‘Crash’ Diet

                        I am sure that there are better ways to lose a few pounds but being the optimist that I am, I’ll put a positive spin on this! And ‘spin’ may be the operative word here because that’s what started my ‘crash’ diet a few days ago. Well, maybe not the spin as that came a few microseconds after my car whammied the center guardrail on Route 24 Westbound in Madison, N.J. and that whammerization came a few more microseconds after I fell asleep whilst driving.

                        For those of you that I have been around me over the past year or so and have had the pleasure (?) of having me nod off in mid-sentence, you know that this affliction can strike at any time. In this case, it was just a normal Sunday afternoon, on my way home from Chatham, where Paula’s son Matt and his family live. I did not get too far, maybe only ten minutes out when ‘Zzzzzzz’ happened (with no warning) and I woke up in time to witness the Honda slam into the guardrail after traveling from the right lane, across the left lane and shoulder to impact the guardrail. We (the Honda and me) then careened back into the two westbound lanes, spinning several times until we reversed ourselves (still spinning) and re-crossed those same lanes until we ended up back in the center median on some very nicely greened grass. The driver’s side window airbag deployed which hindered my unhasty exit from the vehicle as I was still wonky and I remember feeling bad because I was going to cause a traffic jam on RT. 24 and everyone hates traffic jams on that road. I was quite embarrassed standing outside the offending (but innocent) vehicle.

                        I got back in via the passenger side and looked for my phone which had beat a hasty exit from its windshield window holder. I found it hiding in a rather remote place in between the seats and console, I am sure that it was quite scared as it had a front row seat (until impact) of the whole situation.

                        Several cars had stopped across the road and with many gestures asked if I was ok. I gave them the ‘thumbs-up’ signal as I was sure that I was just fine, maybe a little embarrassed, and feeling quite guilty for making the event that we were afraid of come true.  You know that feeling, the “I told you so” scenario, dreading the facing of those that had muttered that phrase before. It’s funny the stuff that goes through your brain at times like this.

                                    My phone was begging to be made useful, so I calmly (?) dialed 911 and proceeded to report what happened. Luckily, I came to a stop exactly across from the 4.4-mile marker, so I felt quite official reporting my position to the dispatcher. It only took a few minutes for everyone to arrive and I mean everyone. I’m guessing that they all needed to get out of the house because I didn’t think that my little fender-bender required the level of response that was quickly arriving at the scene. It seemed as if they all materialized out of thin air because when I finished with my second call, the one to Paula, on scene were no less than five police cars, an EMT-ish-looking vehicle, a fire truck, a tow truck, and the official ambulance rig.

                                    The Officials convinced me that I needed to take a ride in that ambulance instead of having Paula just drop by and whisk me away from this mess. This is the start of the ‘Hindsight Episodes’ that only make sense in that vein, and when recalled later one asks themselves, “What were you thinking!!!???”

                                    It was a good thing that I took that ride, more on that a little later. In the meantime, I walked to the ambulance as they took the Honda away, clambered in and found a seat. The guys were nice and we had a pleasant conversation on the way to Morristown Medical Center. They suggested that I should lie down on the stretcher, I protested, and they then said, “We can’t pull up to the Emergency Room with you just walking out of the rig, believe us, it will go much better with you on the stretcher.” That was the second Hindsight Episode that occurred because they immediately got me into the Trauma Unit, which again looking back, made all the difference in what happened next.

                                    By then Paula had been dropped off and found me down outside Trauma Room 2 because I had my cell phone on me and had texted her my location. There I was in the hallway waiting my turn in a triage of sorts when Paula looked over at me and I said, “I don’t feel so good” as my eyesight dimmed and the edges of my vision darkened and moved inwards. She looked at me and quickly ran to find an official-type person who upon arrival took another look at me and quickly wheeled me into an adjacent trauma room.

