Lung Funk Revisited

A year ago today was the day that yours truly went into the hospital wearing a gallon and a half of sloshy infection around my right lung.

In honor of that fateful day, I re-visit the events that transpired as I went into the emrgency room...

Schmoop walked me over to the Emergency Room of the hospital across the street from us in order for me to be treated for my burgeoning pulmonary infection.

I was checked-in at the ER desk and oddly and fortunately enough, I was admitted to an ER bed within 15-20 minutes.

I was placed under the care of an incredibly cute Jennifer Love Hewitt looking nurse, and a Doctor of non-descript name, nebulous ethnicity, and shadowy credentials.

After having blood drawn, an IV inserted, my clothes removed, and a vitals monitor attached to me, by the uber-sweet and lovely RN nurse, I was then given an X-Ray, a Flu swab, some kick ass pain killer, a CT Scan, and two ultra sounds.

During my in and outs of getting these procedures done, a sick guy, accompanied by his wife/old lady/drinking and meth partner (who we’ll call Candy), was placed into the ER cubicle next to mine.

He was in pain and was audibly moaning due to a malt liquor induced flare up of pancreatitis. The dude was hurting.

Anyhoo…

After he was placed on the bed and initially looked over by the Doc and the nurse, Candy decided that she was hungry.

She left and shortly came back with a bowl of chili, a sleeve of Saltines, and a Big Slam Mountain Dew.

Through my quasi-coherent, dilaudid induced state, his moaning dissipated, and all that Schmoop or I could hear, was the slurping of chili, the crunch of crackers, and the post-intake belching of Mountain Dew.

Candy, who was not large, was packing her victuals away with rapidity and avarice. And..?

What is lunch in the ER without an afternoon matinee? She flipped on the TV and began to watch, He’s Just Not That Into You.

She began commenting on the players while her mouth was stuffed with chili and crackers.

Although I couldn’t see them, I could picture the chili colored cracker pieces shooting from her pie hole onto the face of her moaning boyfriend lying helpless on the bed.

The doctor came back to check on the guy, at which time Candy left yet again and returned bearing gastronomical goodies such as a Hershey Bar, some kind of juice, and a bag of Cheetos.

The feasting and the movie critiquing continued.

The guy?

He continued to lay there uttering his discomfort in much the same way Peter Boyle did when Gene Hackman poured hot soup onto his crotch in the movie, Young Frankenstein.

Funny thing about the sound of the Cheetos…I never heard the bag rumple. I only heard a continuous, unabated crunching noise.

It was as if this chick was a saber tooth tiger gnawing on one huge ass Pleistocene period Cheeto!!

She stated, after her secondary feast, that she had to go to the bathroom. He moaned, “whatever”.

While she was gone, the guy was administered pain relief and after medical advice was told that he was free to go.

Upon her return, she came bearing more gifts. She said to him…”I brought you some soup, and I got myself one of these dinners.”

He painfully mumbled, “They told me I can leave now.” And Candy responded…

“Well hold on. I’ll eat my dinner real quick. The movie is almost over anyway. We’ll take your soup home.”

Upon hearing this, I looked at Schmoop. She was looking down at the floor and shaking her head in disbelief.

It was at this point that my selflessness once again reared its magnanimous head, for I thought to myself…

I don’t care how much pain and discomfort I may endure over the coming days, it will never rival the pain that Pancreas Boy will be suffering over his coming days.

Be he in good health or poor.

Another lonnnng 10-9 day at The Beer Mine today, and off on Wednesday. See you chuckleheads on Hump Day.

Cheers!!

Hospital Humor and a Happy Birthday

Even though I worked Friday night, I still have quite a bit of wind left in me and feel pretty good.

Thusly, a brief post…mainly because it is a very easy one to write.

First up, I offer you a few things that were said while I was in the hospital.

ER Nurse: We are waiting on your room to be readied.

Me: I’m staying?

ER Nurse: Oh yeah…You are very, very sick boy, Matt.

