first and only time of my life.

Five years ago I went to a clinic for a follow up visit for what I was told previously, at an emergency room, was pneumonia. After taking my heart rate the nurse, after a hurried consultation, calledan ambulance for a 3 block trip to a hospital, which I found hilarious considering I had just walked 6 blocks to the clinic.

In the end it the total bill was for around $300,000. My insurance covered everything but the ambulance ride.

It turned out the pneumonia was actually a burst heart valve which I had been walking around with for a month and a half. When I got to the emergency room they had no idea why I was still alive, as was the heart surgeon with 20 years of experience. He was able to repair the valve because, as my heart was actually overworking to keep blood moving, it had actually grew large enough for him to actually use his hands to suture the heart valve back together.

Five days after the open heart surgery I was released and have no problem since.

JEEE-zus H. Christ! I think we got a new winner.

I got gout once. Seriously. I didn't know it at the time, I had no idea what was happening, I knew I didn't break it or twist it or anything. Thought it was a spider bite. Anyway, went into the doctor room place, doctor asked me the usual questions, then left. 20 minutes later, another doctor came in, asked the exact same questions, then left. 20 minutes later, yet another doctor came in and asked EXACTLY the same question. Lather rinse and repeat for a bit, until I called my parents to tell them about it. My mom told me that my aunt or something had gout, so I asked the doctor if that was it, and they just kind if agreed.
Anyway, the best part was when one doctor gave me some pills, told me not to take more than two for anymore would kill me. So I'm laying there, doped up, when all of a sudden another doctor comes in with the exact same pills, telling me to take two, but no more, cuz more would kill me. I calmly tell him in a druggy voice that a doctor already gave me some, and he just kind of stood there awkwardly and went "Oh...well uh...you probably shouldn't take anymore of them." Yeah. Awesome. Got some crutches out of the deal. Thought they were free. Silly me.

When I was like five I was bitten in the face by a rottweiler. It tore about a two inch wide chunk of flesh out of my cheek leaving a nice hole. I remember looking down at the palm tree slip-ons I was wearing and seeing them covered in blood. (I really liked those shoes.) Anyway my dad is burning rubber to get me to the hospital and my mom is sobbing like she just saw her only child get mauled by a dog. I don't remember much of the hospital other than the nurses strapping me down to a table and prepping the anesthetic. As they were about to stick the needle in my thigh I started yelling,"No, thats my favorite part!" Apparently having a newfound affinity for my left leg. It took several stitches and a few weeks of keeping the wound clean and that was pretty much it. Still got a bitchin scar from that one. Oh and I didn't have to pay for shit!

In a related by unrelated note, I had to get a wisdom tooth taken out and the dentist or "extraction specialist" as they're called was telling me about the procedure. He was a really really great guy, really old, but really cool. After he basically gave me a speech saying "This is ALL the bad shit that could possibly happen. I'm giving you a list of what could possibly go wrong and the chances of it going wrong so if Murphy's Law comes into effect, you won't be surprised. Sorry for scaring the shit out of you", he gave me a choice of local anesthetic or IV drip. He said the IV drip was one of the strongest highs you'll have in your life and that you won't remember shit. So of course he made such a clever argument for it that I agreed. He puts the IV in and tells me it's started and it'll be just a few moments before I feel it. I was thinking I'd feel super high...then all of a sudden everything went black and a second later I'm looking at my mom having a conversation with me and the dentist laughing. I asked him if it all went okay and he said yeah and had this sound in his voice that sounded like he thought I was the most hilarious person alive or something. I walked with my mom to the car and still had no freaking clue where the hell I was and why I didn't feel high at all, and finally...Wtf was so funny? I must've said some funny shit while he was working on me. So for a high I didn't remember and a tooth pulled, it was 500. Pretty cheap considering how much it costs to go to the hospital just for a doc to look at a little cut or something.

I had two wisdom teeth pulled a few weeks ago. The doc spent nearly an hour hacking off the harder tooth because he "wanted me to take them home in one piece". The drugs were good and I didn't feel a thing.

That, the X-rays and such cost me a total of 65 euros (=90 bucks).
Scandinavian healthcare right there, bitches.