"Patrick Townson" wrote in message news: snipped-for-privacy@telecom-digest.org:
Earlier today, Wednesday, I had a very bad incident. During the night,
> I was up and down a few times, feeling absolutely awful with chest
> pains, much shortness of breath and much coughing and gagging. When my
> 'keepers' came around this morning and saw how absolutely awful I
> looked and sounded, they insisted I had to go to the hospital ASAP. So
> I was taken to Mercy Hospital here in Independence, where a decision
> was reached that (whatever else is wrong with me) I have a very bad
> case of bronchitis and my lungs are not in good shape. I was put on
> 'breathing treatments' with oxygen and ambuterol (?) I have to smoke a
> pipe with some liquid pumped into it and an oxygen combination hooked
> to a compressor. As if I do not have enough pains in the ass! I had
> sincerely hoped to continue my role here as editor _at least_ through
> sometime in August, and I will continue as best I am able. But, if you
> do not see me around for a few days at a time then it either means I
> am back in the hospital again, or else I totally croaked. I hope to
> be able to give you a few days notice before the latter, at
> least. Those of you who remember me prior to Black Thursday, in
> November, 1999 (the aneuyrsm day) will recall I have been continually
> dizzy since that time, and am due for a new brain shunt anyway, but
> I am not sure if it is worth the time and money for a trip all the way
> up to Topeka (or down to Tulsa) -- the nearest brain surgeons -- to
> have it done. Anyway, that's where things are at here; I'll try to
> stay in touch as much as I can. I am back home from the hospital,
> where I was at all day Wednesday. PAT]
Pat, you are worth saving.
[TELECOM Digest Editor's Note: Apparently Dr. Empson thought so also. He did prescribe two more antibiotic drugs for me, had some of his young helpers (you know, the kids who come in the room, all smiles, probing you everywhere, taking blood, using their computers on various parts of your body, sticking tubes down you in one place and pulling them out elsewhere, etc) give me a 'breathing treatment'. When _they_ were finished having their way with me, Empson came back later on to the examining room, reviewed what the kids had done to me, prescribed some antibiotics, told me to report to Dr. Watkins across the street at MPG this morning, and sent me back home.
I got over to MPG early this morning, spent a few hours there, Dr. Watkins came in and introduced himself. "Hello, I am Doctor Watkins, the new guy here in town, you may have heard of me, your mother was put on my case load also." Well, yes I had heard of him. The Mercy Hospital 'Inspectors of Credentials' (or whatever you would call them) had given him a good Bill of Health (heh heh!) and so did the Independence Reporter newspaper when he arrived in town, and most people had by that point in time heard of him arriving, some eyeing him suspiciously as you might expect but now resigned to deal with him. He took the scripts Dr. Empson had given me the night before, examined them closely, took them away with him, and returned shortly thereafter with _his_ group of young helpers; just like at the hospital ER, the MPG has a group of kids who probe you everywhere and do as they wish with your body. One of them decided I had to accept a shot in my (well, you know) and as I pulled my pants down he assured me it would not hurt at all and it didn't. When I left the examining room Dr. Watkins was at the front desk in that area. He gave me back ONE of the scripts Dr. Empson had written me last night (but kept ONE of them) and gave me (TWO others of his own). Maybe the tone of my voice was too questioning, I do not know, but he answered in kind of a defensive tone of voice saying, "The one script he gave you was okay but the other one, IMO, was not the best, so I swapped it for two others I feel will work better. I called Charles over in ER where he is today, and told him what I wanted to do, he said he agreed it might be a better thing." He also gave me a note to give to the front desk on my way out, calling for a return visit in ten days.
On my way back home, I stopped at our _local pharmacy_ -- not Walgreens, not Walmart, but the local guy who makes deliveries and offers charge accounts -- filled the scripts, came home and started popping the recommended treatments. More news tomorrow or if I get better or if I die, whichever comes first. PAT]