I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell (31 page)

I lay there for another few hours, without painkillers, waiting to get
a
CAT scan. Every time I moved, the catheter shifted (it was taped to m
y
leg) resulting in a whole new wave of pain and misery. The stranges
t
thing about the catheter was that the collection bag was laying righ
t
there on the bed next to me. I watched it fill up with dark yellow urine
,
yet couldn't control or feel the flow. It was weird. But it felt war
m
against my leg, which was nice
.

Right before the CAT scan, one of the nurses handed me a huge tub
e
of liquid and told me to drink it. I had no idea what it was, but the labe
l
didn't sound appetizing
:
Tucker "Barium Sulfate?
"

Nurse "It's an imaging agent. It's so the CAT scan can get a map o
f
your intestines.
"

They might was well call it Cum in a Bottle. It was white, cloudy an
d
viscous, with a disturbing salty taste. You know what it tasted like? Yo
u
know when a girl goes down on you and swallows, and then comes u
p
and wants to kiss you? You try to avoid the kiss, but she is persisten
t
and there is nothing you can do, so you give her a little peck. You kno
w
that taste on your lips right after? Hello Barium Sulfate
.

This was very nearly my breaking point, "This tastes like semen. Haven'
t
you people humiliated me enough? Should I just dump this on my fac
e
so you can get some Bukkake shots for the Cook County website
?

Would that make you happy?
"

I eventually got the CAT scan and waited another hour or so for th
e
consultation with the surgeon. She looked at the pictures and decide
d
they weren't going to operate on me, because my appendix had no
t
burst but rather had ruptured, and a leaking abscess had formed on it
.
This meant that there was a huge pocket of puss around that sectio
n
of my colon, and they couldn't operate without having to do an entir
e
colonectomy. The ensuing conversation was alarming, even to me
:
Doctor "When did the pain start?
"
Tucker "About a week ago.
"
Doctor "A week! Why did you wait so long to come in?
"
Tucker "I don't know ... MTV was filming me.
"
Doctor "MTV was filming you?
"
Tucker "It would take too long to explain.
"
Doctor "So you just endured the pain?
"
Tucker "Yeah, pretty much. Motrin helped. And lots of alcohol.
"
Doctor "Hmph. Well, just so you know, you could very easily hav
e
died. As it stands, you are going to be fine, but you were about 2 day
s
away from sepsis setting in and killing you. That was stupid of you t
o
wait this long.
"
Tucker "Yeah, I'm not very smart.
"

The same male Hispanic nurse came in to de-prep me and get m
e
ready for transport to my room. One of the de-prepping activities wa
s
too take out the catheter. The removal hurt, but nothing like the entry
.
After he pulled it out, this nasty thick yellow discharge followed it out
.
Tucker "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? DID YOU GIVE ME TH
E
CLAP?
"

Nurse "Yeah, you got the clap from a sterile catheter. It's just dehydrate
d
urine. You're fine.
"
Tucker "Whatever. Dick. You ever have one of those in you?
"
Nurse "No. But I'll tell you what-I've inserted hundreds of those an
d
I've never seen anyone scream like more of a bitch than you.
"

Tucker "So now you're the fucking comedian? Hey Paul Rodriguez-
I
swear to god, you better not be around when they discharge me. I'l
l
find you, and broke appendix or not, I'll kick your fucking ass.
"
Nurse "Whatever. You'll just scream like a bitch.
"

Had I been able to stand, I think he and I would have fought
.
Right after this little spat, another nurse came in and shot like 15cc's o
f
morphine into my IV. WOW-I can see why that shit is addictive.
I
could literally feel the drug course through my veins and almos
t
instantaneously a flowery opiate-induced calm came over me. I wen
t
from angry pain to ethereal joy in about two minutes. I even apologize
d
to the Hispanic nurse the next time I saw him
.

[Side note about morphine: Everyone who called me or saw me ove
r
the next two days when I was in the hospital can attest to the fact tha
t
I was the nicest they have ever seen me. If I could find a drug tha
t
gave me that feeling on a regular basis, I would be an addict, an
d
happy about it. I now know what it means when heroin users tal
k
about "chasing the dragon." In only a day the normal dosage of tha
t
stuff was not enough. I was asking for more and more, pushing tha
t
call button like it brought me a fat-titted hooker carrying a plate of juic
y
pork ribs, screaming at the nurses if they didn't get it to me fas
t
enough. They had to switch me to codeine, which is apparently easie
r
to stop taking. I have what's called an "addictive personality."
]
Once I was fully de-prepped, they wheeled me up to my room. I wa
s
put in a room with another person, but it was dark when I got there
,
and I was so flush with morphine that I ignored my roommate an
d
went to 'Sleep
.

