He said he was vomiting every 20 minutes. But besides that and a cut on his forehead you couldn’t tell anything had happened. He waited on the sidewalk for a bit until he realized he had a cell phone. He got worried that he forgot he had a cell phone. He called a friend to come pick him up.
They drove to the grocery store.
“So what happened man?”
“Got in a wreck.”
He starts vomiting again.
He gets a call. It’s the doctor.
“Where are you?”
“You discharged me.”
“For Christ sakes get back here.”
“But you discharged me.”
“Get back here.”
They gave him the anti-nausea medication they give to chemo patients, but he still couldn’t keep anything down for two weeks. He says the next three months were like a dream, the kind where you can feel yourself tossing in the sheets but can’t wake up. The room would turn when he sat down. Talking was difficult, and usually felt like more work than he was willing to do.
Then he got hit on his head with a nail gun. Working on a crew in Friday Harbor a guy on the roof, still hung-over from the night before, lost his grip. The 15 pound gun hit right above my friend’s right ear.
When he got up he said his eyes felt different. Everything looked cleaner.