Migraine headaches, broken bones and bullet wounds are well known species in the North American vocabulary that can really screw up your life. Most require some, frequently urgent treatment. But what about hiccups? – “you have to be kidding” is likeliest of responses. Repressing a gregarious laughter might be the hardest form of treatment one might receive in this case. Well, not so fast…
My latest life drama innocuously started around breakfast time in early August. My first few hiccups caused a predictable degree of glee around the table. I joined in enjoying a cheap opportunity to entertain. After all we were on vacation in a beach house with water warmly lapping right on our doorstep. The blue sky was bottomless and blissful. The time of leisure was gliding by very fast when around lunch time I was still hiccupping my insides out. Predictably irritated I was getting concerned – would this ever stop? By dinner time it was not all that funny any more and a halcyon vacation mood was turning downright grumpy.
Finally, I was given a reprieve just in time to go to bed. Tossing and turning in my lair, the sleep was not forthcoming. Suddenly at around 1AM, the blasted hiccups reared their ugly head once more. Any chances of falling asleep were slim. Some crazy thoughts started racing through my head calculating various escape options. One of them involved the leaning rail of many a Canadian – our cherished health care system. A 2AM arrival at the Peach Arch hospital beaconed high on the list of options. Its friendly south Surrey staff, ample opening hours and bedroom community location seemed to be in the best position to address my hiccups. After all, they have attached limbs, pulled splinters and set bones – a perfect set-up for my little hiccup problem.
Predictably, the empty reception at the Emergency was warm and fuzzy, ready to engulf yet another suffering soul. Quickly passing through the admin desk I was promptly baptised as the “Hiccup Guy”. After taking my ready for a marathon vitals, a very friendly nurse with a sweet whisking smile of mother Teresa, delivered me into an examination room. Here, surrounded by my dears, Tracy and Sophie, I felt like I was inside an all-motherly cocoon.
The place maintained its serene countenance even after the arrival of some drunkards being treated for their fighting wounds next door. No amount of coarse language and mini-skirts could motion me away from the proverbial paradise. It only got better when petite and soft-mannered doctor Rodriguez entered the room. The place was lit by her warm Flamenco smile. Having listened with apparent and ready concern, she quickly prescribed a treatment – “it will make your irritated diaphragm more relaxed and hiccups will go away” – she said it nearly singing. I felt elated and gave myself readily to yet another soft-touch nurse, Ms. Tape, ready to puncture all and any of my available veins with her multi-bagged IV arrangement – I never knew that hiccups could get such royal treatment! “You will be new as a nickel” – were her parting words as she was blending into the horizon. It was about 3AM.
In about an hour, my hiccups were defeated, my breath steady and my brain had no longer a clue as to its whereabouts. Tracy and Sophie were not sitting next to me and my whole being felt like falling into a deep, deep hole. The only outward sign of civilization was the hallway light steadily streaming into my consciousness. The friendly Ms. Tape apparition re-emerged in the spotlight to check my empty IV gear – my body appeared to have sucked it all in – great! With the latest malady defeated, I was ready to go according to the statistical charts. Weakly mustering a searching plea to see the doctor once again was met with a little lack of understanding – after all I had undergone the prescribed treatment, I did not have the hiccups and this was an emergency room and not a gastro-surgery for Pete’s sake.
Gingerly stepping on the floor it felt unsteady like a ship-deck in a good winter storm. But with retreat impossible I made it around the corner, and slowly waddled toward the exit – “SLAM!” It went dark…
The very next thing I saw were a few angels searching my face for signs of life.
“He must have fainted at the sight of his own blood” – somebody snickered
No, there were only nurses in angel-wear and I was lying firmly glued to the hard florescent linoleum of the Emergency Room - the only place I could have ended up after my full fainting spell. I felt like falling further but the trusty concrete held up my mind’s urgent need to escape. Too late, my vital signs were being taken at a rapid succession with almost academic interest. The Hiccup Guy became the latest experiment – fascinating.
Once my blood pressure relapsed to higher ground after plunging to 40/20 area, I was deemed ready for a stretcher transfer. Helped along, I stood up, staggered and lunged on the luminous linen to escape problems of gravity once more. “You missed a real show!” - almost exultantly said an angelically dressed nurse at the approach of my next of kin. I kept falling into the abyss with all my marathon strength sucked in one huge IV bag. The next thing I knew, I had another IV stuck into yet another vein – all in the same examination room. Hurray, the Hiccup Guy is here once more to feel the pressure of warm and cuddly Medicare system, the dragon of many heads ready to engulf me once more in its un-retractable tentacles.
The experimental treatment went along its vicious cycle – forget about the marathon, I would give worlds for an ability to stagger into a washroom – alas, my pitiful condition opted for a plastic portable solution. It was dawn and the emergency services were ramping-up as my body, a purely experimental material, was transferred into a hall to give way for never-ending demands of improving statistics. I hate efficient markets, give me some bloated socialism!
