Dear George,
Katja woke up on Thursday morning feeling terrible. She was having cold chills, felt nauseated, and had a pounding headache. She called in to work to say she wouldn’t be in and went straight back to bed. Her forehead felt warm, but we can never find our thermometer when we need it. I put an extra down comforter on the bed, and Katja went back to sleep. By early afternoon, the cold chills were worse. Katja later said that “chills” was a misnomer. It felt like death itself was permeating the core of her body. She put on wool socks, a wool cap, and a fleece jacket, but even this didn’t help. I went to CVS Pharmacy and got a thermometer. Katja’s temperature was 102. She called Dr. Rapkin, her primary care physician. By the time the doctor called back, Katja’s temperature had risen to 103.1. Dr. Rapkin said to take two Tylenol, see if the temperature broke in the next couple of hours, and, if it didn’t, go to the emergency room. I called Jennifer, our friend and private medical advisor. Jennifer isn’t exactly a doctor or a nurse, but she is an experienced mom of two children and a medical sociologist, so I get most of my medical opinions from her. Jennifer said 103.1 was extremely high for an adult and she was surprised that Dr. Rapkin hadn’t sent Katja straight to the emergency room.
By suppertime Katja’s temperature had dropped to 99.6, and we decided that her fever had broken. Then it fluctuated between 100 and 101 for the rest of the evening. Katja said she would see Dr. Rapkin in the morning and went to sleep early. At 1:30 a.m. Katja woke up, shaking uncontrollably and complaining of freezing. I took her temperature and it was 104. Thinking of Jennifer’s comment, I said we should go straight to the emergency room. Katja didn’t want to. A few minutes later I took her temperature again, and the second reading was 104.6. I said we had to go. Katja said she was too sick and too tired – she wanted to wait till the morning. I grabbed some slacks and pulled them on over her nightgown, then some sneakers which I didn’t bother to tie. I put a pair of jeans over my pajamas, added some moccasins and a sweatshirt, and we hurried down to the car. The dogs were confused and agitated, jumping up on us, trying to help. I sped up Martin Luther King, running two red lights, and soon we were at University Hospital’s emergency entrance. Because of her titanium knee, Katja set off the metal detector at the door, but I told the security guard she had a fever of almost 105, and he let us through. He asked if I were a UC professor, and, as I hurried by, he said he’d taken my social psychology class. I said that’s great. I stepped on Katja’s loose shoelaces as we hurried to the reception desk. The staff member responded immediately when I told her of Katja’s temperature and took her straight into the examination room. I wanted to come too, but she said they’d call for me if they needed me.
An hour later I joined Katja back in the emergency ward area. It was like a beehive, filled to capacity, with people racing here and there. Katja’s bed was behind a little curtain, though it offered minimal privacy. We could hear the conversations on all sides and learned about people’s alcoholism, DT’s, drug usage, and marital problems, plus a lot of screaming, shouting, complaining, and demanding to be let out. The ER doctor said that Katja’s vital signs looked o.k. and that her temperature had dropped to 101. They planned to admit her to the hospital, but they didn’t have a room with a bed yet. Eighteen people in the emergency room were waiting for beds, but they didn’t have any. Katja’s test results were due back at 5 a.m., and she encouraged me to go home.
When I came back at 9 a.m. Katja was still stuck in her emergency room cubicle and still feeling lousy. She was, however, better than she had been. I could tell because she asked me for a large lemonade with extra ice from Frisch’s. They still hadn’t found a bed by late morning when I left. Finally Katja called me about 4:00 and said they’d found her a room, over fourteen hours after her arrival. I drove over, but, as I approached the parking garage, I realized I’d forgotten the lemonade. I drove the mile back to Frisch’s and got it, and Katja was very happy. She’d been diagnosed with a gastro-intestinal infection which had spread to her kidneys, and they were doing a culture from her blood to identify the bacteria so they could target it with an appropriate anti-biotic. On Monday afternoon Katja was discharged from the hospital. She was very happy to see the sheepdogs, and they were thrilled to see her. Her fever was gone, her anti-biotic was working effectively, and, except for some major fatigue, she seems to be progressing well. Katja had only good things to say about her hospital stay. She liked the doctor, the nurses, the food, her room with a view, and even the transportation guy who brought her in a wheelchair to the car. In fact, she seemed to feel it was a lot like being at a resort. However, I don’t think she plans to return any time soon.
Love,
Dave
G-MAIL COMMENTS:
-Linda C (3-28): my god, what a night, why isn't J** your number one call for illness? i called K** to see if art was really dead , the title made me think you had done something wild and crazy and gone to a night club, guess not. lol linda
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