Save My Lululemon

Well, today my kids/husband took me to my favourite chinese restaurant .  Upon driving home (yes, I was driving), I started having chest pains.  So I pulled over and told Bobo he’d have to drive.  Yes, a cell phone at that time would have been nice.  Not wanting to visit a hospital quite yet, I asked Bobo to drive me home so I could get my heart monitor.  We were home in less that 5 minutes and my heart monitor indicated that my systolic rate, blood pressure, and pulse were abnormally high.  It was in the “red” zone.  “Oh Crap”, I thought,  Got to go to the hospital again.  Don’t really need an unco-operative heart right now, but it would be a good thing to know what’s going on before the surgery.   Luckily, Michelle’s daughter phoned earlier and left a message asking my kids to go over to their house tomorrow.  So I yelled at Frick to phone her friend as I kept monitoring my heart.  “Hi, Michelle… my hearts kind of acting all crazy again, can I bring my kids over?”  Poor Michelle.  She is going to have to start charging me hotel rates for the numerous amounts of times I have dumped my kids at her place.  And just as I’m leaving the door who should call, but my dad.  “Don’t answer the phone”, I yell to Frick, who has, by this time, picked it up.  “Who is it?”, I yelled.  “Nonno” (my dad), she answers.  “Great”.  “Dad, what do you want?  I gotta go to the hospital.  My heart is acting weird.  Don’t come over.  I’ll phone you as soon as I know what’s happening.  Good-bye.”

“Where do you want to go?”, Bobo asks.  “Downtown”, I answered.  Might as well, since all my records are there and all my current doctors can access them.  So we dropped the kids off at Michelle’s and headed downtown.

So what does my dad do in the meantime?  He goes to find me at my local hospital.  Then he phones my sister who lives downtown and sends her to my downtown hospital.  Glad he listens to me when I tell him not to come.  So the whole family is now searching for me.

At the hospital, they did an ECG and took my blood.  Four hours later…wasn’t heart failure.  ECG was good.  Everything seemed okay, and I was free to go.  However, no real explanation was given to me about the intense chest pains I had.  Although the ER doc. did say that that new drug I’m on (Arimidex) can cause chest pains.  Great eh!  And if I continue to have chest pains more frequently, I needed to come back and get checked out more thoroughly.  All I know is that I’m getting the same irregular heartbeats, weird electrical bolts coursing through my legs, and chest pains that I got when I was on tamoxifen.  I just hope I can have a successful surgery soon before my heart does any more weird things.

We (Bobo, Older Sister and I) met some new friends in the ER waiting room.  “What’s wrong with you?”  I asked a girl (Diane).   She also had some heart issues, (‘cept they let me and another  guy out after 4 hours -we got the “pink slip” and she ended up spending the night).  Heart murmur.

We had a good time laughing together.  She was Italian and her boyfriend was Canadian.  My stupid husband kept shaking his head and told the guy to run for his life.  Nice eh?  “It will never work”, he announced.  “Don’t listen to him”, I told the guy, “He regularly stops at churches, rolls down the window during weddings and yells, “Don’t do it”.   She was studying at U of T to become a lawyer and he was at George Brown studying architecture.  My husband and him conferred about how really LOUD italians families were and how they yell at each other.  “But we are just talking”, pips in Diane and I.  Diane’s boyfriend (can’t remember his name) said he didn’t like going over to her house for dinner because her parents just keep throwing more and more food onto his plate and he doesn’t want it.  Bobo laughed and said, “Yeah, I know”.  “Why don’t you do what my husband does?”  I told him.  Why don’t you put some ziplock bags into your pocket and when no one is looking, slip the food into it.  Then you don’t offend anyone and you can empty your pockets when you get home.  You could see he was contemplating doing that next time he was going over there for dinner.  It was one of the most entertaining ER experiences I have had.

And, after all that… all I can say is that I certainly left the ER with a bang.  Poor Diane almost fainted.  The ER nurse had dug an IV REALLY deep into my arm and it hardly gave her any blood at all.  She thought I would have get poked again because the blood came out so slow, she was convinced it clotted and the lab was not going to accept it.

But boy oh boy, did it all come gushing out like a volcano when it was taken out.  I didn’t really notice it.  She took it out and I had a gauze bandage over it  and tape.  Then my husband said,  “Look at your arm… You’re bleeding.”  “Holy Sh**”, says I.

MY LULULEMON!  My  new LULULEMON hoodie!  AHHHHH!!  A big blob of blood was spreading quickly on my sweater from my right arm.  “What should I do?”   “Take it off,” Bobo shouts.  So I did.  “Forget about my arm…. SAVE MY LULULEMON!”, I cried.  Diane’s boyfriend grabbed my hoodie and quickly rinsed it in the nearby sink.  I owe him big time.  I looked over at Diane.  Diane did not look so good.  Apparently she doesn’t like blood and by that time the blood entirely soaked up the gauze, was all over my arm and left hand, and was spurting out all over the floor.  “Holy Sh**”, was all I could say staring at it dumbfounded.  Someone (Bobo?) called for a nurse, who put more bandages on it, and told me to apply more pressure.  She asked me if I was taking blood thinners.  Nope, I wasn’t.  Good thing too.  Hope that doesn’t happen next week when I have to go for surgery or I’m really in trouble.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s