After about two hours of nothingness, I was brought back to the outer edges of life with Sophie’s laughter at my newly forming forehead welt. She was clearly enjoying her sleepless night. “Yea, wee”, even an hour-long nap on a stretcher in an empty examination room could not dampen her spirits. My dear wife was there to give unstinting support and I was ready to summon my last reserves towards the exit – when suddenly a shrieking “hiccup, hiccup” machine-gun sequence left my lips. I collapsed once more in utter hopelessness and despair. The thought of seeing my favourite room and Dr. Rodriguez-stein once again was about to send me crawling back towards Birch Bay.
Due to the first ray of luck that day, I fortuitously fell into the shift crack, so instead of Dr. Rodriguez I turned up in the magnanimous hands of Dr. Pill. This specimen breathing youth and confidence even gave me a choice – “IV or not IV”. Seeing no other option I pleaded “Please do not give the same stuff as per Dr. Rodriguez”.
“Do not worry, we will give you something mild” – trailed off reassuringly of his lips. Back on the stretcher with another full regiment of IV tubes, my delirious existence lasted for a couple more hours – hiccups were gone and modern medicine seemed to have exhausted its magic course. “We will spring you out of here in few minutes” – proclaimed jovial Ms. Tape substitute, as she was running her errands by my stretcher. Half an hour went by. “We have not sprung you yet?” as she continued on her brisk circuitous route. Finally, energetic Mr. Scrubs was there to do the “springing”. Upon hearing that the Shakespearing choice was still on the table, I was up in a jiffy strongly ruling in favour of “No IV”.
At long last, IV tape was off and I was barely fighting my murky way to the exit – “wait, I have something for you to take home”. It was my dear Dr. Pill racing behind with last claim on his experiment with some pills in hand – “take one a day for the next few days”. Hallelujah, IVs were not the only tools used in Peace Arch Experimental, except I still do not know of pills name or purpose.
Behind my dears, I emerged into the bright sunshine of yet another day. Suddenly, unannounced shrieking “hiccup, hiccup, hiccup” resumed their steady drumbeat. I turned around in a moment of hesitation. The ghosts of angel clad Dr. Pill, Ms. Tape and crew were still peering through the tinted Emergency windows, clinging to a faint hope of my soon return. No, thank you and the Hiccup Guy made his last irrevocable turn…
My latest life drama innocuously started around breakfast time in early August. My first few hiccups caused a predictable degree of glee around the table. I joined in enjoying a cheap opportunity to entertain. After all we were on vacation in a beach house with water warmly lapping right on our doorstep. The blue sky was bottomless and blissful. The time of leisure was gliding by very fast when around lunch time I was still hiccupping my insides out. Predictably irritated I was getting concerned – would this ever stop? By dinner time it was not all that funny any more and a halcyon vacation mood was turning downright grumpy.
Finally, I was given a reprieve just in time to go to bed. Tossing and turning in my lair, the sleep was not forthcoming. Suddenly at around 1AM, the blasted hiccups reared their ugly head once more. Any chances of falling asleep were slim. Some crazy thoughts started racing through my head calculating various escape options. One of them involved the leaning rail of many a Canadian – our cherished health care system. A 2AM arrival at the Peach Arch hospital beaconed high on the list of options. Its friendly south Surrey staff, ample opening hours and bedroom community location seemed to be in the best position to address my hiccups. After all, they have attached limbs, pulled splinters and set bones – a perfect set-up for my little hiccup problem.
Predictably, the empty reception at the Emergency was warm and fuzzy, ready to engulf yet another suffering soul. Quickly passing through the admin desk I was promptly baptised as the “Hiccup Guy”. After taking my ready for a marathon vitals, a very friendly nurse with a sweet whisking smile of mother Teresa, delivered me into an examination room. Here, surrounded by my dears, Tracy and Sophie, I felt like I was inside an all-motherly cocoon.
The place maintained its serene countenance even after the arrival of some drunkards being treated for their fighting wounds next door. No amount of coarse language and mini-skirts could motion me away from the proverbial paradise. It only got better when petite and soft-mannered doctor Rodriguez entered the room. The place was lit by her warm Flamenco smile. Having listened with apparent and ready concern, she quickly prescribed a treatment – “it will make your irritated diaphragm more relaxed and hiccups will go away” – she said it nearly singing. I felt elated and gave myself readily to yet another soft-touch nurse, Ms. Tape, ready to puncture all and any of my available veins with her multi-bagged IV arrangement – I never knew that hiccups could get such royal treatment! “You will be new as a nickel” – were her parting words as she was blending into the horizon. It was about 3AM.
