Aqualung



With Apologies to Ian Anderson

I was so freaked out by being back in the
hospital that the first
thing I asked Dr.
DePalo was,
"are you planning anything invasive?" I had made up my mind: I would never, ever allow myself to be hooked up to a vent or have someone cut another hole in my neck. If G-d wanted me to die, so be it. I was so afraid of that damn machine that in my mind, it was no longer an option. Of course if push came to shove and they told me my choice was either a vent or a coffin, I might have wussed out. I don't know. Suffice it to say, at this point, not being given that doomsday scenario, my resolve was firm. Dr. DePalo looked at me like I had two heads. Why would I want to do anything invasive, he said. Relieved, I asked whether the good doctor thought I could be discharged before the weekend, another question I was almost to afraid to ask. Absolutely, he said. I wanted to kiss him. No tongue, but definitely a nice peck on the cheek. He went on to explain that I had not had a relapse per se'. I was back in the hospital because of fluid in my lungs, a condition known as Pulmonary Edema. One possible cause was the scarily named Congestive Heart Failure, or C.H.F. But they took an echocardiagram to rule that out, and it turns out that my heart is in reasonably good shape for someone my age. Also someone who's had it broken so many times. According to Dr. DePalo the Prednisone I'm taking is responsible for the fluid retention. He still hasn't explained how it winds up in my lungs, at least not to my satisfaction. So as of now, I can't get no satisfaction. Anyway, the fluid starts in your feet and ankles and then spreads upwards, which seems pretty counterintuitive to me. I'm not really a Scrabble player, but I gotta believe that counterintuitive has got to be a great word. Or for Hangman! It would be great for Hangman! But, once again, I digress. When you've got fluid in your lungs, it affects your breathing. The more fluid, the harder it is to breathe. Dr. DePalo's plan was simple: give me huge bunches of Lasix and have me pee everything out. Lasix is a diuretic. Wait, that's not quite descriptive enough; calling Lasix a diuretic is like calling a Harley a bicycle. You take Lasix and you pee. And you pee. And then just when you think you're finished, you pee some more. So he gave me a hefty dose through an IV, handed me a couple urinals and bade me a fond adieu. I probably should have just moved my pillow into the bathroom and slept on the toilet. I spent most of the night standing (I find it difficult to pee in a prone position) at my bedside, trusty urinal in hand. Every time I managed to doze off a little, my bladder would have none of it. I think the C.I.A. should abandon waterboarding; all you really need for an effective interrogation is about a gallon of Lasix and a clothespin.