The Leper of Northwest Community

I have had a bad stomach since the turn of the century. It has become sort of common knowledge among people that know me. I have thought of mentioning it on my business cards. However, over the past few months, my bad stomach has become something more. It has become devastating.


Back in February, I started having "issues" (due to the nature of what I got, I am going to refer to violent diarrhea as "issues" from this point forward). I went to the doctor and they diagnosed me with something called c-difficile-something something. They just called it c-diff so I do too. I was on an antibiotic in January, that antibiotic killed all the "good bacteria" in my stomach, this allowed the c-diff which apparently was present all along to grow and here we were. So I got c-diff indirectly from an antibiotic. The cure? An antibiotic. Go figure. So I took the antibiotic and everything was fine.

Then April came.

In April, I started having "issues" again and they were worse than before. I went back to the doctor and again tested positive for c-diff and ALSO a bacteria popular in third world countries called campylobacter. So I went on TWO antibiotics and everything was fine.

Five days later.....

The issues came back. You see where I am going with this. The process repeats itself. I go on a NEW (and extremely expensive) medicine thinking that this will end it.

Five days later.....

The issues are back again. This time my test (which is also very expensive) comes back negative. I seriously have my doubts but what could I do? I pushed hard enough to get an appointment first thing Tuesday morning after Memorial Day weekend.

The first half of the weekend went pretty well but the second half did not. I woke up Tuesday morning thinking I might die. I somehow got to the doctor's office (though my car didn't start - BONUS!). The nurse took my vitals but didn't tell me what they were which I took as a bad sign. The doctor came in, looked me over and promptly left to call my family doctor to order a direct admission to the hospital. I don't think he knew I could hear him but I overheard him tell my doctor that I "looked like crap" which I don't think is a medical term. However, it was certainly accurate.

So off I went to the ER. I walked in and after some confusion, they took me to "direct admission". At the time, I didn't pick this up but I think "direct admission" is code for "keep him away from everyone". You see, c-diff is highly contagious in hospitals, especially with older people. So, once I was out of "direct admission", where did they send me? To the cardiac unit. Which was chock full of sick old people.

The nice part about being the leper of the colony is that you get your own room (and bathroom, thank God). The bad part is that for any staff member to come in, they have to put on the full plastic gown and gloves which requires effort which they were not inclined to do which meant it took a while for things to happen and people wouldn't come see me for long periods of time.

I would have to wait 15 minutes sometimes to have someone come in after pressing my nurse's call button. Meals took a while because the food staff wasn't allowed to bring it in to me. One morning at 5:30, they unplugged my IV to get me ready for a procedure (which did not allow me to eat - not a problem - or drink anything for 12+ hours). However, the procedure didn't happen until the afternoon. And no one came back in until after 8.

Despite the fact that people didn't come by that often, it did seem like my vitals (pulse, blood pressure, temperature and the oxygenation of my blood - yeah, I don't know what that is either and I asked) were the most fascinating thing on the planet. I had different people coming in all the time to check that. I had a few interns and new hires test it. I had nurses test it. I think the cleaning guy tested it once. Everyone wanted to see what my blood pressure was. They couldn't even wait until I woke up in the morning. They came in every night at 1:30 to wake me up and take my vitals. One time, the nurse even asked if I would stand up so she could weigh me. At 4 in the morning! I told her no. She seemed disappointed.

There is a lot of down time in a hospital. As I got more hydrated and started feeling better, I was sleeping less which left plenty of time to kill. I was grateful for the people that stopped by, called or texted while I sat in my room. My wonderful wife stayed with me more each day. She was able to because my wonderful mother-in-law drove four hours from Michigan to watch our kids. But even with guests and tv and books and my wonderful wife, there was still a lot of time to myself. I once thought that being in a hospital with so much time on your hands would be great. I no longer think that. There was some really good time. But in the end, I missed being home. I missed being with my kids. I missed being with my wife in a setting where I wasn't hooked up to an IV wearing a 30 year-old gown and trying to keep down Jello.

Finally, on Friday afternoon, when most other people were leaving work, I was celebrating the freedom of being out of a hospital. Of experiencing weather - the warm sun, the breeze, the humidity. I felt like I had been in a cocoon. Now I was out.

While I am feeling better, the end may not be in sight. In fact, on the last day, two of the doctors we saw gave opposing thoughts on what they thought was the cause of the recurring episodes. One thought that the current treatment would once and for all end the relapses. The other gave me a 40% chance of it coming back. So we pray that God will continue to give us the strength and grace to handle whatever comes ahead for me and my bad stomach. And that the inside scoop on my vitals can wait until the morning.