In about an hour, my hiccups were defeated, my breath steady and my brain had no longer a clue as to its whereabouts. Tracy and Sophie were not sitting next to me and my whole being felt like falling into a deep, deep hole. The only outward sign of civilization was the hallway light steadily streaming into my consciousness. The friendly Ms. Tape apparition re-emerged in the spotlight to check my empty IV gear – my body appeared to have sucked it all in – great! With the latest malady defeated, I was ready to go according to the statistical charts. Weakly mustering a searching plea to see the doctor once again was met with a little lack of understanding – after all I had undergone the prescribed treatment, I did not have the hiccups and this was an emergency room and not a gastro-surgery for Pete’s sake.
Gingerly stepping on the floor it felt unsteady like a ship-deck in a good winter storm. But with retreat impossible I made it around the corner, and slowly waddled toward the exit – “SLAM!” It went dark…
The very next thing I saw were a few angels searching my face for signs of life.
“He must have fainted at the sight of his own blood” – somebody snickered
No, there were only nurses in angel-wear and I was lying firmly glued to the hard florescent linoleum of the Emergency Room - the only place I could have ended up after my full fainting spell. I felt like falling further but the trusty concrete held up my mind’s urgent need to escape. Too late, my vital signs were being taken at a rapid succession with almost academic interest. The Hiccup Guy became the latest experiment – fascinating.
Once my blood pressure relapsed to higher ground after plunging to 40/20 area, I was deemed ready for a stretcher transfer. Helped along, I stood up, staggered and lunged on the luminous linen to escape problems of gravity once more. “You missed a real show!” - almost exultantly said an angelically dressed nurse at the approach of my next of kin. I kept falling into the abyss with all my marathon strength sucked in one huge IV bag. The next thing I knew, I had another IV stuck into yet another vein – all in the same examination room. Hurray, the Hiccup Guy is here once more to feel the pressure of warm and cuddly Medicare system, the dragon of many heads ready to engulf me once more in its un-retractable tentacles.
The experimental treatment went along its vicious cycle – forget about the marathon, I would give worlds for an ability to stagger into a washroom – alas, my pitiful condition opted for a plastic portable solution. It was dawn and the emergency services were ramping-up as my body, a purely experimental material, was transferred into a hall to give way for never-ending demands of improving statistics. I hate efficient markets, give me some bloated socialism!
After about two hours of nothingness, I was brought back to the outer edges of life with Sophie’s laughter at my newly forming forehead welt. She was clearly enjoying her sleepless night. “Yea, wee”, even an hour-long nap on a stretcher in an empty examination room could not dampen her spirits. My dear wife was there to give unstinting support and I was ready to summon my last reserves towards the exit – when suddenly a shrieking “hiccup, hiccup” machine-gun sequence left my lips. I collapsed once more in utter hopelessness and despair. The thought of seeing my favourite room and Dr. Rodriguez-stein once again was about to send me crawling back towards Birch Bay.
Due to the first ray of luck that day, I fortuitously fell into the shift crack, so instead of Dr. Rodriguez I turned up in the magnanimous hands of Dr. Pill. This specimen breathing youth and confidence even gave me a choice – “IV or not IV”. Seeing no other option I pleaded “Please do not give the same stuff as per Dr. Rodriguez”.
“Do not worry, we will give you something mild” – trailed off reassuringly of his lips. Back on the stretcher with another full regiment of IV tubes, my delirious existence lasted for a couple more hours – hiccups were gone and modern medicine seemed to have exhausted its magic course. “We will spring you out of here in few minutes” – proclaimed jovial Ms. Tape substitute, as she was running her errands by my stretcher. Half an hour went by. “We have not sprung you yet?” as she continued on her brisk circuitous route. Finally, energetic Mr. Scrubs was there to do the “springing”. Upon hearing that the Shakespearing choice was still on the table, I was up in a jiffy strongly ruling in favour of “No IV”.
At long last, IV tape was off and I was barely fighting my murky way to the exit – “wait, I have something for you to take home”. It was my dear Dr. Pill racing behind with last claim on his experiment with some pills in hand – “take one a day for the next few days”. Hallelujah, IVs were not the only tools used in Peace Arch Experimental, except I still do not know of pills name or purpose.
Behind my dears, I emerged into the bright sunshine of yet another day. Suddenly, unannounced shrieking “hiccup, hiccup, hiccup” resumed their steady drumbeat. I turned around in a moment of hesitation. The ghosts of angel clad Dr. Pill, Ms. Tape and crew were still peering through the tinted Emergency windows, clinging to a faint hope of my soon return. No, thank you and the Hiccup Guy made his last irrevocable turn…
2 comments:
Hilarious... not sure if I should point this out or not:
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Francis M. Fesmire of the University of Tennessee College of Medicine, for his medical case report "Termination of Intractable Hiccups with Digital Rectal Massage"; http://www.ignobel.com/ig/ig-pastwinners.html#ig2006
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