The Long Way Home 10.11.24

This past weekend, I had an experience that gives new meaning to the title of this column, The Long Way Home. 

It all started Thursday evening while I was at the Firehall table for our board meeting. I started feeling a bit unwell, and my hands and body started shaking uncontrollably. I made a hurried exit, and after 15 minutes, the symptoms passed. I didn’t spend time worrying. There were dogs to walk and a bed to get to.

Friday started as a typical day for an unemployed old man. Toast and coffee at breakfast and a writing project all morning. By lunchtime, I didn’t feel hungry, but I felt okay. Then, at the bewitching hour of 2 p.m. I started with the shake/shiver again and severe shortness of breath. I felt like I was losing it, and anxiety took over. The Bohunk convinced me to go to the ER at North Shore Health (NSH). I finally agreed but told her she should drive—no way I could keep the car in a straight line the way my hands were twitching. 

In case I suddenly got well during the ride, she made a video of my miserable condition to show the doctor. 

The rest of that afternoon, until about 7 pm,  is a mystery to me. I remember a chest X-ray and a Covid test early on in the process, but the rest of the story comes from The Bohunk. She keeps offering tidbits about what happened, but I understand the main points now. 

First, they took my temperature, which they did several times that afternoon and evening—with a rectal thermometer. A pain in the ass unless you’re as out of the world as I was. My fever peaked at 105, which I've been told was a matter of concern. I don’t think I’ve ever had that high of a fever. 

I was given an EKG to see how the old ticker was functioning. 

Next, the radiology team at NSH put me through two CT scans, one of my body and one of my head. My charming banter early in the triage process indicated to the pros that I may have had some sort of brain injury or stroke.

The lab tested blood and urine and started a blood culture to identify what was causing the apparent infection.

The skilled crew at NSH lowered my fever, and I returned to reality around 7 p.m. The nurse who treated me so well when I arrived, and I assume she was with me when I was gone, noticed I was awake and said, “What year is it?”

I replied, “2024, why do you ask?” She said the last time she asked me, I said it was 1977. That may have been when they decided on the CT of my cranium.

Back to reality, I was told I had Sepsis, a life-threatening condition caused by my body's overwhelming response to an infection. 

It’s somewhat similar to “No good deed goes unpunished.” The body is trying to do the good deed and fight the intruder. But the invasive species in your blood fights back. As the struggle with bacteria, viruses, or fungi in the bloodstream intensifies, it triggers a chain reaction that leads to organ failure. 

The ER staff knew I wasn’t ultimately “out of the woods” with this thing. The doctor 

decided I should go to Duluth for further care. So, at about 9:30, they stuffed me in an ambulance for a two-hour cruise down Highway 61 to the new Essentia Hospital tower. I’d heard horror stories about the rough ride from those who had gone before. I can tell you those may be understated.

I wasn’t allowed much that was my own. The boxer/briefs I was wearing, my cell phone, and reading glasses. The Bohunk had gone home to pack me a bag with a pair of sleep shorts, a toothbrush, and my drugs for blood pressure and cholesterol, which my admitting nurse immediately confiscated. I didn't bring pants, a wallet, shirts, or shoes. 

I had been assigned a room on the 15th floor, and when Shalom and T, the ambulance crew, wheeled me in, daughter Jess was sitting on the couch to ensure everything was handled properly. This was a comforting surprise, even though I told her she shouldn’t have come. 

By Saturday morning, I felt almost normal. I figured out how to order my meals on the TV. When they are delivered, the person raps on the door, opens it, and announces “Room Service.” The hospital is a fantastic facility that feels like a proper hotel—except for the bed.

My vital signs were good by then and stayed sound. By Monday afternoon, after the blood culture was completed in the NSH lab, Essentia released me to The Bohunk for a smoother ride up Highway 61.