Good Lord, Frank, that's quite alarming. Do you have any idea what could have caused the drastic increase in BP? Were you reading something uniquely and epically stupid at DU that day?
No, no idea.
Actually, at the time I was reading conservativecave, and a biography of the founder of the Singer Sewing Machine company, nothing extraordinary.
I go back to the big city on Tuesday, to learn more, because this was highly unusual, and practically a volcanic eruption. It even alarmed the cats.
Someone was just here, and someone else is coming by about 11:00 a.m.
I am just very tired, but not sleepy. Sort of really spaced. I was given three prescriptions, but gave back two of them, and insisted that the dosage on the third one be halved. I was not too fond of having nitroglycerin shoved into me; I was unknown to all who were at the hospital at the time, and it took a while to convince them that I am a competent adult, after which they didn't even give me a glass of water without first telling me what it was, and what it was for.
I actually got the impression they liked working on a competent adult.
The worst part was that halfway through the evening, I needed to empty the bladder. I finally got to, but not nearly until the bladder was nearly bursting. When I first started coughing, I did the "water treatment," and downed quite a bit of plain ordinary water before deciding water wouldn't hack it. The kidneys and bladder work fine, of course.
The usual aggravation, that happens when one deals with people who don't know who one is. They kept asking me a lot of questions, many of which I couldn't grasp, and I kept indicating they should talk to my neighbor, not me, because he has ears and can hear. He knew what was going on as much as I did, and most importantly could understand the questions being asked.
That all straightened out, in the end, the last hour or so, they asked him, not me, and gave the diagnosis (preliminary), instructions, orders, and appointments to him, not me, which is what I wanted them to do. He could explain it all to me later, under conditions more favorable to my "hearing" him.
I fully understand why medical professionas prefer--and in fact need--the first-hand information from the individual involved, but there's this, uh, problem here. I wish I could just go in, and pointing, say, "Okay, I'm deaf, I can't hear you, and so this person speaks and listens for me."
I lost a lot of blood, good, rich, red blood, and of course the automobile still has some of it. A lot of blood vessels and a couple of major arteries inside of me just broke. They thought they might have to stitch a couple of them close, or something, but because the pressure keep declining at a good steady rate, they decided no.
The "theory" is extreme stress, a whole lifetime of it, and as one gets older, of course things wear out, break down. I was asked why I have this (lifetime) habit of not letting things out, keeping them inside, to which I had to give my standard answer, that things that bother me have no names, and so I can't articulate them.
For now, t wander around the house, sort of cleaning up. I imagine in a bit I'll go outdoors and clean up the interior of the motor vehicle. The cats still seem discombobulated.
But alas until things are more in order, I suppose I'll have to stay away from watching the primitives on Skins's island, my major source of entertainment. I'm really hoping, very badly, that GOBUCKS and others can keep the DUmpster running, as about I feel like doing is reading it, not posting, or getting out the boat to bring over a bonfire.