“BP dropping! 50 over 30! No time to cross and type-match, hang a unit of O negative” It may not have been exactly like that, but remember I was somewhat compromised by this time. It turned out that after a CAT scan and a few other diagnostic tools being implemented, it was determined that my spleen had been put through an abnormal amount of physical abuse and had decided to bleed on me internally. I guess it’s what you can’t see that’s the scariest. (Just ask those swimmers in Jaws!)

                                    They ended up giving me two units of the good stuff.

                                    Had I just had Paula pick me up from the scene and gone home like I thought I could have……

                                    I guess I should apologize for the lack of pretty photos attached to this Post as there really are none to be found, except maybe this one.

                                    By now you’ve probably surmised that I was going to be staying in Morristown for a few days. I can personally attest to the Quality of Care slathered upon me by the staff in the ICU. I spent about three days there flat on my back waiting for hemoglobin numbers to be reported. Apparently, they are the bellwethers of internal bleeding. My numbers steadily improved thanks to the emergency procedure with a Fancy Name that was performed on me soon after it was determined that I had that internal bleeding issue. Its name is Radiational Splenic Artery Embolization, and it is a minimally invasive procedure that jams little coils into the bad parts which stops the bleeding (good) but eventually kills a part of the spleen (bad) but the spleen has a Pep Rally for itself and heals somewhat (despite all of this) in about two months (good). I am forbidden to do certain activities during this time period as further agitation of the spleen could hinder its recovery (bad). I cannot do things that are obviously trauma inducing but some other items are added to the list such as ‘ladder climbing’. This is not because the spleen is afraid of heights, it’s because if I fell off of the ladder, I would immediately be into that previous category of Trauma Inducing Activities. I was also forbidden to report to Training Camp until I got an All-Clear from my doctor. The Giants were not happy.

                                    I spent about those days in the ICU flat on my back, not moving at all. The scariest part of this was my Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) which I am the Poster Child for that usually has me on the verge of Panic Attacks if I feel that I am in a position that I cannot get out of…… like the middle seat of  Regular Coach (sardine) Class with the Fasten Seatbelt sign glaring at me. Now not only am I unable to move (it hurts too much) but I’m confined to the bed with all of the ‘stuff’ attached to me.

                                    Ok, so go ahead and ask The Question.

                                    “Gee Donny, how do you go to the bathroom?”

                                    I’m glad you asked that Mr. Bedpan! Actually, since I was on a diet that inspired the title of this Post, (namely Clear Liquids) I was spared the need to use that barbaric instrument of embarrassment.

                                    “Well, what about, you know, going #1?”

                                    This activity is automatically taken care of by an even more barbaric instrument named Mr. Catheter. But I am happy to report that after some initial ‘discomfort’ (their term NOT mine!) things settled down and #1 was taken care of and I didn’t even think about it! For the time I was in the ICU, there were no numerous nightly trips to the bathroom!

                                    While I was in the ICU, I studied really hard so that I could pass those numerous Hemoglobin Blood Tests. Apparently, all of that studying paid off because the numbers improved enough for me to be transferred to a regular room ‘upstairs’. I was released into the custody of another Warden but not before they unhooked some of my apparati, and ‘untethered’ me from that nifty device that removed the need for those nightly bathroom visits, so FREE! I was to join the inmates upstairs.  

                                    They put me in a bed with one of those pads on it that signals when you get out of bed. Apparently Nurse Ratched determined that I was a Fall Risk. Couple that with the remaining assorted tubes and wires that would have strangled me if I had fallen and you can understand why they are so adamant about following their In Bed/Out Bed Classification.

                                     Unfortunately, I inadvertently tested their system. All I wanted to do was innocently dangle my legs over the side of the bed. This necessitated some movement that that ‘pad’ didn’t like. It took me a long time to even get into a position that remotely resembled an attempt to get near the side of the bed when all of a sudden screeching alarms sounded throughout the complex, automatic doors slammed shut, the Hospital S.W.A.T. team scrambled, and the team member stationed on the roof rappelled down and came crashing through my window. Meekly I wiggled my way back onto the “pad” and resumed the position. Unfortunately, my roommate almost succumbed to a Heart Attack when the guy broke through the window. He hastily requested to be assigned to a different room.

