Bacon, Smoke, 911, EMS, ER, & Thanks

A few minutes after I uploaded yesterday’s post, I realized that I had not eaten (other than a couple cups of coffee) all day. When one has very limited resources, one learns to waste nothing. In my refrigerator I found an old package of bacon that had never been opened and a carton of the Kroger version of Eggbeaters that needed to be prepared before its October expiration date. A 3:00 p.m. meal of bacon, scrambled eggs, and, yes, I did have some bread left for toast, enticed my appetite.

I began frying the bacon. At some point I became aware that my kitchen was filling with smoke from the sizzling bacon. I turned on the exhaust fan over my stove, but the smoke seemed to increase to the point that I couldn’t see across the room. I began to gasp for breath. I turned off the gas burner and ran out-of-doors. I still couldn’t breath. I took a portable air cleaner into the kitchen, plugged it in, grabbed Alex, and went back outside.

By this time I was gasping for breath as if I had just run a Marathon. I began to feel light-headed and almost fell down. The more I gasped for breath the faster I was breathing. I felt like I was going to pass out. When my breathing did not slow down, I decided that I was in serous trouble. I went back into the house and grabbed my cordless phone. From my front porch I dialed 911; when the operator answered, I heard myself say, in a voice that did not sound like my own, “I can’t breath.”

I do not remember what else I said to the 911 operator, except something about bacon and smoke and my address and phone number. A few minutes later I heard sirens and a large red fire truck went past my house. It stopped about half a block away and my almost non-functioning mind informed me that these firemen were coming to my aid but had gone well past my house. I tried to stand up and go toward the street to wave at them. However, as I walked I felt myself loosing consciousness. Then three firemen ran into my yard, put their sturdy arms around me, and half-carried, half-dragged me to my porch steps.

Straight away they had an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. Still, I was unable to take deep breaths. They asked me questions, checked the kitchen to make sure that I’d turned off the stove, and, by the time the EMS ambulance had arrived, located my wallet and keys and locked my house. Still, I was unable to take deep breaths.

The EMS people, with the help of some of the firemen, got me onto a stretcher, and lifted my 300+ pounds into the ambulance. When they asked what hospital I desired, I remember saying, “I don’t care—the closest.” I almost said “None,” but at that point, I remained unable to take deep breaths and was panicky.

In the ambulance the lovely EMS person, after placing a new oxygen mask on me, took more of my vital signs, hooked up an IV to my left hand, and began asking me questions. When she came to the question I dreaded—“Health Insurance”—I replied “I have no insurance and I have no income.” She patted my shoulder and said, “That’s OK, Honey. Don’t worry about it.”

I was seen almost instantaneously in the Emergency Room at Louisville’s Baptist East Hospital. First came more oxygen and IV hook-up with seven medication put through it (they were cold and hurt). The emergency room doctor came in while the IV meds were entering me. He asked some questions, expressed concern that I have been hospitalized seven times in the past nine years for respiratory problems (4 hospitalizations, including one 9-day stay, for pneumonia; 3 hospitalizations for acute bronchitis; and I have been told by my MD that I have a slight case of emphysema) and outlined the treatment plan.

During the next six plus hours in the ER I received five respiratory therapy treatments, more IV stuff, a check x-ray, blood-oxygen monitoring, and lots of oxygen. The vein in which the IV was initially placed collapsed, which isn’t unusual for me: during the nine-day hospitalization in 1998 I had so many IVs replaced that the nurse told me they had run out of veins in my arms and, if another one collapsed, she would have to use veins in my legs or my ass. (She was smiling when she said that).

The doctor finally came back into my room and told me that the chest x-ray, like the one my personal MD had had done a few weeks ago, came back showing I have “a bit of emphysema”—no worse than other folks who breath the pollution that sits on top the Ohio River Valley. He explained that, with my history of respiratory illnesses, the inhalation of the bacon smoke was enough to irate my lungs to the point of seriously hampering my breathing. The big concern, he said, was the rapid drop in my blood-oxygen level and that I am at high risk for again developing pneumonia, which, with my history, could be fatal.

After removing me from the oxygen and waiting long enough to be certain than my blood-oxygen level did not drop below 90%, he discharged me with a couple of prescriptions—the same types as when I had been discharged after having pneumonia—and told me to have my oxygen generator (that I am supposed to use with my C-pap) repaired. He also told me to stay away from smoke for at least three days. He gave me eleven pages of computer printout that included all of the test results, the recommendations, and information on my specific respiratory problems.

I am most thankful to the 911 operator, the Louisville firemen and EMS personnel, the staff at the hospital, and my number one son, Nick III, who came to the hospital, took me out to dinner in a fine resturaunt after my discharge, and drove me home.

This has been a long post and I really do not expect most people to read all of it. I have been home from the ER for about 2 hours. After locating and feeding Alex, who ran and hid somewhere outside when the fire truck arrived and is now asleep beside me on my desk, and telephone my mother to let her know that I am alive and at home, I began writing this entry. Since I received a lot of steroids through that IV in the ER, I am far from sleepy. So, what better way to spend my awake time than writing!