Grotesque gallbladder gremlins give gargantuan grief

Feb 12 to 21, 2008
While I was away in Toronto, Caesar woke up one morning with his chronically infected eye swollen and cemented shut. Fernie tried to cleanse the eye but poor little Caesar cried out in pain. So off to the emergency vet’s office they went. $237 later with a slew of prescriptions (ointment, antibiotics - 2 of them & an allergy medicine) Fernie started treatment. Caesar’s poor old eyes are so hazy now with cataracts and I think the infection made his eyesight diminish further. The following night, Fernie experienced a ‘bad case of indigestion’, which took about five hours to dissipate. I guess the two ol’ guys were missing me. When I arrived in balmy Phoenix on Monday evening, Fernie’s beaming face greeted me and when we got home, Caesar was looking and feeling much better.

Tuesday morning, sunny and warm – I sure don’t miss the weather in the north. We pulled up stakes, departed Palm Gardens and headed back over to Wild Horse Pass Casino where we met up with our friends P&C. After dinner with them at the casino, Fernie hit the poker room for a few hours and made a tidy $80 profit. So, as you can see, all was well with the world – for a few more hours anyway.

The timing was impeccable though. What if it had happened while I was away? or before I left – then I wouldn’t have been able to go. What if we hadn’t had the proximity of the casino staff? What if we hadn’t met up with our friends?


Fernie woke at 1am to pain in the right side of his chest/stomach – another bout of ‘indigestion’. The pain intensified over the next three hours and Fernie paced up and down through Maggie shaking me out of bed. The pain was now right through to his back and when I massaged it, he flinched. “I wonder if it’s gall bladder?” I said. It’s hard to feel another’s pain and Fernie was adamant for a while that it would go away, so it wasn’t until about 4am that I decided to go over to the casino to ask for help. It was creepy in the parking lot at that hour, so I drove my car over rather than walk. The casino has a 24-hour medic on staff in case of medical emergencies and I’m sure with all the old folk that visit there, he’s kept pretty busy. Tony’s area of operation is within the walls of the casino and so it was compassionate of him to offer to come to our motorhome and check Fernie out. He drove me back over in a golf cart with brightly flashing lights. We were followed by two other vehicles - security officers, who regularly patrol the property. With all the lights & racket, it’s amazing that our friends right next to us didn’t even wake up.

Tony checked out Fernie’s vital signs and other than an elevated blood pressure (the pain would cause that), all else was fine but he suggested that I should get him to emergency and he asked if we wanted an ambulance. I declined and said I’d drive him – always aware that I don’t know what our out-of-country medical insurance covers. Why do medical emergencies always seem to happen at those awful dark and dismal middle of the night hours when all seems doom and gloom? By now, Fernie was writhing and moaning and when I finally got him to the Chandler Regional Hospital’s emergency – about 5am, I needed an anti-stress pill.

Fernie was taken right in and strapped up to an EKG machine by Brian an absolutely total hunk of an intern, 6 foot 6 tall, I’d guess and right out of Grey’s Anatomy. Neither Dr. McDreamy nor Dr. McSteamy has anything on Brian. But I digress. Brian gave Fernie a pain pill, which helped a bit, but it wasn’t until later when he was ensconced in an emergency bed in a flowered nightie that they gave him intravenous painkillers. Over the next few hours, they did blood work and X-rays and finally an ultrasound.

About 7:30am, I had to leave Fernie, knowing he was in good hands, and go back to look after Caesar. I had a huge lump of stress in my chest and throat as I medicated and then walked Caesar in the early morning sunshine. I felt totally desolate. I waited until after 8am to knock on our friends’ door. When they came to the window and asked who was there, it was like I was a little girl again and I broke into tears. Yes, me – a total baby.
“Fernie’s in hospital” I sobbed and the door flew open and I was enveloped in hugs – just what I needed. P&C were my rocks – they delayed their departure for Yuma, staying on beside us to look after Caesar and give me support. The came into the emergency and kept us company during the interminable wait.

