It had to be the tomatoes.
Our crop of heirlooms are coming in strong. We cooked dozens up with peppers and zucchini. I ate the rest. In salads, in sandwiches, fresh off the vine.
So when my stomach started to ache Tuesday afternoon, I wrote it off to a momentary clash of heirlooms and my tummy. But when I woke up that night with knifing pains in my belly, followed by cramps, I wondered if the clash had turned into a full-scale war.
Felt lousy the next morning but I sucked it up, suited up and drove downtown to interview an FBI agent. By noon I was on my back again. When my temperature hit 100 at 6 p.m., I drove over to Sibley Hospital.
My first brush with the health insurance system was ugly. I had left my Care First/Blue Shield card at home. My wife relayed the essential numbers over the phone. I called Care First’s member services, got recordings, tried to alert them that I was in the ER, and never ever reached a human being. A last recorded message claimed I was not a member.
The nice woman at Sibley’s billing office broke through the insurance jam and sent me off to the medical staff. Nurses took my essentials, including an EKG. Dr. Greg Cope told me I probably had a colon infection, but a CAT scan would tell the tale.
Sibley is a comfortable, older hospital in D.C.’s far northwest corner, by the Potomac River. It was a homey place, which is lucky because I was about to spend the night.
The CAT scan was done at 8 p.m. but results were late in arriving. By 11 p.m., Dr. Cope was ready to release me with meds for the colon problem. I was dressed and ready to roll when the results came.
“It’s your appendix,” he said. “We have to take it out.”
He looked on the schedule and saw that Dr. Martin Paul was on call. Lucky me.
A half-hour later, Dr. Paul arrived in the ER, walked into my room, rolled up his sleeves and shook my hand. He was tall and warm and friendly. He’s also a pioneer in using laparoscopic surgery to remove the appendix. He explained it. No incision, three small holes, no muss no fuss, if there were no complications.
An hour later, I was in the Operating Room. The last face I saw before I went under was Dr. Paul’s, smiling under his mask. I came to an hour later. “All went well,” the nurse said.
Next morning Martin Paul came to my sunlit room and gave me a few details. “You should feel fine in a few days,” he said. “If not, call me.”
I spent the morning snoozing. My nurse, Galila Bartolucci, took great care of me. She had been at Sibley for six years. “It’s a good place to be a nurse,” she said.
It’s a good place to be a patient, too. My wife drove me home at 2 p.m. On the way out, I stopped at the cashier. He asked a few questions, and I was on my way. Great care. Great hospital. The tomatoes did it. But will the health insurance pay?
E-mail Harry Jaffe at [email protected].
