I suppose that's not entirely fair (nor is tagging this entry "Disaster") but sometimes it's "caveat emptor" with the health care industry. I know some of you who were paying attention to my Facebook page or maybe my Twitter feed are aware that I had a bad time at the hospital in December. Actually, if you were watching my Twitter feed you probably thought I died because my entries there weren't terribly optimistic - or complete, and I think the last update was something like "Kidneys...failing...tired...going black...aaaaauuuugggghhhh."

The story is that I was experiencing some severe back pain and had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad headache (with apologies to Alexander) back in December. I also had other symptoms, some of which fell under the medical definition "gross." In all they spelled category: disaster, or at least a trip to the ER, which I made grudgingly mostly because I'm a male and well we take a oath not to seek medical attention unless forced to, usually by an Alert Rational Thinking Spouse.

At the ER they gave me morphine, for which I am extremely grateful and really it doesn't matter how much the bill is afterwards, the morphine is always worth it. They also did a spinal tap, as in sticking something in my spine, which even on a great day and completely free (and with a t-shirt that says "I got a spinal tap and this free t-shirt") is NEVER worth it. But it apparently helped diagnose me as having viral meningitis. Other diagnoses which fall under the medical procedure list of "Look at Patient" determined I had shingles. (Shingles sounds like a first-time home owner issue but is actually a reoccurrence of the chicken pox virus. VIRUS. This is important for our tale.)

The ER decided that I should be admitted to the hospital, without any kind of free t-shirt, and given an anti-viral drug. This is a drug that is supposed to scare viruses off, sort of like the equivalent of showing them The View over and over again. (With apologies to any View watchers in the audience, particularly those that resemble Elisabeth Hasselbeck.) (You know who you are.)

The problem with some anti-viral drugs, and The View for that matter, is that they can cause crystals to form in your kidneys. These are not attractive, gemstone quality crystals that might appear on QVC during the Tanzanite White Gold Earring Special Hour. These are crystals that clog up your kidneys. Think of your house's air filter which you haven't checked on in four months because really who thinks about the air filter? I don't and man when you pull that thing out boy are you embarrassed. I mean, you know, other people are embarrassed.

Well, now I was in the hospital with shingles, viral meningitis and no kidneys. The medical staff was very gentle with me. ("Your kidneys have shut down. Sorry about that.") I, meanwhile, was feeling the effects of having no kidneys, which is to say that I was seated in front of the toilet for 36 hours. It takes 36 hours to convince the medical staff at the hospital that you're really, seriously nauseated and that they should give you something for that via an IV because there's no point in trying to swallow anything.

The course of action the hospital took, which coincidentally is listed in medical books under the chapter "We Stopped Up His Kidneys Now What," was to give me IV fluids (they call them "fluids" in the hospital, but I think it's just a bag of water) until these crystals were flushed out of my kidneys. That took about a week. All told I was in the hospital for ten days. The bill the hospital submitted to the insurance company was something like five thousand dollars. Thousand with a T. I only point out the cost because of the irony: if I had not been admitted, I would have likely (eventually) gotten over what I had and there would have been no problems and no thousands (with a T.)*

In any event, both shingles and viral meningitis can cause pain even after they've left the body/gotten killed off/become bored with you. This pain, according to medical dictionaries, only lasts "zero to 36 months." I'm in the second month now and still having back pain, which is to say pain in my back, which feels like someone sticking a dull, red-hot poker in my back. Or, doing a spinal tap. With a dull, red-hot poker.

I do have some pain medication. Vicodin, which is latin for "Uhhhhhhhh, yeeaahhhh" which is about all I can say or do while taking it. I also have lidocaine patches, which are self-adhesive, although sticking a self-adhesive pain patch on your own back is challenging, especially if you're trying hard not to miss Whoopi and Elisabeth go at it. I also have another drug, Gabapentin, which is a rare form of "generic drug" that still costs a billion dollars (with a B.) Why this is, I'm not sure. This specific drug is designed to help with neuropathic pain. Before you think that means "pain in your head" (instead of the back) neuropathic pain is pain caused by damaged nerves, which is what shingles can do.

Fortunately gabapentin only has a few side effects including (and no I am not making this up) drowsiness, dizziness, unsteadiness, fatigue, vision changes, weight gain, nausea, dry mouth, constipation, tremor or shaking, swelling of extremities, loss of coordination, mental/mood changes, persistent sore throat/fever/cough, unusual bleeding/bruising, pain/redness of arms or legs, chest pain, trouble breathing, fast/slow/irregular heartbeat, hearing loss, and stomach/abdominal pain.

I'd write more, but I think you're up to date now, and my large, swollen, painful, red limbs are making typing difficult. And I need a drink of water. And...what? Did you say something?

*I think there was a possibility that I could have gone from meningitis to encephalitis. Meningitis, which I'm really starting to get tired of typing, is an inflammation of the protective membrane of the brain. Encephalitis, which if spelled correctly is miraculous, is an inflammation of the brain itself. The brain hates to be inflamed, which is exactly what happens during The View marathons. So the hospital, in their defense, was possibly maybe if-you-want-to-cut-them-some-slack thinking they were helping out. Sort of. Barbara Walters was unavailable for comment at the time of this writing, but her Facebook status read: Yes this is the real Barbara Walters stop asking.