The Slow and the Serious

What the nurse told me hit me like a ton of bricks. Usually under these types of circumstances, I'd have some smart aleck remark. But this time I only sat there in awe. 210/140??? How did that happen? I'd just lost close to 45 pounds. I'd been working out regularly. I was under some stress at work, but not THAT much stress. Things began to move around me, and I just followed along in a kind of fog, only half listening to what was being said to me. I was taken down a hall and i had blood drawn, followed by a urine test. I was concerned at this point, but not too concerned. Having a nurse for a wife -- and having watched hours of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Health -- had taught me that blood and urine tests were the customary.

The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."

As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.

I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.

"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.

I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.

To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.

I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."

I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.

The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.

"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"

I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."

Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.

"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"

I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.

And that's when I began to freak out a little.

NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.