Okay, this story is neither fiction, nor is it BDSM related. It's 100% true and is about an experience I had back in 1984 that I hope people will find interesting, and even a bit amusing. I hope it is okay to post it here.
The event began in the foothills north of Eagle, Idaho, about a half mile from where I lived at the time. I had gone out for a ride on Dusty, the appaloosa mare that we owned. She had been acting kind of quirky all morning because she was in heat, but over all it had been a pleasant enough ride. I don't remember anything about the event, itself, but we were on the way home with about a half mile to go, when...
As I woke up, the first thing that I noticed was a bright gleam a few inches in front of my eyes. I focused my eyes on that gleam and realized it was my glasses, laying in the cheat grass. "That's odd," I thought, "why are my glasses laying in the cheat grass?" After just a couple of seconds of contemplation I had another thought. "Why am I laying in the cheat grass?" Without moving, but letting my eyes wander, the next thing I noticed was my hat, also laying in the cheat grass. "Okay," I thought, "there's my hat. I must have been riding the horse. So, where is the horse?"
It was at about this time that I decided to sit up and look around. That idea didn't last long. As I started to rise I had about a dozen different aches and pains that shouldn't have been there tell me to lay down again. I decided to be obedient, and did as they instructed! But just for another minute or so. This time I knew to expect the various hurts, and managed to compensate for them. I sat up, looked around, and there wasn't a horse anywhere in site.
I still don't really know what had happened, but it could only have been one of two things. First, the horse had thrown me, knocking me out, giving me a concussion and a ruptured spleen, OR I had been abducted by aliens that had wiped my memory of the event, and THEY, for some unknown reason, had created the ruptured spleen. I couldn't see it at the time, but the slight discoloration on the side of my face from the bruise does seem to indicate that it was the first possibility.
Anyway, I opted to NOT take the easy route home, along a relatively flat valley floor. Instead, I went up and down several small hills or knolls so that at the top of each I could look around and try to see the missing horse. I knew that the horse had probably headed for home and that that is where I would find her, but just in case she hadn't, I didn't want to get home, find her still missing, and then have to go out looking for her.
As I neared home, I finally saw the horse, across the street in the neighbors yard, happily munching what had been a well manicured lawn. I had grabbed her reins and was leading her across the street and up my driveway when my wife came out and asked why I was leading the horse. I quickly explained it to her as best I could. I unsaddled the horse, and my wife offered to brush the horse down so I could go on in the house.
I went in, got a soda out of the fridge, and started to sit down when a wave of pain, like nothing I had ever experienced, swept over me, and somehow I managed to just sit, instead of falling into the chair. It was about five minutes before my wife came in, and all I said to her was, "You'd better get me to a doctor."
Our first stop was at one of those immediate care places, on Curtis street in Boise, sometimes referred to as a "doc-in-a-box". We went in, and my wife quickly filled out the necessary paperwork and explained what had happened. The doctor began his exam. As he was poking, prodding, and peering, he started to ask me some questions. "What's your name?" The pain made it difficult to get enough breath to answer quickly, so my wife answered for me. The doctor continued his physical exam, but also asked a second question. "What kind of work do you do?" Again, while I am trying to catch my breath, my wife, being helpful, provided the answer. Soon, the doctor asked a third question. "What street do you live on?" Once again, quick as ever, my wife answered for me.
I could see a look of quiet desperation on the doctor's face, so before he could think of another question I managed to draw in enough breath so that I could look at my wife and say, "You need to let me answer. He's trying to find out if my brains are scrambled." Rather meekly my wife simply said, "Oh." The doctor chuckled and said, "I guess that answers THAT question!"
He then told us that he was pretty sure I had some internal injuries and that I needed to go on to the hospital. He could see that my wife was somewhat shaken by what was going on, so he offered to call an ambulance to take me. She assured him that she was capable of driving...it was only a short distance on up Curtis to St. Al's. I wasn't quite so sure, but I was in no condition to argue. So, on to St. Al's we went.
Now, I won't go so far as to say the nursing staff at St. Al's are perverts, but I was barely in the emergency room before they started ripping my clothes off! Not even a proper introduction first!
And I have no proof...I didn't see any certificates...but I am relatively certain that all the emergency room staff got their medical certifications from the DeSade School of Medicine.
