Ever see that Television Commercial where the beautiful, svelte Movie Star exits her Limousine amidst a throng of admiring fans and camera happy paparazzi only to collapse in a heap halfway to the door?
While most of you were rallying against the Bush Crime Cartel on Saturday, I was busy entertaining a bunch of Doctors who resembled the trio in the picture. Seems I got this condition...
I woke up Saturday morning at 0400 (4:00 am) as I usually do, let the dog out, put the coffee on and jumped in the shower. Midway thru the shower I started feeling a little dizzy. Passing it off as a probable "pot hangover", I ignored it, let the dog in and got dressed. It was on my way downstairs again to get my morning "cuppa" when the shit hit the fan.
Halfway down the stairs my internal body temperature felt like I had swallowed a willy peter (white phosphorus) grenade! The heat was incredible! (Now I know what Mags means when she complains of "Hot Flashes"!) In a flash, I was drenched in sweat. The pit of my stomach felt like an enormous hole that I was collapsing into and the dizziness returned with a vengeance. I felt myself losing all strength, to the point where I could no longer support myself and as my head spun violently like an out of control washing machine, I went down.
I ended up on the landing with my head through the glass door of a curio cabinet. The sound of the crash and the breaking glass was what woke Mags up, and Mags is what "woke" me up. She freaked. She said she couldn't get me up, that I felt cold and clammy to her, while even as I opened my eyes I could still feel the inferno raging inside me. She insisted on calling 911. I insisted on making my train to DC. Problem was, I was too dam weak to even get up off the floor. We compromised with her driving me to the hospital for a "quick check" of the old metabolism. She was terrified I was having a heart attack. I told her not too worry, I don't have heart attacks. Besides, there was no chest pain, numbness or any of the other symptoms indicating one.
To make a long story short, she helped me into the truck, (which is no mean feat since it is an off-roader and normally she needs a step ladder to enter and exit it). and off we went. When we got there they put me in triage immediately. Seems they were of the same mind Mags was.
Anyway, the "quick check" was anything but. Bastards kept me until I checked myself out Saturday evening. Seems I didn't have a heart attack. Or a stroke. I'm hypoglycemic, and quite possibly diabetic. The Doctors, who as I mentioned resembled the Stooges pictured above, were freaking because my blood sugar was in the low 40's. Words like "coma" and "seizure" are not encouraging. Anyway they gave me a shot, put me on a drip and proceeded to run their beloved tests, (results of which I am awaiting with bated breath - not!), and decided to keep me for "observation". By Saturday evening I figgered they had "observed" enough, so home I came.
Actually, it's quite a relief, this hypoglycemia. All I have to do is eat cookies all day and I'll be fine. The old ticker seems to be in good shape, the bellows (lungs), eeehhh, not so good, but they're still working good enough for me to keep working good enough, and that's all I care about at this stage of the game. Shit, I've already had Last Rites three times, I ain't 'fraid of no ghost. Mags, on the other hand, has different ideas. She's gotten used to me being around, under foot, confounding her life and would like to keep me as long as possible. To that end I convinced one of the good Doctors to tell her that frequent sexual activity was a good method of conditioning the cardio-vascular system. So I should be getting laid like crazy!
And that's something I can easily live with.