Yesterday started with me feeling a bit under the weather. When the fever broke 100 I
called was forced to call the drones for their advice. They asked some questions. They had me stand up quickly to see if it made me dizzy. They had me jump up and down and describe the feelings in my gut (a steel ball bouncing around the left side). Then they very calmly told me to get to the ER. No, you can’t wait two hours until you have a ride, but you really shouldn’t drive, literally because the innocents that would perish if I passed out on the Interstate. Since there are no innocents in San Diego, and I had no other reasonable options, I drove myself.
I ended up being there for eight hours, from 5 p.m. until 1 a.m. Nissantruck is still there since passing out and killing people isn’t nearly as serious as driving while high as a kite on two morphine hits.
I learned a new word: diverticulitis. I learned new sensations, especially when they pushed the iodine marker into my bloodstream for the final round of CT scans. I was reminded of the consequences of ignoring minor symptoms until the reach out and try and kill you. Not sure I learned a lesson there, but I always like to know the possible consequences.
There are a lot more details and some stories, and they might come out in the next few days, but for right now, I need to get back to bed.