Me: Hey look…The colors on my gown match the colors on my tennis shoes.

ER Nurse: See? Very, very sick.




Ultra Sound Tech: Wow…You have really nice legs Mr. Mahoney.

Me: Why thanks…most people say the look like Pixie Sticks.

UST: I meant that your veins and arteries show up really well on the ultra sound and they look fantastic.

Me: Awww man, don’t destroy my fantasy, ma’am.

UST: Hee. Hee. You can tell people that I said that you have nice legs.




Lung Doctor: (entering my room and looking quite puzzled) Mr. Mahoney?

Me: Hi Doctor.

Lung Doctor: I’ve been reading your chart, and you look MUCH better in person than you do on paper. I expected to see a man curled up in a fetal position.

Me: I was like that until I figured out how to work the TV remote.

Few Days Later…

Doctor Who Oversees Discharges: So Matt, what did Dr. B (Lung Doctor) say to you?

Me: He said that he would try to expedite my discharge.

DWOD: (Chuckle) Well, I’d keep you another night, but Dr. B said that you can go home tonight. So, I’ll get your paperwork ready.

Me: Fantastic!!

DWOD: (Chuckle) One of the reasons he is sending you home tonight is because he likes you because you are funny.

Sometimes…Being funny pays off.

And Now…A Happy Birthday Wish to One of my Brothers.

My brother Marty turns 48 today. I am the ninth of nine and Marty is number eight so he and I have always been pretty close.

Marty is a good guy…a generous guy… and like most of the Mahoney boys, one incredibly funny fucker.

Example…

His backyard abuts the green to Hole #6 of the somewhat swanky Bagwine Country Club golf course.

Outside of the windows to his master bedroom of his house is a very wide, flat roof. Marty likes to at times, climb out the window and sit in a lawn chair on that roof.

Now Marty doesn’t just sit idly by while watching golfers attempt to drain their putts. Marty likes to be a part of the action, and that is why he takes an air horn out with him.

As golfers begin their putt, good ol’ Marty enjoys pressing down on said horn allowing it to exert its loud, obnoxious bellow.

Ha. That my friends, is an act of brilliance.

Happy Birthday Marty and here’s to many more for you, you magnificent bastard.

And to all of you…

Cheers!!

Pneu-Mania 2009: A Retrospective

I have a bit of Hospital Hodgepodge for you today.

I thought I’d just toss out some thoughts, pictures, and medical related bon mots for you today in order to help wrap up the story of my pulmonary upheaval.

Here’s the entrance to the room in which I stayed.

The placard warns those who enter of my potential infectiousness. Just call me, “Typhoid Matty”.

Some of the precautions listed could be applied to those who come in contact with me when I am well, um…as well.

In spite of my infectiousness, I received many visitors during my week long stay. Aside from Schmoop, my first visitor was my boss, and owner of Bagwine’s best Beer Mine, Drive-By Mikey…!!


His concern for my well-being was overwhelming. After informing me as to what he would be asking for from the nurses if it was he that was laid up, he let me know how much I was missed.

He voiced his heartfelt feelings by saying to me, “I need you to come back Matt-Man, because since you left, sales of Milwaukee’s Best Light and Basic Full Flavor cigarettes have plummeted.”

How touching…How Human…How Mikey.

My brother Marty visited frequently often bearing gifts and forcing me to spew out what was left of my bad lung by making me laugh and thus hacking profusely.

You can see, that even though I had been labeled as a contagious pariah, Marty was proud to let people know that he was a visitor of the Human Bug Factory of Room 497.

Marty who often brought me coffee, soup, and grocery store tabloid magazines also brought unto me, some lovely flowers.

The print on the card was too small to photograph, but the message left by Marty and his wife read: “Quit Faking!!” I was moved upon reading their well wishes.

My BFF/OSP Schmoop, when not on the phone with me, often appeared at my bedside in person…


I appreciate the fact that Schmoop remained true to her feelings for me rather than patronizing me because I was deathly ill and lying helpless with a chest tube stuck inside of me. Here’s to ya, Schmoop!!

