Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil. For you are with me...
Psalm 23:4
Once again I had to walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
I will fear no evil. For you are with me...
Psalm 23:4
Once again I had to walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
On Saturday I passed out and had to be sent back to the hospital. Tests done by the Pulmonary unit revealed that fluid was building up inside my lungs, thus reducing the levels of oxygen. The more fluid, the less air. It's a serious medical condition known as Acute Pulmonary Edema. Having this condition is, according to the highly regarded Merck Medical Manual, "a life-threatening emergency."
A couple of days ago, however, I was sent to the Pulmonary Unit for what I hope will be my last time. My lungs had to be drained.
Here a team of Pulmonary specialists was waiting for me to be wheeled over from the hospital's prison ward. I was then ushered into a large room. Once inside, I saw all kinds of electronic monitors and screens. One huge screen hung from the ceiling and above a large metal table. I was fascinated seeing so many gadgets and their flashing lights. There were dials and buttons everywhere. It was impressive.
Looking at the room, I thought to myself, this must be what the main control room at Florida's Kennedy space center looks like.
A friendly technician then ushered me further into the room. He had me sit on a cushioned stool alongside the big table. He asked me to remove the top of my gown so he could get a full view of my back.
The technician briefly explained what he was going to do, and told me not to move once he was ready to start the procedure. But in the brief few seconds I had before he was to begin, I managed to turn my head around for an instant to see what he was holding in his hand. It was a big ominous looking needle.
Surprisingly, I felt only a slight pinch when it went in. There was no pain. Slowly he drew the fluid from my lungs, and within maybe the space of fifteen minutes, it was over.
Getting up to leave I thanked the technician and his co-workers profusely. I also got to see the bottle of fluid which had been drawn from my lungs. When I asked what he was going to do with it, he said it was going to be sent to a lab to test for bacteria and other matter. That was it. Procedure over. I was returned to my room with yet another story to tell.
D. B.
A couple of days ago, however, I was sent to the Pulmonary Unit for what I hope will be my last time. My lungs had to be drained.
Here a team of Pulmonary specialists was waiting for me to be wheeled over from the hospital's prison ward. I was then ushered into a large room. Once inside, I saw all kinds of electronic monitors and screens. One huge screen hung from the ceiling and above a large metal table. I was fascinated seeing so many gadgets and their flashing lights. There were dials and buttons everywhere. It was impressive.
Looking at the room, I thought to myself, this must be what the main control room at Florida's Kennedy space center looks like.
A friendly technician then ushered me further into the room. He had me sit on a cushioned stool alongside the big table. He asked me to remove the top of my gown so he could get a full view of my back.
The technician briefly explained what he was going to do, and told me not to move once he was ready to start the procedure. But in the brief few seconds I had before he was to begin, I managed to turn my head around for an instant to see what he was holding in his hand. It was a big ominous looking needle.
Surprisingly, I felt only a slight pinch when it went in. There was no pain. Slowly he drew the fluid from my lungs, and within maybe the space of fifteen minutes, it was over.
Getting up to leave I thanked the technician and his co-workers profusely. I also got to see the bottle of fluid which had been drawn from my lungs. When I asked what he was going to do with it, he said it was going to be sent to a lab to test for bacteria and other matter. That was it. Procedure over. I was returned to my room with yet another story to tell.
D. B.
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