I woke up to quite the scene. And smell. There were two large blac
k
nurses holding my roommate up while they cleaned shit out fro
m
under him and changed his sheets. They were not happy
:
Nurse1 "Why you keep shitting like this?
"
Nurse2 "It's something he ate. What you eat?
"
The guy pointed to some Fritos laying on the table
.
Nurse2 "No, it ain't no Fritos.
"
He pointed to a Pepsi
.

Nurse2 "No, it ain't no goddamn Pepsi neither. It must be them dam
n
carrots, because you straight up lettin' out vegetation.
"

They eventually got him cleaned up and left. I looked him over, and th
e
sight was not pretty. He was black, anywhere from 40 to 50 years of age
,
Tracey Gold skinny, and had half of his head shaved. He didn't seem t
o
be able to use his right side, and did everything with his left hand. H
e
saw me looking at him and nodded his head at me in a "what up
"
manner. I responded, and said, "What's up man? Having a tough day?
"
He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, each time letting out littl
e
grunts. Eventually, with much effort, he got a slurred, "Yeah" out
.
Shaved head, can't talk, can only move his left side-he either had
a
stroke or a brain tumor
.

He and I talked for awhile, and I eventually learned how to interpret a
t
least some of his affected stroke speech. We were talking abou
t
something when a girl I know called my room. I told her where I wa
s
and she said she was coming over. My roommate was listening to th
e
conversation and waved at me to get my attention, then pulled hi
s
sheet up over his crotch, tenting it, and clearly said, "Me ... too."
I
laughed and told her to bring a friend for my crippled roommate
.
L
ater that day his speech therapist came in, and she was pretty hot
.
She said, "Hello Randolph, how are you today?
"
This cracked me up, "Your name is Randolph? RANDOPLH! You
r
nickname is Ray-Ray, isn't it!?!" Ray-Ray started laughing along wit
h
me, and this thoroughly confused the speech therapist
.
By this time, I was fairly proficient in interpreting Ray-Ray's strok
e
grunts, and I spent the half hour telling her what he was saying, hittin
g
on her and making fun of her
.

Tucker "You're a speech therapist and you can't understand your ow
n
patient? Did you get your degree in the mail? Is there a picture of Bett
y
Struthers on your diploma?
"

As she leaves, we have this exchange
:
Tucker "So, you're pretty hot, can I get your number?
"
Therapist "Sorry, no-I wouldn't give you my zip code.
"
Tucker "Nice one. That's cool, because I'd rather be deaf than listen t
o
you for another second.
"

Ray-Ray was nearly in tears laughing at this scene. He eventually go
t
this out, "We ... we ... we ... make ... a good team.
"

Watching him eat his lunch really made me empathize with the poo
r
guy. Every time he tried to eat, he would put the food in the left side o
f
his mouth, and then half of it would spill out the right side. He had n
o
feeling on that side of his face, or his entire right side, so he really ha
d
no idea what was happening
.

On one level it was funny, because there was this guy dumping hal
f
his food out of his mouth without knowing it, but on another level it wa
s
very depressing, as he seemed like a really good guy that was sufferin
g
through a horrible fate
.

He was so skinny, presumably from months of inactivity and confinemen
t
to his bed, that over the next few days I gave him all of my hospita
l
meals. Granted, it was empathetic on some level, but believe me
,
it was no fucking loss for me. Every stereotype you've ever hear
d
about hospital food is true. I would have rather eaten medical wast
e
than the shit they served us, though Ray-Ray loved it. I guess brai
n
injuries make you hungry
.

Later that night, Stydie and Laura stopped by with, of all things, Harold'
s
Chicken. I don't think I have ever been so fucking happy to se
e
Stydie, as Harold's is nearly my favorite food on earth. That shit stun
k
up my entire wing of the hospital, but I devoured it without compunction
.
After Stydie and Laura left, another girl came to visit me. She brough
t
me a Playboy, and I gave that to Ray-Ray to look at while she and I di
d
things I wasn't supposed to be doing. I believe the term "medicina
l
head" should be added to the medical lexicon, because I know I fel
t
better
.

I heard Ray-Ray hit his nurse call button, and then a very familia
r
smell permeated the room. Though my curtain was pulled, I hear
d
them clearly
:
Nurse "Gh look-you done shit yourself again.
"
Ray-Ray "I ... I ...
"
Nurse "You eating Fritos in bed again? Why you eaten Fritos in d
a
bed? Can't you get none in your mouff?
"
[The girl and I were laughing at this exchange, and we could hear he
r
moving Ray-Ray to another gurney
]
Nurse "Goddammit. I told you to stop eating that damn candy. Look a
t
this bed.
"
Ray-Ray "I ... I ... I want ...
"
Nurse "Shut up!
"
The girl who came to see me left halfway through this because w
e