The nurses eyes widened a bit in surprise. She leaned in, pressed the intercom, and called for a stretcher.
This was November 2001, Thanksgiving Day. A hospital on the suburban fringe of Jackson, Mississippi. I had a kidney infection, although I didnt know it at the time. All I knew was that my entire lower torso felt like it was full of killer bees. Ninja-clad killer bees that breathed fire. The nurse refused to acknowledge me after all, I wasnt leaking blood, just moaning a bit until she was forced, by policy, to take my vitals. She did not know it but this was my trump card.
Hello. My name is Ken, and I have hypotension.
My blood pressure that day was a needles breadth under my average 70 over 40, if I recall correctly. Almost half of the stated average of 120 over 80. I am no doctor, but if I came across someone who has such intense stomach pain that they cannot stand, and their blood pressure appears to be dangerously low, I would assume that they could have internal bleeding of some sort. From that point on until a positive urine test I was handled with speed and efficacy by the ER staff.
Im told that low blood pressure can often lead to lack of energy, poor concentration, dizziness, and oddly enough, depression and anxiety. (Then again, it appears that almost any ailment leads to depression and anxiety. Maybe knowledge that you are sick does that to you.) My fingers and toes, my limbs are constantly cold and to remedy this I go lay in the sun like a large bespectacled lizard I suppose this is related. I am also guessing that it plays a large role in my problems with alcohol namely, that I have the booze tolerance of a hummingbird on a starvation ration, and that I will often awake, temples crushed by a hangover, after a night of four drinks. Then again, I am built for endurance sports, I will likely live a longer life on average, and I can indulge my love for one of the finest of all simple compounds, sodium chloride. NaCl. Table salt, that is. I can eat as much as I want. So its a fair trade.
Last night, Friday night, I had planned to go out, enjoy a beer or two, maybe play some pool, but my blood pressure had apparently dropped again. I sat down, checked e-mail, stood up, and felt my head detach from my body. My vision went gray for two seconds. I slumped against a wall and waited, blinked until I could see. This happens sometimes. It continues for a few days, usually. It goes away. In the meantime I drink water and wait.
You know, you should tell Greta how smitten you are over her.
Anna has no idea what to make of my reticence. Neither does Greta, apparently.
She twirled her fork in the air with annoyance, blew out a sigh that caused her bangs to fly out. She has no idea what to think.
Somewhere in a small dorm room in Austin a girl may be fretting, bent over, trying to study, running her fingers up and down a schoolbook spine, confused and unable to ask. What can I do? The solution to this is obvious. Clarity and straightforwardness is the order of the day.
She must know that every time I see a pair of lips I think of hers. That there is a message on my answering machine from hers, its a week old and banal and on it she lets her voice trail out into a rumbly purr inbetween the words so and yeah and I listen to this daily. That she makes me feel that I have the strength of ten Grinches plus two. That Im still not sure about how much I like kissing her and the subject needs to be explored and delved into with a slather of hands-on experimentation and personal probing of the matter I am applying for research grants as we speak. That my hands still remember her curves and when they do they ache.
And if she isnt confused, if shes aware that I spend the day rationing memories of her, picking out one an hour and wrapping the whole of my body around it, then she still needs to be told this. She does not deserve confusion.
This was November 2001, Thanksgiving Day. A hospital on the suburban fringe of Jackson, Mississippi. I had a kidney infection, although I didnt know it at the time. All I knew was that my entire lower torso felt like it was full of killer bees. Ninja-clad killer bees that breathed fire. The nurse refused to acknowledge me after all, I wasnt leaking blood, just moaning a bit until she was forced, by policy, to take my vitals. She did not know it but this was my trump card.
Hello. My name is Ken, and I have hypotension.
My blood pressure that day was a needles breadth under my average 70 over 40, if I recall correctly. Almost half of the stated average of 120 over 80. I am no doctor, but if I came across someone who has such intense stomach pain that they cannot stand, and their blood pressure appears to be dangerously low, I would assume that they could have internal bleeding of some sort. From that point on until a positive urine test I was handled with speed and efficacy by the ER staff.
Im told that low blood pressure can often lead to lack of energy, poor concentration, dizziness, and oddly enough, depression and anxiety. (Then again, it appears that almost any ailment leads to depression and anxiety. Maybe knowledge that you are sick does that to you.) My fingers and toes, my limbs are constantly cold and to remedy this I go lay in the sun like a large bespectacled lizard I suppose this is related. I am also guessing that it plays a large role in my problems with alcohol namely, that I have the booze tolerance of a hummingbird on a starvation ration, and that I will often awake, temples crushed by a hangover, after a night of four drinks. Then again, I am built for endurance sports, I will likely live a longer life on average, and I can indulge my love for one of the finest of all simple compounds, sodium chloride. NaCl. Table salt, that is. I can eat as much as I want. So its a fair trade.
Last night, Friday night, I had planned to go out, enjoy a beer or two, maybe play some pool, but my blood pressure had apparently dropped again. I sat down, checked e-mail, stood up, and felt my head detach from my body. My vision went gray for two seconds. I slumped against a wall and waited, blinked until I could see. This happens sometimes. It continues for a few days, usually. It goes away. In the meantime I drink water and wait.
You know, you should tell Greta how smitten you are over her.
Anna has no idea what to make of my reticence. Neither does Greta, apparently.
She twirled her fork in the air with annoyance, blew out a sigh that caused her bangs to fly out. She has no idea what to think.
Somewhere in a small dorm room in Austin a girl may be fretting, bent over, trying to study, running her fingers up and down a schoolbook spine, confused and unable to ask. What can I do? The solution to this is obvious. Clarity and straightforwardness is the order of the day.
She must know that every time I see a pair of lips I think of hers. That there is a message on my answering machine from hers, its a week old and banal and on it she lets her voice trail out into a rumbly purr inbetween the words so and yeah and I listen to this daily. That she makes me feel that I have the strength of ten Grinches plus two. That Im still not sure about how much I like kissing her and the subject needs to be explored and delved into with a slather of hands-on experimentation and personal probing of the matter I am applying for research grants as we speak. That my hands still remember her curves and when they do they ache.
And if she isnt confused, if shes aware that I spend the day rationing memories of her, picking out one an hour and wrapping the whole of my body around it, then she still needs to be told this. She does not deserve confusion.
godzuki:
damn, and i thought taping my eyes shut in order to sleep was a pain...