Tuesday, March 28, 2017

"Day One"

My meds withdrawal went critical so I called 9-1-1. The EMT gals came in two seconds, and injected me into the "Kings County Nut House". This where questions were asked possessions stripped pills given, and my naked body detector swiped. ...Twice just to make sure.

This is where I wondered if that 9-1-1 move was swift.

The armed though smiling "helpers" gave me powder blue jammies wrist I.D. , and my own cell. which these days are called "Pods". My! It was pastel heaven. Dickens' Bedlam made over by the Art Student's League.

The scene.

There were 12 pods to a platform. Each with a plain flat bed, and hard plastic comfy chair. Pastel. Beyond was an open area where the walking wounded...of which I was one... sat drawing, and coloring.

Above this gleeful noise were two large mounted TV's. On one bunnies, and kittens on the other collapsing glaciers villages bombed to bits Africa starving riots in Russia, and America imploding.

No wonder everyone there was nuts.

Mean time I got medical work-overs. Blood stool piss, and that was just lunch. Later it got invasive. Btw nut houses are as advertised. Bad. Actually rather 'very' bad. Good intentioned clean tidy pastel oppression bad.

I had more entertaining adventures which ended with a simple meal of Soylent Green, and morphine. Well not really I was just hoping is all.

Towards night folks got itchy.

'Here to tell 'ya. The "Joint was Jumping". Dinner, and a show.

"Day Two"

I was transferred from the loonie bin to the medical wing for serious dissection. A nice kid gave me a sonogram to see if my guts were still there. Good news they were, and more or less working. Gooder news I wasn't pregnant.

Being an old guy I'm now an experienced patient so know the drill. Plenty of tests to stack the Medicaid cost. Uncle Sam is a first class sucker bless his soul!

The medical priesthood finally figured out I was in blinding fucking agony...like I told them when I got there a day ago. All 24 blinding agonized hours ago. That, and They wondered if I'd like something for the "discomfort".

...Civilization is indeed a strange thing.

I said "yes" with as much Orwellian irony as I could. This was rewarded with assorted goodies. Christ I love drugs! A note is it me or are all of the medical workers in Brooklyn from Barbados? Not a complaint mind...just wondering.

Well all good things...

They topped me off with stuff I can't pronounce. Gave me all sorts of stuff to sign. They wants to hook me up for more Medicare bucks for themselves, and I was all for it...drugs.

Actually they was neat folks just going about comforting, and saving lives...ya know like we all do. So I'm home in much less pain. Though still a bit fucked up. They wants me back tomorrow. I told them not likely. We worked something out.

Bottom line I ain't dead after all.

Stay Tuned.


  1. Glad to hear you're still among the living, and with insides still working too. But why did you drop the meds? Surely you don't *like* being cooped up in blue Bedlam? Sounds like a fricken jail.

    I know the appeal of morphine. A few years ago I was in the ER with a seriously severe puking crisis and they gave me what I'm sure must have been morphine. It was heavenly. Not being high - I was in too much pain for that - but just the blissful relief from hideous agony. I couldn't get enough.

    That said, I hated being "admitted" to a hospital: as I said, it was jail-like. Never again, I pray.


  2. I'll reply as soon as the room stops spinning,...stay tuned.