                                    The staff upstairs was equally as good as those in the ICU but a little more obsessed with my bodily fluids/ extracts that I was holding back until I got the All Clear from BMFC (Bowel Movement Flight Control) so that I would not have to use the aforementioned (and distained) Bed Pan. (How’s that for a run-on sentence!) There are no boundaries when it comes to this subject either. Questions like “have you pooped yet?” get asked in anyone’s company and after a while you don’t care anyway! And the term ‘pooped’ has somehow replaced the more refined nomenclature term of Bowel Movement (BM).

                                    This subject is bantered around with such regularity (pun intended!) that there are now random PA announcements ….

                                    “Attention everyone! Let’s all congratulate Mr. Hall in Room 139, Bed 2  as he has now won the right to claim his free extra dessert this evening for his first Post-op Poop Episode! Stop in anytime and give him a High Five if he’s not in the bathroom!”

                                    Now let’s talk about those ‘gowns’ that everyone is issued upon incarceration and are impossible to figure out how to tie closed. Apparently, there are five(?) ties involved, one is kind of inside, and attaches somewhere, but who would ever have figured that one out! Two up top, and the last two around back. And this all needs to be done behind you where you can’t see. Having an ‘assistant’ becomes mandatory and there’s not someone always around. Again, there is an air of informality that envelopes the premises because it is futile to keep everything ‘under wraps’ for long. Yes, the staff does a great job of being discreet and do their best to guard your dignity and privacy but after a while you just don’t care anymore. All you need to have is a uniform of sorts and an I.D. badge…. so even a custodian could be asked to help sew up that rear observation area!

                                    I started writing this two days before my release as I had Paula bring my laptop down to me. I set up my table and chair in front of my window, it looked like an ‘office’ of sorts, and I had many a comment on it. I was hoping to be sprung from the joint on Wednesday as I got the ‘thumbs-up’ from OT, PT, my local Floor Staff, the Cafeteria, and the Janitor. All I needed was the Spleen Squad to punch my ticket to freedom, but nooooo, they wanted another day just to be sure. By now I figured that I was fully healed (in relative terms) and wanted OUT! ASAP. That wasn’t happening until Thursday, so I sat down and started writing. I was gradually feeling better as I could get up now without setting off NATO alerts. It was still quite painful to move….. I can’t believe how much being slammed around inside a jammerized vehicle can hurt, even with seat belts and air bags keeping you relatively in one place! What did we do before these inventions were being utilized!!!???

                                    All in all, I can’t say enough about the care that I received in Morristown. Most of you know that I was in the Service Industry and my valuation and evaluation of personal service comes from many angles. The Staff at Morristown was so good that in that weird sort of way, makes one want to go back there just to experience their genuine care about your well-being.

                                    My Parole Board hearing went well on Thursday, the Warden did not even show up to escort me to the gate, all we needed to do was walk out the door. Yup! no embarrassing wheelchair needed, although it took an extraordinary amount of time for me to walk, but I need to do this as it was another step in my recovery. I fell asleep on the way home and no; I was not driving this time. In fact, my driving privileges have been revoked by the Board of Family and Friends until I get my sleep disorder under control.

                                    I can assure you that as much as I try and make light of this situation, I am fully aware of how fortunate that I am to have kept this a One-Person Incident and the thought of this happening on just a regular road with oncoming traffic is quite sobering. I still can’t believe that with all of the spinning and crossing of multiple lanes on Route 24 that this still remained a single car MVA.

                                    I am home in the motorhome behind Yetter’s Diner as I write this, feeling about 90% better than I did upon my release! But still CTQ, (Confined To Quarters) so if you’re stopping by the Diner for a bite, walk around back and see if I’m home, we can have a chat!

                                    Oh, and I can report that my Crash Diet was a huge failure as it appears that I actually gained a few pounds during my incarceration! Who knew that Clear Liquids for a few days (followed by real food) (minus no Exercise) could be so fattening!