So I was in the ICU ward and almost died the other day. Just a standard, ordinary day in my life. I overdosed. No… not on recreational drugs. I had ingested huge amounts of calcium and my body essentially shut down. Too many Quick-Eze tablets were the culprit. A simple antacid you can buy from the milk bar almost ended up killing me. I was taking between twenty and thirty a day and thought nothing of it. For years I relied on these as I suffered from horrendous heartburn and severe acid reflux. It’s only now that I can happily say I’m on top of it, thanks to another medication on my list of pharmaceuticals. It is such a long, long story, and I already wrote at length about my hospital stay in a blog I deleted. I’ll write a condensed version…
I was blacking out and couldn’t walk from my bedroom to the kitchen without falling. From the floor I called my folks, who had to come to my place and rescue me. I’m not a small guy, and Dad was barely able to help me to the car. During that short, awkward trip to the car I fell over and for a moment I thought I’d broken my coccyx. I’m still left with severe bruising. We got to the Frankston ER and I was wheeled into the crowded waiting room. Now, this is where things get really strange — and I’m still yet to find a clear reason for it — but I blacked out. I literally can’t remember anything that happened over the following two days. When I regained some normalcy I was told I’d been a real pain in the arse to the nurses, doctors and other staff, which in my right mind I would never be. I pulled out my IVs, wandered into other patients’ rooms and behaved so erratically they nearly called a code grey on me. It felt like taking twenty doses of LSD or psilocybin without knowing it — an intense, disorienting trip I did not enjoy. I even had a catheter for a period that I can’t recall much about, and in some ways that’s probably for the best. After echocardiograms, x-rays, MRIs, numerous blood tests and ECGs, they still couldn’t get to the bottom of it. At some point someone asked if I was taking any antacids; when I told them how many I was taking they attributed my state to that. A week in hospital followed, with many of my rights, privacy and comforts effectively removed, and I was unable to walk properly because of the bag thingy attached to me. I couldn’t sleep: lights flashed, monitors beeped relentlessly, the patient next to me snored loudly, an evacuation alarm would go off, crazy people screaming all night, the medical staff repeatedly woke me to drew blood and checked my vitals — no TV, no Wi‑Fi. I barely slept and got utterly sick of staring at the wall.
I was diagnosed with kidney disease. They told me I was dangerously close to needing dialysis and said I was lucky they found it when they did. The doctor even warned that having another beer could be fatal. For a while I couldn’t tell if that was a hallucination or reality, but I’ve decided to accept it as real. To some people this would be terrifying news, but I haven’t stressed about it even once — it’s felt like a blessing in disguise. It’s put a clear idea in my head that I can’t drink. I had tried to quit many times before and always slipped, but now the temptation has been stripped away and the thought hasn’t crossed my mind in the last two months. I’m really enjoying sobriety, and creating better art is just one of many benefits I’m experiencing.
On day seven I had finally had enough. All I wanted was to go home. I left with eleven new, differently coloured pills and felt, for the first time in a while, like a happy man. There were a few adjustments to my life once I got back — my folks wanted me to move home so they could take care of me, and I didn’t put up a fight. There are a lot of positives to living at home, provided you can put up with the olds: I’m saving money, enjoying my art more than ever, eating better, and while I don’t need much company, it’s there if I do — and the benefits go on. I hate the stigma of being my age and still living with my parents, but I have special circumstances. It isn’t just the physical challenges I’m dealing with; the mental side is real, too. That deserves its own post, but believe me when I say it can be truly debilitating.
The good news is I am doing much better. My kidney levels improved significantly — the last blood test showed a drop from a 7 to a 50 — and my calcium levels are back to normal. My heart is healthy, which was especially reassuring given I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy about twenty-five years ago. And to think this whole ordeal was triggered by some quick-Eze! Imagine if I hadn’t gone to the hospital — I may not be here typing this blog. I’d be dead or very unwell. It’s important to focus on the positives sometimes. This was the short version of the whole ordeal. I honestly think I have very mild PTSD because of some of the things that took place in that hospital.