It takes real gall and then some to ignore Tribe, Cavs
So there I was: Minding my own business, working for the man, coming home each evening to a beautiful woman (don’t tell my wife) and settling down to watch the Indians and/or Cavs for a while before repeating the whole process the next morning.
The day was Monday, May 16, and my wife was out of town visiting our daughter who had given birth to her third boy two days earlier. I started having some serious stomach issues (at first I thought it may have been from the coffee at work, as it had been known to pack a pretty good punch on occasion).
By early afternoon, I knew it wasn’t the coffee, and ended up having to leave work early because I felt a fever coming on. I have a couple of nurse sisters-in-law who I called upon for medical advice (you can’t beat the price), and we discussed several possibilities: flu, a touch of food poisoning, etc. Nothing seemed to improve my fortunes so, long story short, I ended up seeing a doctor on Wednesday, May 18. What made all of this doubly painful was the fact that the Indians scored 28 runs between victories over the Reds Monday and Tuesday nights, and I was in no shape to enjoy it.
What I enjoyed even less was having a CT scan Wednesday morning after seeing the doctor, because various tests indicated I had some “issues,” as it were. As it turns out, I had gallstones, kidney stones, and something funky going on with my liver, but I was advised to get to the emergency room ASAP because my gallbladder was especially unhappy.
Early Thursday, I had my gallbladder removed. (Later, after surgery, my surgeon told me my gallbladder was very “angry” and it was good they got it when they did.) Fortunately, I had plenty of support from a big, loving family who, strange as it may seem, all have a good sense of humor too.
I remember waking up in the recovery room and, for a brief period, having no idea why I was there. It was very quiet – too quiet, as they say – and I remember trying to get up on my elbows to make sure I wasn’t wearing a toe tag. Fortunately, I didn’t see a see a toe tag, but then again, I didn’t see any toes either. Quickly, I searched my memory trying to recall if I’d been swimming in the ocean recently. Fortunately, a nurse came over to me and told me what procedure I’d had done, so the Jaws theme faded pretty fast.
I ended up missing two weeks of work, returning after Memorial Day, and everything is pretty much back to normal. I’m back to the “regular” living and dying with the Tribe and Cavs. Ironically, there is also a Browns connection here.
I won’t mention the name of the medical insurance provider I had for this experience, but let’s just say their initials are M.M. and leave it at that. I received a letter from them a few days ago and they informed me they weren’t going to cover anything I had done since it all could have been done as an outpatient. This will undoubtedly prove interesting.
Folks, I believe I have stumbled upon the “Cleveland Browns” equivalent of the medical insurance industry. Yep … total ineptitude.
Lifelong Westlake resident who dabbles in writing whenever the real world permits. My forte is humor and horror...What a combo!