June 22, 2009
By now you might have heard, or maybe you were party to the chaos all along as I Tweeted the hell out of my Vegas experiences. I got pretty sick while I was down there. I still don’t know what ailed me–I see Dr. Gravitas tomorrow morning–but it set me on tense-edge and I’m still feeling entirely wary. Essentially, every meal I had gave me heaving pains within an hour or so, to the point that, by Saturday night, I realized I’d have to basically fast until I got back to Portland. At least if I had any hope of getting on the return flight. Writhing in bed most of Saturday, I skirted the edges of “freaking out”: being sick and scared in a weird and disinterested city; worried about my ability to face flying again.
This farce involved a surreal cab trip to an urgent care clinic in Las Vegas (the cab driver made David type in the address into his navigation system, among other oddities). This was mostly a fruitless endeavor because, without my medical records (why, why are we still in the stone age with our medical record technology?!) the overwhelmed staff at the clinic wasn’t able to do much useful for me. They put me on an IV, ran some tests, gave me a “GI cocktail,” seemed to hold me in low esteem, and booted me back toward my hotel. We sat outside waiting (and waiting) for our return cab while an extended family arrived in several cars, shrieking and panicky. One of their number, a pretty, skinny girl of maybe 13 or 14 years old, was the most panicky, and, as things unfolded, turned out to be the focus of the hullabaloo. From what I gathered–it wasn’t so much eavesdropping as just being there–she’d been grabbed by some guys, pulled into an alley and had a gun put to her head. Sounds like they then tried to have their way with her but she put up such a fuss that they gave up. It was a tragic and worrisome moment as they tried to figure out which hospital to go to (the urgent care clinic didn’t have the right expertise).
Overall I am left with a nasty taste of Vegas. David got a cold and is surly as a result. It’s pretty sad that the return flight was one of the better parts of the trip. And I still don’t know what’s wrong with me. Such a frustration to my psyche that the weekend of one of my biggest personal triumphs is clouded by stress and pain.
I’ve been eating some meals and I don’t seem to be going into throes of agony anymore. Perhaps it’s over. Maybe I’ll never know what was wrong. But I am annoyed by that. And worried.