bezoar

The whole genre of my healthcare had changed when I first woke up, swathed in warm blankets after my emergency surgery for a bowel perforation.  I had just been raced over from the children’s psychiatric unit ten hours earlier before my eight-hour surgery after one of the nurses realized that there was something seriously wrong with me. 

When she took my vital signs my blood pressure was in the basement and my heart rate was dangerously high. I’d also had a fever of 105.5. Suddenly I’d felt myself being loaded into a wheelchair and raced off the psych unit and into the CT scan suite.

“They need to get a picture of the inside of your belly,” Liz had explained to me when we got to the room where they do the CT scans.