This story has two parts. The first part is about what happened to me at the San Francisco Veteran’s Hospital recently. The second part is why Cleo felt betrayed.
After making sure Cleo was in the house and safe from roving coyotes while I was away all day, I drove to the VA hospital in San Francisco to get an MRI of my heart. The MRI was to check out my heart for signs of wear. That’s always possible in an old guy like me because, at 60 beats a minute for 90 years without taking a rest, you might suppose that remarkable machine could get a trifle tired. Just in case anybody wonders before I finish this story, I checked out just fine. I was, and am, healthy as a horse. I’m probably, in better shape than I deserve … but what happened while I was there is worth the telling.
I walked into the waiting room to have an IV stuck in my arm. Two VA medical persons came to me with a proposition.
“Mr. Paleno, we have a new technique that help us find the best vein on your arm where we should insert the IV needle.”
If you have never had an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging; a kind of X-ray machine), the intravenous needle, they were about to stick in my arm, carries a fluid into the blood stream. It is Minoxidil. That allows the MRI to record a clearer picture. That was something I could live with. After all, if you had to have an IV needle in your arm as part of the procedure to get a better MRI reading, wouldn’t you rather they picked the right place right off the bat and got it over with quick?
Mark, the teaching nurse, said, “Sidney, my associate, graduated at the top of her nursing class. She will insert the IV needle into your arm while we are watching it on the monitor.”
That’s what she did. Or tried to do. Too bad for me, the first time Sydney’s needle missed its mark. It went to the left of the vein. The second time the needle went too far below where it was supposed to go.
“That’s all right,” nurse Mark said with a carefree smile, “Mr. Paleno, you have lots of good veins. Let’s try the other arm.”
By now I was nervous.
I said, “Hold on a minute. If you must have an IV needle planted in me, all bets are off unless you hit pay dirt next time.”
Student nurse Sidney must have taken my warning to heart. This time she was right on target. The needle was planted as solidly as a fence post in the right place. Then I had my second surprise. A doctor came into the room. Dr. Hadwal was there to let me know the possible risks of having a Minoxidil IV.
“The risk is minimal,” he said in his best medical manner like I was his best friend. “You should suffer no reaction to the Minoxidil.”
Still suspicious since I had been surprised once already, I said, “‘Minimal,’” you said, doctor. “How ‘Minimal?’”
“Ha, ha,” he laughed. “In some extreme cases you may break out in a rash like hives. Or your throat may swell and close up so you can no longer breathe.”
That stopped me like I had been hit by a truck.
When I recovered I said, “If that happens what do you plan to do about it?”
“No problem,” he replied in his usual debonair manner. “We call code blue and stick a tube down your throat until the swelling goes away. After 48 hours you will be good as new.”
He added, seeing I had turned white as a sheet with blind panic in my eyes, “Do not be concerned, Mr. Paleno. The odds are one in 50,000 that it will happen to you.”
With that he walked away. I was left to think and ponder my future for the next hour.
An hour later, nurse Elsie came in and attached the Minoxidil bottle to the IV needle. I watched the stuff go in me with mixed feelings. To add and expand my already overactive imagination, I was left alone for another hour while I waited for the stuff in my veins to run its race.
Next week: The conclusion to my VA experience. Find out if they called code blue and why Cleo is part of my story.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
