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Sometimes when things are going soo well you just expect something bad to happen, that impending storm to come immedately after the calm. I cant honestly say when it all started for shure but i know for the past three or so months ive been getting my ass consistantly kicked. Mind you im a former marine so ive had my ass kicked plenty of times but this time it was different.. when you notice something is wrong with your physical self your mind particularly makes excuses to compensate for the lack of knowing. Well shit maby it was just me being out of shape? Or better yet maby i was just getting a cold? It will be gone in a couple of days just like all the other colds ive been getting lately. It seems to me that my sense of better judgment was overcome by my stubbornness to actually get seen for my recent health dilemmas, if in the case thats what they actually were.
Over the past three months ive noticed just from immedate recollection that ive had the common cold 5 times, ended up in the emergency room three times for starting symptoms of phenumonia (thankfully i caught it ahead of time), once for an "asthma" attack which apparent causes were my two bastard children (my dogs, which i almost got rid of due to the idea that they were progressing my "mild asthma") and multiple injuries sustained from everyday activities.
Noticing this with the obvious intention of not planning on getting seen by some asshole doctor in the average 4 hour E.R. visit just to tell me "you dont have a temp so it dosent look like much is wrong, get some rest and take some of these motrin". It seemed to me that these men and women who are getting paid absurd ammounts of money with all this college experience were telling me the same danm thing my mother woould say. The primary difference is IM PAYING FOR THIS SHIT ADVICE.
Ill never forget that day, March 20th at 8:30 in the moarning when i was finally convinced by my fiancee to go get seen in the emergency room at arden hill hospital after bearing an odd pressure in my chest for roughly 3 days. I chalked it up to gas or a sprained muscle, i thought to myself shit whats the worst it could be? bad heartburn or maby phenumonia again, it was the harsh changing of the seasons after all. I went into the main admitting office to get my paperwork taken care of where they ask you all the same questions, are you alergic to anything? taking any drugs? any past medical history? ok now heres your fashionable plastic wristband thats guarenteed not to be recycled.
So it Began, a bald headed doctor by the name of Dr. Sylva approached me and said "were going to do some routine tests to try to figure out whats wrong with you woung man". First it was the blood pressure... everything is fine, then the heart and lungs check with a stethoscope.... all seems fine here, then the vampire came to draw my blood (might i ass that i fucking hate needle) who might i add had to stick me twice before she even got a vain and then... "oh wait nope i just had it let me go a little deeper....." P.S. that also fucking hurt.
Next came the long awaited results of the blood test.....nothing came up at all. At this time Dr. Sylva approached me and said "everything seems to be fine here, you seem to be in prety good shape". My retort to this long awaited prognosis after 3 hours of waiting was "well thats grand but that still dosent explain why im getting all this pain in my chest ???" DR. Sylva then decided in all his wisdon to try to give me two two muscle relaxers to counteract the pressure and a perkoset for the pain...... lone behold after 1 hour of waiting the muscle relaxers werent helping and the perkoset was just masking about 20% of the pain.
At that time he decided to thing outside the box...hot danm who would have thought of a doctor using progressive reasoning?? So he then sent me to catscan to get a dose of child killing medicine... buzzzz...buzzzzz and the pictures were taken of my upper torso. Soon to fallow was the inevitable wait to find out what if anything came up in the pictures, after roughtly 6 hours in the E.R. the doctor spent much time examining my photos and the longer he took the more i thought "what the fuck is the deal i should have just stayed home and waited the gas, or whatever out."
Then the doctor finally started to head towards our bed and a feeling of releif arose, finally i can get the fuck out of here, give me my penicillin and motrin and ill be on my way i thought and thats when he pulled the curtain closed. He had a seat next to the bed which means one of two things 1: a lazy doctor or 2: more eventfull tests. To my suprise it was neither, he talked very calmly and with growing concern, he said to me "Mr. Hendrickson we seem to have found a growth in your chest roughtly two inches in diameter" and thats when i started to get real serious. He stated that it was located between my bronchial split in my chest right above the main artery for my heart and that from all there test results it seemed to be cancer.....