Finally, a diagnosis – “Gallbladder” said Dr. Lee. Gee, I could have told them that five hours ago.
“No stones, but full of sludge” she continued. “I’ve talked to Dr. Whitman, the surgeon and he’s going to operate”.
What an efficient process it turned out to be. Within minutes, Fernie was wheeled upstairs on his stretcher with me following. Ron, his male nurse (another hot lookin’ dude) primed him with what was about to take place, followed by the anaesthetist who gave us the full routine and finally [drum roll here] the surgeon, Dr. Whitman.

A tall and heavy-set, light-skinned African American with an elegant demeanour, strode majestically into the room. He looked more like a linebacker than a doctor but I noticed when he shook my hand that his hands were silky smooth and his manner was gentle, informative and calm. His skullcap was bright and multi-hued in an African motif – yellow, green, red, blue, purple.
“Do I really need surgery, Doctor?” inquired Fernie, content now that the intravenous painkiller had put him in a euphoric mood. Dr. Whitman gently pressed on his right side.
“Oucccchhhhhhh!” answered Fernie
“That’s why we need to get it out – because it won’t get any better,” replied the doctor, authoritatively. Turning to me he continued, “the operation will only take a half an hour and he described the method with the four little holes and the camera and the CO2 to blow him up. “I will come out to the waiting room immediately after the surgery and advise you the status. Then you’ll wait approximately one more hour for him to be released from post-op care.” With that, Fernie was whipped away and I made my way over to the waiting room – an opulent airy area with large screen TVs, big comfy chairs, large windows, big leafy plants, a concierge offering bottled water and all overlooking the main entrance. It was more like the lobby of an elegant hotel than a hospital waiting room

Things went exactly as they promised and I was ushered up to the fourth floor prior to Fernie’s arrival. I gasped at the sumptuous décor as I walked down the hallway looking for room 463 – I felt like Alice in Wonderland after falling down the rabbit warren – this surely was the ‘Four Seasons Hotel’ not Chandler Regional Hospital. Fernie’s large private room was high ceilinged and stylishly decorated with mahogany cupboards, a tasteful wallpaper border and it sported a large TV with about 50 channels, a writing desk, a big comfy leather chair and a sofa that made into a bed, just in case I wanted to stay with him and a big private bathroom. The window coverings were upscale and the privacy curtain was in a beautiful silky material, edged with a macramé like border.

When Fernie was wheeled in about ten minutes later, his eyes popped out of his head; he couldn’t believe the opulence. “I think I’m going to be mighty comfortable” he quipped, looking as if he’d never had surgery. He stayed in the hospital until Friday morning unlike our system at home in BC, where you go in at 8am and are kicked out by 5pm the same day. During his stay, a newspaper was delivered each morning, a folder rather like that you get on a cruise ship contained a full run-down of everything he’d be experiencing and it even had a TV Guide. A ‘whiteboard’ instructed the names of his caregivers on each shift and the procedures he’d be faced with. If Caesar hadn’t needed me, I’d have probably stayed there with Fernie. Thursday evening, we sat together in absolute comfort watching Survivor on his large screen TV. I’m beginning to see why the American medical system is so much more expensive than ours in Canada.

Our out-of-country medical insurance through BCAA (AAA) was seamless but when they contacted me, they advised that Fernie was only covered for one follow-up appointment after his hospitalization. If he requires any further medical appointments concerning this surgery, we’ll have to go home. So at this point, as he recuperates day by day, we’re not sure but we assume that recovery won’t be a problem. What can go wrong? - - Infection, I suppose. We’ll run it by Dr. Whitman on next Thursday’s appointment when they remove his staples.

It’s a funny thing – I really don’t think we were destined to drive down Baja, Mexico this year. First there was my odd illness, then Caesar (who is still not back to normal) and now Fernie’s gallbladder surgery. I’m awfully glad he didn’t get sick in the rural areas of Mexico.