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About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 30, 2015)
Commentary Page 14 Street Roots • January 30-February 5, 2015 Dizzy Dan’s Hologram: Part II - Cardiology Dan Newth is a Street Roots vendor and periodic writer. This is the second o f three columns, told through his perception o f events surrounding his recent attempted suicide and recovery. BY DAN NEWTH adjust it.” I;was lying in bed, the gurney was gone, and the nurse was removing the tape was gliding down a hospital corridor on , securing the IV needle. The tape adhesive adhered to my arm hair extremely well. I a gurney with an IV drip rolling next to silently cursed the effectiveness of the me. It was surreal. The coldness defined ¿this as reality, not a dream. Both the surreal adhesive. “I’m sorry this hurts. I’m trying to be careful,” said the nurse. .and cold sensatiohs were a result of the 50 “I don’t blame you. I blame the adhesive,” to 60 Trazadone I had ingested earlier that I replied. No laugh, smile or even smirk. night. Tough room. The interns rolled me up to two large A device behind me had an annoying doors with CARDIOLOGY printed on them. beep. “What’s that noise?” I asked the That seemed wrong. A suicide attempt nurse. should go to the psych ward, right? The “Your oxygen levels are low. Try to doors opened like magic and I floated breathe deeply,” the nurse replied. I had a through, down a hall, and into a room next tube for oxygen on my upper lip, half a to a bed. dozen wires connected to round, adhesive “Dan, we need to get you on the bed.” I started to roll over toward the bed when the pads, the IV, a blood pressure monitor wrapped around my upper right arm and an stab of the IV into the inside of my left oxygen level detector on a right hand finger. elbow stopped me. “Whoa, Dan, you’re I also had an urgent need to use the going to tear out your IV.” I Was pretty bathroom. much strung up like a marionette with The charcoal and syrup concoction I was various wires, tubes and the IV tangled given to drink in the ER was causing me to together. expel foul fumes. I owe an apology to the “Dan, couid you sit up so we can get this staff in the room with me for what they had straightened out?” I struggled to sit up. to endure. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I Remember the old cathode ray tube tell the nurse. televisions? Do you remember turning them “Number 1 or 2?” she quizzed back. off and seeing the picture quickly shrink to “Both I think,” in answer. a dot then blinking off? That was what the hologram in my head did. “I need to get some help moving you,” Sharp, tearing pain in my arm. Startle and the nurse left I tried to hold it in as response engaged, “Whuop” came out of my best I could but some came out and the mouth with a quick gasp of air and a jerk of smell nauseated me. my arm. Then more pain from jerking my An intern came in and said, ”If you need arm. It was the kind of response to fear that *to pee, you can use the hand held urinal.” would tell a predator, “Yeah, this is prey.” “I need to do both,” I said with a bit of “Dan, your IV isn’t flowing, so I need to desperation in my voice. c o n t r ib u t in g c o l u m n is t I He wrinkled his nose and said, “I’ll go ask what to do,” while exiting the room. I just didn’t have much control of my bowels, and in the time he was gone, more liquid seeped out. The nurses’ station was near, and they spoke loud enough that I could hear them discussing how bad the smell was and who would be the unlucky individuals to enter my room and deal with the mess that was me. Three people came into my room with a plastic chair that had a bucket in the seat. The staff started disconnecting various apparatuses, the head of the bed was raised, they helped me swing my legs over the side of the bed then let me get ready to stand. I thought I was going to black out again; I was shaking and felt weak as a newborn lamb. Standing seemed impossible. Two of the staff picked up this fat, old man and set me on the seat I then released enough methane to impact global warming. The apology while doing this again seemed inadequate. I spent almost 18 hours in cardiology, most of it napping between being startled by people entering the room, being cross- examined by doctors and listening to the nurses gossip about patients they had Googled. It seemed to me the less status a person had, the nicer they seemed to behave. I guess I should be happy I didn’t meet any hospital administrators. The biggest positive moment spent in cardiology was the chicken soup. It tasted amazing. Vendors sell Street Roots throughout Portland. If you want to find a vendor n»ar vou
