In the E.R. at St. Mary's

Mayyyy be the last post, I don't knooooOOOOooow.

1965

SUNDAY
The shortness of breathe grew increasingly worse. I vomited...it was intense and uninhibited. I decided it was time to move closer to the pavement so someone could find me after it was over. I made it down to the "2nd tier" paved from whence one goes cross-country (off-pavement). It was too far to the 1st tier; I pulled off onto the shoulder, put the seat into its reclining position, and waited.

The pain kept intensifying until I was screaming -- full bore -- with each breath. As I writhed over the shift knobs, I had enough presence of mind to go inside and access the decades of accumulated rage and frustration at this stupid culture; a culture that put my first wife's ex-husband in a Tennessee State Penitentiary for four years for two joints and is now, at least in some states, delighting in the revenue of legalized use. And though I'm pleased at the treatment possibilities, after decades of demonizing psychedelics, the movie Fantastic Fungi is sweeping the nation to neutralize their hypocrisy. It's fascinating -- their exquisitely coordinated machinations -- as they gear up to rake in more billions providing prescriptive use for treatment of PTSD, anxiety, the embarrassment of psoriasis, a small penis/breasts and what all.


MONDAY
I awoke around 2:00 a.m. and was lying there thinking how the pain was so strong I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I turned on the phone to see what time it was and was astonished to see it ring. It was Alan Rasmussen calling to check on me...at 3:00 a.m.

He met me at St. Mary's E.R. in Tucson where the EKG showed I was still in the throes of an Acute Miocardial Infarction (AMI). I was hustled into a bed, plugged with an I.V. (they didn't even ask) and after being told the offerings-of-the-day, got some nitroglycerine mit morphine.

Surmisaling I had a thrombosis, a blockage of one of the arteries, they were eager to do an angiogram (run a tube up your femoral - the one inside your thigh - artery to your heart). I declined. I was kinda hoping this would be the hash-settling event and besides, don't NOBODY get that close to Der Jewels except mit more friendlier intent!

After a couple of hours the pain subsided and I was getting bored so I checked out. Since I was leaving against medical advice, they couldn't prescribe anything.

Oh yeah, a little side incident occurred when one of the docs asked what I wuz gonna do and I mentioned a bottle of nitrogen I keep in my storage locker (it's used in home-brewing). He seemed to almost delight in exclaiming, "You're suicidal!" and informed me he had to tell the psychiatrist who would likely have me committed to their pysch ward and THERE they'd be able to do whatever they liked! HAH!

Fortunately, the psychiatrist was of more sound mind and hearing me immediately recant on my self-deliverance (commonly known as suicide), she gave absolution and I was free to go.