Storytime
I'm going to tell you a story here.
It was a wednesday, and I was going home from work. The Dayquil was starting to wear off, but I had a nice comfy bed I could retreat to. The cold I was going through had been troubling me for nearly two weeks--one of those low-intensity, slow-burning ailments that doesn't really knock you down but makes you wish it did. The sinus/throat aspect to it was all but over; the only real lingering part was a nasty cough. With any luck the weekend will be nice and relatively illness-free.
Which is a good thing; as an affiliated law firm was officially splitting off of the company that I work with, and so their equipment and network needed to be segregated over the weekend and set up for their own independant use. The week so far was largely spent prepping the environment for this upcoming transition--very high visibility item (well, not technically true--but it was high-visibility enough for the people with initials for job titles).
I wake up thursday feeling somewhat better, but still not quite "well". I decide to limit myself to one dayquil and try to get through the day. I'm feeling a bit run-down, but after being ill for over a week I write off the fatigue as being par for the course. Plus, I'm not exactly the energetic type under the best of circumstances anyway. I come home to my wife and the chinchillas, looking forward to being able to try and make things up to her for being less than supportive over the last month--I'm not an ideal spouse, but I try to overcome the rough patches when I recognize that I've been an ass.
That night, I get up and have a glass of lemonade; Publix lemonade rocks. Only this glass just tasted like rocks--metallic ones at that. I'm concerned but dismissive; this could just be a bad batch of the stuff, or at the worst case maybe one of my fillings is working loose or something. Concerned, but I won't lose sleep.
Friday. The funky taste persists through the day, but is not terribly noticeable. The cough is still present and annoying. I'm dreading having to go to the dentist to get this resolved, but resigned. I'm working hard to get the server ready for the law firm, doing data transfers and dumps and fretting over the slower-than-anticipated transfer rates. I'm rather glad to be rid of this server as its an ancient piece of crap that likely dates back to the prior century.
Around lunchtime in the mid-afternoon I notice something odd-my knees have extra 'give' in them. It feels a little off, like they had shock absorbers in them...kind of feels pretty cool, really. Intellectually I know there's something wrong, however, but again I dismiss it as general weakness from the cold, or even just general fatigue coupled with a sedentary job. I queue up some more file copy jobs and leave for home, figuring I'd finish the configuration over the weekend.
That evening I take Marian out to the new mexican restaurant that's opened in the new shopping center about a mile up the road. The place is nice--good ambience, decent service. The food seems pretty good, but the metallic taste that's been present has started to...intensify?
Protip: when water tastes like battery acid, there's a problem, and it ain't a loose filling. And when everything tastes like its nickel-plating your tongue...well, yeah.
When we get home, I do some Interwebs Research(tm). Likely candidates are heavy metal poisoning(!!) or some sort of neurological disorder. I'm in real danger of passing through the concerned level and punching through to full-blown worried.
That night I slept in my cozy bed. I didn't know it would be the last time for a long time.
Marian was working that day (saturday) until the afternoon. I woke up at my usual weekend time of 10:30-11ish. I roll out of bed and nearly hit the floor. "Uh oh..."
More careful testing indicates that I'm able to walk, as long as I relax the knees, shift my weight to the balls of my feet and walk raptor-style. I decide that I needed a better source of medical opinion than google's 'I feel Lucky' option, so I call my mother (a newly-retired RN). She advises evaluation at a hospital, and I concurred and called Marian to ask her to drive me when she gets home.
I've got a few hours to kill, so I hit up the wikis and do some more targeted investigation. I tentatively diagnose my symptoms as a neuropathy. i'm not sure what that means beyond the list of symptoms, but at least I've assuaged my fears that I'm not terminally ill or something.
All through the day, I don't eat anything--some diagnostic testing works better on (or simply needs) an empty stomach, and I want to get through this as quickly as possible--I still have that server to configure!
Finally, Marian comes home. I must look worse than I think, because her initial skepticism over the matter immediately melts away to concern. She drives me off to the hospital as quickly as she can, so we can wait...for about an hour. Oddly enough, the manager from the mexican restaurant we went to the previous night was there with an injured chef.
The triage nurses are not amused with my internets diagnosis. They actually seem disbelieving that there's anything wrong with me at all...though the loss of balance is worth sitting me in another hall while I wait for a neurologist to stop by and check me out. While waiting, I notice that I seem to have odd muscle behavior in my neck when I turn my head all the way to either side--Marian is troubled by this. The doctor arrives, has me perform a sobriety test (well, sort of) and decides its worth taking my money admitting me overnight for observation over.
I call some coworkers and let them know they'll have to finish the server build by themselves, and that I might not be at work on monday.
Next chapter: Motor Skills are Overrated; Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Respirator.