These folks and others who visited always put a smile on my mask of death. I struggled to find a way to re-pay these folks for their kindness. I finally discovered a way to do so…


I offered each and every visitor a glass of my steamy, wet piss. While there were no takers, I think they appreciated the outreach on my part.

I have plenty of other people to thank. The doctors, nurses, and hospital staff who were fantastic. All of my family and friends for their calls and letters, and Schmoop’s brother Dave who has been carting me around.

I’ll get around to personally thanking each and every one of you over the next week or two, so bear with me. And don’t worry…

My thanks will not include an offer to drink of my steamy, wet piss...unless of course, you're into that type of thing.

Cheers!!

Dispatches From the Hospital: Emergency Room Picnic

Eight days ago, Schmoop walked me over to the Emergency Room of the hospital across the street from us in order for me to be treated for my burgeoning pulmonary infection.

I was checked-in at the ER desk and oddly and fortunately enough, I was admitted to an ER bed within 15-20 minutes.

I was placed under the care of an incredibly cute Jennifer Love Hewitt looking nurse, and a Doctor of non-descript name, nebulous ethnicity, and shadowy credentials.

After having blood drawn, an IV inserted, my clothes removed, and a vitals monitor attached to me, by the uber-sweet and lovely RN nurse, I was then given an X-Ray, a Flu swab, some kick ass pain killer, a CT Scan, and two ultra sounds.

During my in and outs of getting these procedures done, a sick guy, accompanied by his wife/old lady/drinking and meth partner (who we’ll call Candy) was placed into the ER cubicle next to mine.

He was in pain and was audibly moaning due to a malt liquor induced flare up of pancreatitis. The dude was hurting.

Anyhoo…After he was placed on the bed and initially looked over by the Doc and the nurse, Candy decided that she was hungry.

She left and shortly came back with a bowl of chili, a sleeve of Saltines, and a Big Slam Mountain Dew.

Through my quasi-coherent, dilaudid induced state, his moaning dissipated, and all that Schmoop or I could hear, was the slurping of chili, the crunch of crackers, and the post-intake belching of Mountain Dew.

Candy, who was not large, was packing her victuals away with rapidity and avarice. And…what is lunch in the ER without an afternoon matinee? She flipped on the TV and began to watch, He’s Just Not That Into You.

She began commenting on the players while her mouth was stuffed with chili and crackers.

Although I couldn’t see them, I could picture the chili colored cracker pieces shooting from her pie hole onto the face of her moaning boyfriend lying helpless on the bed.

The doctor came back to check on the guy, at which time Candy left yet again and returned bearing gastronomical goodies such as a Hershey Bar, some kind of juice, and a bag of Cheetos. The feasting and the movie critiquing continued.

The guy? He continued to lay there uttering his discomfort in much the same way Peter Boyle did when Gene Hackman poured hot soup onto his crotch in the movie, Young Frankenstein.

Funny thing about the sound of the Cheetos…I never heard the bag rumple. I only heard a continuous, unabated crunching noise. It was as if this chick was a saber tooth tiger gnawing on one huge ass Pleistocene period Cheeto!!

She stated, after her secondary feast, that she had to go to the bathroom. He moaned, “whatever”. While she was gone, the guy was administered pain relief and after medical advice was told that he was free to go.

Upon her return, she came bearing more gifts. She said to him…”I brought you some soup, and I got myself on of these dinners.”

He painfully mumbled, “They told me I can leave now.” And Candy responded…

“Well hold on. I’ll eat my dinner real quick. The movie is almost over anyway. We’ll take your soup home.”

Upon hearing this, I looked at Schmoop. She was looking down at the floor and shaking her head in disbelief.

It was at this point that my selflessness once again reared its magnanimous head, for I thought to myself…

I don’t care how much pain and discomfort I may endure over the coming days, it will never rival the pain that Pancreas Boy will be suffering over his coming days. Be he in good health or poor.

Cheers!!