I Might Be Dying

I went to the doctor a couple of days ago.  The short story is they don’t really know what’s wrong with me, but I might be dying.  My problem started three weeks ago.  I met a man on my lunch hour for sex.  He rented a motel room and we went in and did our business.  He did his business so well, in fact, that I had a mind-boggling orgasm. The intensity of the orgasm was matched only by the intensity of the headache that immediately gripped me.  I pushed him off me and told him he needed to masturbate because I was finished. 

I showered and drove back to my office, head pounding.  As soon as I walked in I popped two Excedrin Migraine and laid on the little couch in my office.  An hour later, I felt only mildly better so I took two ibuprofen and closed my eyes for thirty more minutes.  By that time, the pain had subsided enough to go back to work.  I finished all my reports and called it a night.

The next few days were uneventful and I gave no more thought to the horrible post-orgasm headache.  That is until it happened again.  I was in the middle of some particularly spectacular early morning coitus and approaching that happy moment

when rainbows and butterflies shoot out your ass and BAM! someone drove an ice pick into the back of my head!

It was the most excruciating pain in my life.  And I say that bearing in mind the comparison of delivering a 9-pound baby without anesthesia.  Again, I called an immediate halt to all activities, showered and came to work.  But this time the Excedrin/ibuprofen/rest combination did nothing except maybe give the pain time to grow.  Two hours in, and with no relief in sight, I gave in and called my doctor.  She had no available appointments but one of her partners with an unpronounceable name and impeccable credentials did.  I left immediately. 

At the receptionist counter the clerk asked about insurance cards and photo id and God only knows what else because after the 90-second mark it all sounded like the teacher from Charlie Brown to me.  I just kept thinking, “Shut up.  For the love of God, shut the fuck up before I fall down.”  Finally, I said, “I think I may pass out.”  That shut her the hell up.  She asked if I could walk.  I nodded drunkenly and staggered over to a chair.  I heard her say she was going to call someone and then a murmuring that included phrases like, “pass out,” “stroke,” “shaking,” and “wheelchair.” 

Before the nurse could come from the back, the ever efficient clerk appeared before me with her trusty clipboard and financial responsibility forms.  She didn’t want to let me keel over without that signature on a policy with such a high deductible.  When she saw how badly my right hand was trembling she helpfully suggested that I could simply mark an X with my left hand.  That, apparently, is enough to put me and my heirs on the hook for whatever the insurance didn’t cover.

Shortly thereafter, the nurse appeared and, putting me in a wheelchair, whisked me to the back.  The doctor appeared in short order and, after a relatively thorough exam, made the following statement, “Some of the symptoms you are presenting with are indicative of a migraine.  However, some of them indicate a possible stroke.  I want you to go to the ER.”  I was still not too concerned until I said, “Okay, can you call my daughter?” And he replied, “No, I need you to go in an ambulance.”

He left me alone to go make the necessary calls and I stared at the ceiling.  A moment or two later, the door opened and my regular doctor came in.  We talked for a few minutes until the ambulance arrived.  One guy strapped me into the gurney in the hallway while the other went down his clipboard checklist.  When he asked what happened, I was a little shy about talking about my orgasms but my desire to live meant I overcame it quickly.   

At the ER I had blood work, an EKG and a CT.  They gave me the all clear – no tumors, brain bleeds or strokes – and sent me home with medications for pain and nausea and instructions to follow-up with my PCP within 7 days.  I sent my doc an email summarizing the visit and mentioning my blood pressure.  She called in a prescription and now I am on high blood pressure medication. 

At my follow-up visit, we went through all the tests and she consulted with a colleague.  It appears they are concerned about a weak blood vessel that could burst – a possible aneurysm.  Today, I go for a CT angiogram.  Doc also noted that my white blood cell count has been running high for nearly four years.  A couple of years ago I saw a hematologist and nothing really came of it.  But it is still high, so she is sending me to another hematologist. 

I am very tired and a little nervous.  Hoping all goes well because I have so much living left to do.