The Invisible Black Woman

No sooner had the other doctor left and we sat there processing what she told us, that another doctor came in to see him. He introduced himself as one of the residents then quickly dove into what should now have been routine for us. I was now leaning heavily toward the fact that these folks were just too lazy to read through his chart and figured they’d save time by asking him the same questions over and over again. I was giving him major side eye (in my head).

“Tell me about what it felt like when it started, maybe two or four days ago?”

“Yeah, it was about a week ago. The symptoms were really mild at first, so I went back to get an ultrasound to check for DVT, but they didn’t find anything. I was told to make an appointment to get a scan of my chest. But it got really bad, uh—Monday morning, I guess.

He looked over at me to confirm what he was saying and I nodded.

“So, when you came here?”

Here as in the hospital, is what he meant.

“Yeah, it got really bad. I could barely walk a few steps.”

“Did you have chest pain at that time?”

“Yeah, mostly pressure.”

“So, just to go over the timeline again, these symptoms started about a week ago?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t every day. Maybe every other day. Usually worse in the morning.”

“And that was after his ablation, which was on his left leg.”

Okay, okay. So they did apparently look at his chart.

“When did he have the ablation?”

I’m guessing he caught him looking at me and figured I’d be the one to answer that question. He wasn’t wrong: I am his official date, record, and appointment keeper.

“On August 6th.”

“Yeah, the symptoms started about two weeks after that, right after I took off the compression stocking on my left leg.”

“So, around August 16th?

“Yes, and about 24 hours after that, he started having symptoms.”

“How long had you been off the Eliquis that this happened?”

“Probably a little over a month. I had to discontinue it in preparation for the procedure.”

“And since then, just fatigue?”

“Yeah, I tried walking and waiting it out, but it just got worse.”

“Is that when you went to the ER?”

“Yeah, because walking down the hall became too difficult.”

“How was it the first time it happened?”

“There was only one clot at that time.”

“Were the symptoms as bad as this time?”

“Same symptoms, but much worse this time. It hit me much harder.”

“Did they do a thrombectomy last time?”

“No, they put him on heparin and then discharged him with Eliquis.”

“I’m glad you were able to come in when you did and get treatment. Any symptoms you’re experiencing now?”

“Not now. Earlier I felt a little off, but it could be because I hadn’t eaten until just now.”

“How has walking been?”

“I haven’t walked much since getting here.”

“Any shortness of breath?”

“No.”

“Any chest discomfort or swelling?”

“No.”

“Any feelings of faintness?”

“No, nothing like that. The closest I felt to that was earlier, but it was probably because I hadn’t eaten or drank much water.”

“Have you ever had any history of fainting?”

“I did once, years ago, but not since.”

When hubby was in his late teens, he recalls going to the kitchen to get a glass of water then blacking out. He woke up about 30 minutes later and hadn’t a clue what happened. There was no one else home at the time. In true hubby fashion, he went about his day like nothing happened. I’ve always told him, based on the stories he’s shared with me, that he has more than one guardian angel looking out for him. I truly believe that.

“Any family history of blood clots?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Have you started taking Heparin here?”

“I was on that last time in the hospital.”

“He’s only taken Heparin here at the hospital, never at home. Eliquis is what he takes at home.”

“Okay, let’s listen to your lungs. Take a deep breath for me.”

Hubby obliged with the doctor listened with his stethoscope.

“Any palpitations at all?”

“No, just some tension in my neck.”

“When was the procedure?”

“The ablation was on August 6th,” I repeated.

“Any tenderness here?”

“Not much.”

I decided to ask the million-dollar question: “Do we know when he might be discharged?”

“Let me check with my attending. But from what I can see, you’re stable. We’ll probably want to monitor you a bit longer. Any other questions for me?”

“Makes sense. That was the only thing I was wondering about.”

“Alright, it was nice to meet you both. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

“Thank you.”

I was visibly excited, but I didn’t forget to whisper. “You hear that? You may be going home soon? Maybe tomorrow!”

“God, that would be great. I’m so ready to get out of here.”

“We’ll see what they say. Hopefully, you’ll get to go home.”

A little bit after, his roommates partner came back with a paper bag in her hand. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time because I try to not bee a hotbox when people are within close proximity. I guessed it was food, but that was just a guess on my part.

I wasn’t wrong.

A little bit later, I hear loud smacking and chewing and some audible “ummms” from “the guy next door.” He was, as we would say, tearing the food up, whatever it was. I took a guess that it was chicken just based on the sound effects. Me and hubby were just looking at each other holding back laugher.

I thought to myself how wild it was that he was admitted to the hospital and was eating outside food. That is almost always frowned upon. But I figured maybe he got some special clearance I was not aware of to have food brought in that he could eat.

Well, that’s what happens when you assume.

The funnier part was when the person from the cafeteria came by to collect the food trays. She must’ve been awful stealthy—or someone was really focused on the food—because they didn’t hear her coming.

“Don’t try to hide that bone now!” then she starts laughing and shaking her head as she walks out.

I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle the laughter.

An hour or so later, the tech came in to take hubby’s vitals and while she was doing that, his roommate’s nurse walks over to check in on him. She asks him how he’s doing, and he gruffly says he’s fine, then she asks him if he’s put in his order for dinner. Y’all, I almost fell out from his response.

“I’m on a liquid diet, so no.”

In my best Shuler impression—and if you don’t know who this comedic gift is, go on and find him on YouTube (you’re welcome)—anybody wanna tell me just what in the perpetrating a fraud is going on here!? Since when is chicken and whatever else said person was smacking on part of a liquid diet? Does chicken juice count? Does it magically turn to liquid when it hits your mouth?

I had way, way more questions than answers and on the inside, I was dying laughing. Ya’ll remember that Yahoo! emoji from back in the day that falls over laughing, rolls over on its sides and is banging the floor ‘cause it’s laughing so hard? Or better yet, that adorable chunky baby in a blue sweatsuit that laughs so hard it falls over? That was me on the inside. He’ll never know just how much Chickengate added some much-needed levity to my life at a time when I needed it most. Despite the fact he was being trifling as all get out, he really did the Lord’s work that day by bringing the utmost amusement with his FUBAR actions.

And if you thought for a second that was the only food antic he was up to, think again. Later that day, he was on the phone—presumably with his partner—putting in his order for a loaded cheeseburger, large fries, and a large Coke.

Life’s truly absurder than fiction.