Gary woke me up at midnight last night and insisted I get out of bed and sit down in the chair because he had concerning health news.
“I have pulmonary edema.” he intoned. [SPOILER. It was not. (SPIwn for short.)] He clarified that he just lay down for bed and water gushed out of his throat. In relatively short form, with just a bit of squabble, we were on the way to the ER to test the pulmonary edema theory.
They tested his blood for markers and gave him an EKG and an X-Ray to see if it was a heart attack. (SPIwn).
They did a urine test to see if perhaps he was urinating out of his mouth, perhaps, I don’t know. (SPIwn).
At that point he began to grouch that obviously he was wasting everyone’s time, and gather his things to leave, and I raised my voice and snapped that he was being arrogant to think the doctors had no plan, and then our doctor stepped up to tell Gary the remainder of their plan.
They gave him a Maalox concoction to see if it might be heartburn, and given that it was the first food in a year he had containing something besides chicken, sweet potato, and squash, it was delectable. It numbed his belly, he said.
Gary speculated that because he has no gallbladder and because his chicken stew has no fat, he might have had acid reflux minus the acid.
So as death by heartburn was not imminent, Gary left with names of gastrointestinal doctors and a prescription for Prilosec. And lots of fawning from me for actually seeking medical help.