My Unfortunate Incarceration Part 1

A lot of people call in sick by using the weak "sick voice" and trying to convince their boss that they really are suffering from malaria or mange in order to enjoy a sunny Friday or a hungover Monday. Not me boy. When I call in sick, which happens...never, I do it with all the gusto and joie de vive you've come to expect from me. That was the case Saturday night. What I thought would be one missed show on the mighty WGN turned into a multi day health care odyssey.

I will try to tell my tale of woe without too much graphic detail, but due to the region that is the setting for most of this tale, some detail is unavoidable. If I use any juvenile terms the reasons are twofold, to try not to offend, and because I really find some of the more childish terms hilarious.

I started having some abdominal (there's the region I was telling you about) pain Friday afternoon and it continued to intensify Saturday. Being me, I poo-pood (no, that isn't one of the juvenile terms, at least not yet) the pain as gas and looked forward to it's sweet release. Saturday afternoon I got a fever. Unlike the hero in Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb my hands didn't feel just like two balloons, but I did begin to shake like I was having a Pentecostal conversion. No amount of blankets or sweat shirts could stifle the fact that I felt like a member of the Polar Bear club just back from a late December swim. I decided I should let "Wife" know about my condition since she would be most affected by what I was sure was about to be my untimely demise.

After searching for a thermometer for what seemed like an eternity, "Wife" went into Florence Nightingale mode and discovered to her horror that I had a high fever. Duh, I told her that and I didn't have any digital read out to back up my claim. I've had fevers before, and so have you, but maybe you didn't know that fevers in adults are a little trickier than fevers in kids. I didn't. I guess a kid's peanut brain can withstand a few more degrees than our fully cooked masses of gray matter. Anyway, it was my usual nap time before the big show, so I asked "Wife" to toss some ibuprofen down my gullet and check on me in an hour when I was sure the pain and the fever would be gone and I could do what's really important, go to work. Man was I wrong.

I spent that hour tossing, shaking, groaning and worrying. Somehow, my fever addled brain put together the facts that stabbing pain and a fever might be connected to a more serious problem and when "Wife" came back to check my temperature again, I told her that I thought I should go to the emergency room. It might have been the fever talking. After picking her shocked carcass up off the floor, I made the calls that would handle my absence from the airwaves. Let me take a quick break from the action here to thank all the people who called the station and emailed to ask where I was Sunday morning. It was nice to know that my listeners were concerned. Let's hope we aren't separated for long.

My mom was summoned and came to the house to watch "Daughter" and "Wife" and I headed off into the night to get me a little doctorin'. Still not truly convinced that my situation was more than severe gas brought on by Friday night's chili relleno dinner and fearing that I would be thought of as a bloated cry baby, I asked "Wife" to take me to the local "urgent care", that way I would be laughed at by fewer medical professionals as they told me to take some Gas-ex and quit whining. As luck would have it, the place was empty and I got right in to see the doctor. He cautiously poked at my gut, probably fearing the toxic cloud I was sure would escape. After a few of my oh so manly shrieks of pain, he told me to "get right to the emergency room. I don't want to send you home and have you die." Thanks doc, you know, I feel the same way. We were warned not to make any additional stops and we headed off to the hospital.

I'm going to stop here because it's a logical spot and because I want to milk this for a few posts. If you think you know what's coming, keep it to yourself so you won't spoil it for everyone else. There may be some surprises Mr. Smartypants, so don't get too cocky. Wagering is encouraged, but in a purely social way so as not to draw the attention of the authorities. More tomorrow. Later...Brian