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Greetings from ward 2c at Boulder Community Hospital! =( I’ll explain how I got here …

NOTE: Some of this — OK, most of it — is gross. If you’re offended by the mention of poop, I’d skip this entry. =)

On Tuesday, I made two hot dogs for supper. En route to the fridge to retrieve the ketchup, I started to feel faint. My vision narrowed and turned kind of yellow and I thought I might puke. I lay down on the couch with my feet up and felt better in about ten minutes. I didn’t get to eat more than half of a hot dog before Ben announced that it was time to go the Armada practice at church, though. (The Armada is a collection of people who play instruments — guitar, bass, flute, recorder, harmonica, and percussion — who fill in for our accompanist when he can’t make it.)

“You feeling OK?” he asked, giving me a concerned look.

“Yeah, thanks for asking, though. I feel like I just got out of an hour-long soak in the hot tub,” I explained. We drove to church.

WARNING: Poop paragraph #1 approaching …

Ben took out his guitar and I went to the bathroom. I had diarrhea, or so I thought. When I looked in the toilet bowl, however, I saw … blood. BRIGHT red blood. Not mostly clear, and not pink: red. And there wasn’t any poo; instead, there were blood clots.  There was a LOT of blood.

Crap, I thought. (So to speak!) What should I do? I couldn’t very well go tell Ben about my bathroom debacle in front of the whole Armada, could I? Should I go to the ER? Or should I wait a couple of hours and see how I feel?

I decided to do the latter. The Armada was fun; we played for two hours! We played all of our Christmas songs. We played some of our regular songs. Then, we re-played the Christmas songs. I was getting tired, but Don kept requesting “one more song.” Finally, I put my flute away and grabbed Ben. “I’m tired. Can we leave, please?”

“Sure,” he said, looking at me worriedly. Once in the car, I explained my predicament.

“What do you want to do?” he asked me.

“Well … go home and read about it on the internet, I guess. I don’t really know what to do, but this sounds like something I should take care of immediately.”

“Would you like me to drive straight to the emergency room?” he offered.

“Nah, but thanks.”

At home, I googled “bloody stool”. I guess this is one of those queries that yields every result on the face of the earth: “Go to the doctor if it hasn’t resolved in two days,” “Go to the ER if the bleeding is heavy and isn’t stopping,” and “Go straight to the ER.  Do not pass go or collect $200.”  (OK, I made the last part up, but you get the point.)  Then I remebered that I’m on blood thinners, so I typed in “plavix bloody stool”.  That was a little more helpful; it said I should see my primary care physician (PCP) immediately.  There are two problems with that: (1) it was 9:30pm and nobody would be there, and (2) my PCP is an idiot.

Ben suggested I call the 24-hour nurseline provided by our insurance company.  I waited on hold with them for about 15 minutes before I spoke to anyone.  “Hi-my-name-is-Greg-and-I’ll be-helping-you-tonight.  Can-I-please-have-your-group-number?  And-your-birthday?  Are-you-taking-any-medications?”  It went on and on.  Finally, Greg decided to have me call my PCP and talk to the answering service.

I called and left a message for my doctor and somebody (NOT my doctor) returned my call in about five minutes.  “What color was it?”  It turned the toilet bright red, I answered.  “Have you had any more bowel movements since?”  Yes, I explained, but they were different; kind of tarry.  Finally, the doctor decided he’d like me to go to the ER.  “Are you feeling really nervous about this?” he asked.  “I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound like the bleeding’s going to stop on it’s own …”

“No, it’s not that; it’s just that I feel like I’m going to puke again.”  He instructed me to take a big jug of water with me and drink it en route.  Ben and I collected our stuff and drove down to the ER.

To Be Continued …