I had another appointment with Dr. Whoosh in Gotham on July 6th. Following my last hospital visit, my shortness of breath had returned with a vengeance. When he asked me about it, I expressed great concern and explained that I could hardly breathe after only walking a short distance. He put a pulse oximeter on my finger and had a nurse walk me around for a minute or so. My SpO2 level stayed around 95% and when I sat down the nurse quickly took the meter off my finger. I protested and had her put it back on. Immediately the reading dropped to 70% as I started gasping for air. This raised a few eyebrows to say the least. After consulting with Dr. Whoosh, he recommended I go back into the hospital to see what was going on.
After waiting a couple of hours, they found me a bed in New Arkham Hospital. At first glance you’d never guess it was a hospital. It looked more like an airport terminal. A gigantic lobby with comfortable chairs all around, lots of chrome and wood, wide hallways and rooms that (except for a hospital bed and medical equipment sitting around) appeared to be more suited to a four star hotel. I was impressed. The view from the 18th floor was spectacular. The other side of the hospital looked out over Gotham University Stadium. I ended up staying for a week while they tinkered with my medicines. The New Arkham is a teaching hospital, so dozens of doctors trooped in and out of my room with interns and students following them like little ducklings. I felt like I was the guy with the mystery disease in an episode of "House." While there I certainly received the royal treatment. I hate to think what it’s going to cost my insurance company…or what my copay is going to be. In the end they took me off of a couple heart medications and doubled my diuretic. I’ve been peeing like clockwork about every 45 minutes or so and since they admitted me I’ve lost another 22 pounds. It’s helped my breathing dramatically, I can get up and move around much easier, and have stopped using a wheelchair for the time being unless I have to go a long distance. I’m feeling tremendously better and am praying that I don’t have a relapse. I have three followup appointments in Gotham this week, I think we're going to get a hotel room and stay there a couple of days instead of spending four hours a day driving back and forth.
If you’ve ever been admitted to a hospital, they have probably given you an insulated, graduated, plastic mug for your water so they can record your fluid intake. So I got one of those with a plastic lid and a plastic bendy straw sticking out of it. On the outside of the lid was printed “Do Not Twist Lid.” Although there was a little door you could twist to close the drinking holes, I understood that they meant not to try twisting the entire lid to remove it. To remove it you had to pry it loose, which wasn’t easy, it fit very tightly. Upon opening it, I discovered the ubiquitous legal disclaimer printed on the bottom of the lid, “Caution: Contents May Be Hot.”
Who was the genius that decided that the warning needed to be printed on the INSIDE of the tight fitting lid? Although the mug was being used for ice water, had it contained a hot liquid, I would have likely burnt my fingers removing the lid before ever being able to read the warning. A serious lack of thought going into your design here folks.