The nurse tried to insert a catheter...FOUR TIMES, and never got it in! But I could definitely tell it was NOT going where it was supposed to. She told the doctor, and he managed to insert it, relatively painlessly, on his very first try. That sneaky SOB! He was just setting me up so he could catch me unawares when he returned!
When he came back, he had reinforcements...an intern! The doctor placed himself on one side of the bed, and the intern on the other. They had me surrounded! The doctor was holding a syringe with about a six inch needle (the excuse was that they needed to draw some abdominal fluid to check for internal bleeding). Grabbing a big handful of skin on one side of my navel, he instructed the intern to do the same on the other side. And...they lifted my torso up off the table that way. While holding me up, the doctor started to insert the needle, just below my navel. The intern asked how you know when you had inserted the needle far enough. The doctor told him that as the needle pokes through the diaphragm you can feel a slight "pop". As he was talking, I could feel the "pop" that he was talking about. But, according to him, he didn't feel it...SO THEY DID IT AGAIN!
Once they had drawn the fluid, the intern asked if he should run the sample to the lab to get a blood count. The doctor said, "No, when it comes out red like that you know there is internal bleeding."
By now, it had been nearly six hours since the accident had happened. I was to the point that I just wanted them to knock me out. I really wasn't concerned about whether I woke up again or not.
And finally, off to surgery I went.
When I finally woke up for the third time that day (in the morning, after the accident, and after surgery) I still had the catheter, as well as an IV, and a tube going up my nose and down my throat to my stomach. But at least that pain I had been experiencing was pretty much gone. Now I had a pretty row of shiny staples running from sternum to navel.
That night, I don't know if it was because of the IVs, or just what, but I ended up with diarrhea. I got out of bed, grabbed the pole with all my tubes attached, and headed for the bathroom. Not long after I settled onto the commode, the tube that was going down my throat started gagging me. Back to bed I went. But I still needed to finish my appointment with the bathroom, so as soon as the gagging settled down, back to the bathroom I went, only to start gagging again. I think it took either four or five trips back and forth before I was finally finished and was able to settle into bed to try to get some rest.
Did I say "rest"? My room was immediately below the heliport! Every time Life Flight landed or took off my entire room shook. After several days, though, I did kind of get used to that.
I think it was about the third day, the surgeon came in and after asking how I was doing, etc., he asked whether I had passed any gas since the surgery. I thought that was kind of an odd question, but I told him, no, not that I could remember. He didn't respond to that, and shortly left the room.
The next day, and on subsequent days, he again visited, and asked the same question. I don't know why I didn't think, at some time, to ask why he kept asking that question, but I never did, and the answer was always the same. "No."
I think it was on about the fourth or fifth night, I awoke to find my bed covered in blood. It looked worse than it really was, but it is kind of a shock to wake up and find it that way. Anyway, all that had happened was that the tube for my IV had pulled loose from the thingie in my arm (I think it is called a catheter as well) so blood was coming out of that. I clicked the call button, and the nurses soon had it all under control again.
Normally, surgery such as I had had would only require a stay in the hospital of about 3 days. But, I was there for about a week and a half. Why? Well, as I later found out, it was only because I had not been passing gas. During all but the last day or so, I had nothing to eat, and no water...only ice chips to suck on. After over a week, I think my sister took pity on me. She sneaked a soda in for me to drink. Ahhhh...that was sweet ambrosia! And the carbonation created a miracle...I finally passed gas!
I think the surgeon was more relieved than I was.
I finally got some real food...or as close to it as hospital food gets. Though after nearly a week and a half with nothing but ice chips it tasted wonderful to me. And when the real food caused no problems, I was finally released.
It wasn't until some time later that I finally pieced together what it was that had created all the confusion.
When doing the emergency splenectomy, the surgeon kind of ruffles through the rest of your insides, looking for other possible problems while they are in there. They then wait to see if you pass gas to be sure there aren't any "knots" in your intestines before giving you solid food. Now, I didn't consider diarrhea as being "passing gas", so I never mentioned it. And after that episode on that first night I had nothing left in my system to create gas, so I never passed any.
For all I know I'd still be there, had I not received that soda to drink!
One bright spot...this happened right at the beginning of the 1984 Summer Olympics, so I got to lay in bed and watch the whole thing!
If the women don't find you handsome they should at least find you handy. - Red Green
At my age erections are like cops...there's never one around when you need it!
Never miss a good chance to shut up. - Will Rogers