It was a wednesday, and I was going home from work. The Dayquil was starting to wear off, but I had a nice comfy bed I could retreat to. The cold I was going through had been troubling me for nearly two weeks--one of those low-intensity, slow-burning ailments that doesn't really knock you down but makes you wish it did. The sinus/throat aspect to it was all but over; the only real lingering part was a nasty cough. With any luck the weekend will be nice and relatively illness-free.
Which is a good thing; as an affiliated law firm was officially splitting off of the company that I work with, and so their equipment and network needed to be segregated over the weekend and set up for their own independant use. The week so far was largely spent prepping the environment for this upcoming transition--very high visibility item (well, not technically true--but it was high-visibility enough for the people with initials for job titles).
I wake up thursday feeling somewhat better, but still not quite "well". I decide to limit myself to one dayquil and try to get through the day. I'm feeling a bit run-down, but after being ill for over a week I write off the fatigue as being par for the course. Plus, I'm not exactly the energetic type under the best of circumstances anyway. I come home to my wife and the chinchillas, looking forward to being able to try and make things up to her for being less than supportive over the last month--I'm not an ideal spouse, but I try to overcome the rough patches when I recognize that I've been an ass.
That night, I get up and have a glass of lemonade; Publix lemonade rocks. Only this glass just tasted like rocks--metallic ones at that. I'm concerned but dismissive; this could just be a bad batch of the stuff, or at the worst case maybe one of my fillings is working loose or something. Concerned, but I won't lose sleep.
Friday. The funky taste persists through the day, but is not terribly noticeable. The cough is still present and annoying. I'm dreading having to go to the dentist to get this resolved, but resigned. I'm working hard to get the server ready for the law firm, doing data transfers and dumps and fretting over the slower-than-anticipated transfer rates. I'm rather glad to be rid of this server as its an ancient piece of crap that likely dates back to the prior century.
Around lunchtime in the mid-afternoon I notice something odd-my knees have extra 'give' in them. It feels a little off, like they had shock absorbers in them...kind of feels pretty cool, really. Intellectually I know there's something wrong, however, but again I dismiss it as general weakness from the cold, or even just general fatigue coupled with a sedentary job. I queue up some more file copy jobs and leave for home, figuring I'd finish the configuration over the weekend.
That evening I take Marian out to the new mexican restaurant that's opened in the new shopping center about a mile up the road. The place is nice--good ambience, decent service. The food seems pretty good, but the metallic taste that's been present has started to...intensify?
Protip: when water tastes like battery acid, there's a problem, and it ain't a loose filling. And when everything tastes like its nickel-plating your tongue...well, yeah.
When we get home, I do some Interwebs Research(tm). Likely candidates are heavy metal poisoning(!!) or some sort of neurological disorder. I'm in real danger of passing through the concerned level and punching through to full-blown worried.
That night I slept in my cozy bed. I didn't know it would be the last time for a long time.
Marian was working that day (saturday) until the afternoon. I woke up at my usual weekend time of 10:30-11ish. I roll out of bed and nearly hit the floor. "Uh oh..."
More careful testing indicates that I'm able to walk, as long as I relax the knees, shift my weight to the balls of my feet and walk raptor-style. I decide that I needed a better source of medical opinion than google's 'I feel Lucky' option, so I call my mother (a newly-retired RN). She advises evaluation at a hospital, and I concurred and called Marian to ask her to drive me when she gets home.
I've got a few hours to kill, so I hit up the wikis and do some more targeted investigation. I tentatively diagnose my symptoms as a neuropathy. i'm not sure what that means beyond the list of symptoms, but at least I've assuaged my fears that I'm not terminally ill or something.
All through the day, I don't eat anything--some diagnostic testing works better on (or simply needs) an empty stomach, and I want to get through this as quickly as possible--I still have that server to configure!
Finally, Marian comes home. I must look worse than I think, because her initial skepticism over the matter immediately melts away to concern. She drives me off to the hospital as quickly as she can, so we can wait...for about an hour. Oddly enough, the manager from the mexican restaurant we went to the previous night was there with an injured chef.
The triage nurses are not amused with my internets diagnosis. They actually seem disbelieving that there's anything wrong with me at all...though the loss of balance is worth sitting me in another hall while I wait for a neurologist to stop by and check me out. While waiting, I notice that I seem to have odd muscle behavior in my neck when I turn my head all the way to either side--Marian is troubled by this. The doctor arrives, has me perform a sobriety test (well, sort of) and decides its worth taking my money admitting me overnight for observation over.
I call some coworkers and let them know they'll have to finish the server build by themselves, and that I might not be at work on monday.
Next chapter: Motor Skills are Overrated; Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Respirator.