sick boy. :-(

Yeah, that's Daigle. He's gonna kill me for posting that, but he sassed me last week in a taxicab and payback is a bitch.

Now, to be fair, he usually looks like this.

You may wonder why that poor kid is lying in a hospital bed at the VA here in San Francisco...so I'll fill you in on what happened. It's been a scary time for me, actually.

It started on the morning of the 4th...Daigle had called me the night before asking if I wanted to go to a party at our mutual friend Drew's house up in Twin Peaks, where we'd be able to see not only San Francisco's fireworks on the Embarcadero, but also Oakland's San Mateo's, San Bruno's, Emeryville's, and bursts of colorful sparks and flames from various Mission District and Bayview intersections here in San Freaksicko. It sounded like fun, so we agreed he'd meet my sister and me at my house, then we'd all hop into a cab and go to the party.

However, Daigle hadn't been feeling well since that morning, but being the stubborn soldier he is, he pressed on through the whole day. When he showed up, he told me he felt like he had gas pains, but was otherwise okay. Daigle, my sister, and me enjoyed a glass of wine before going to the Castro to buy some flowers, sushi, and wine, then headed up to the party.

It was a lot of fun...kinda intimate, just the four of us on the roof (everyone else who was invited totally flaked out), shivering in the advancing fog and hurricane force winds, and marveling at the stunning pyrotechnic displays unfolding in front of us. Daigle started feeling queasy, so we went back downstairs, where we continued to talk and sip wine for about another hour.

Suddenly, Daigle bolted up and said, "I have to puke."

"Go, then," I said, not wanting to actually witness it.

I figured he had a stomach flu, so I went and got him a glass of ice water, and Drew brought it to him.

Thing is, Daigle never stopped vomiting. He kept going, and going, until there was nothing left, then continued to dry heave. We quickly ruled out food poisoning, because we had all eaten the same thing, and the rest of us were fine. I quickly called my friend Joel, who is quite fond of Daigle himself and has just completed his residency.



That makes him A Real Doctor as far as I'm concerned. :-) Joel is my hero.

Joel, who was actually out drinking with his friends in North Beach (he just moved there from the Castro...smart guy), jumped into a cab and raced to the top of Twin Peaks. His initial diagnosis suspected appendicitis, but since Daigle said he wasn't feeling TOO sick, he said he could wait until morning to go to the hospital unless it got really, really bad.

Joel, Hillary, and I bade Daigle and Drew good night (Daigle opted to just crash with Drew because Drew has a car and would take him to the hospital if necessary), got into a cab, and went back downtown, with Joel jumping out at Castro and Market to continue his evening festivities.

Told you he was a cool guy. When was the last time you heard of a doctor making house calls?

I figured all was well, and got ready for bed.

My phone rang at 1:30 AM. I saw it was Daigle's number, and I answered.

"This had better not be a booty call."

"No, it's definitely not a booty call," came the shaky reply. It was Drew. "Daigle is really, really sick, and I need to take him to the hospital right now."

"Okay, which one are you taking him to?" I asked, now quite concerned.

"I don't know...San Francisco General?"

"Oh hell no, don't take him to General...he'll sit in the waiting room for hours with a bunch of tweakers while he barfs on himself. Take him to the VA, they'll see him immediately." The VA is the best hospital in the city. That's why I get all my medical care there.

"How do you know they'll see him?" asked Drew, quite upset by now, and starting to panic.

"He's active duty, he gets top priority there. Trust me." I heard Daigle retch in the background, and suddenly, I became quite scared.

I calmly gave Drew directions to the VA, which unfortunately is on the opposite end of the city out on the Pacific Ocean. Drew flew up and down the hills of Geary Boulevard at breakneck speeds; I could hear Daigle moan in pain as the seatbelt cut into his abdomen as Drew's car leapt over the abrupt grade changes at each intersection.

When they pulled up to the hospital, Daigle started throwing up the lining of his stomach all over the curb. This wasn't food poisoning, nor had Daigle had too much to drink. This was something serious, and scary. Drew was in a near panic, and I became even more frightened.

"Okay, we're going in," said Drew, with fear in his voice.

"Call me and let me know what's going on, okay?"

"Okay. Bye."

Let's just say my sleep that night was fitful, shallow, and restless.

Daigle went into surgery at 8 AM the morning of July 5th, and got out 2 hours later. Turns out, it WAS an inflamed appendix, and it had started to become septic and leach toxins into his body. Because the VA uses the best surgical procedures, instead of cutting a two inch-long incision in his abdomen, they stuck a camera in his belly button, and made a tiny incision in his groin just to move some organs out of the way to get to his appendix.

See?



He was in so much pain in that photo...and his entire body was puffy, including his face...but he was still being the bratty Daigle we all know and love.



Yeah, that's right. Eat your jello, bitch. :-)



So be sure to stop by Daigle's Junkdrawer if you want to leave a little get well message. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.

I'm just glad he's okay.

Just an afterthought here...do you remember when I said something about all of us out here being so far from our biological families, all we have is each other? This is a classic example of that. Drew rushing Daigle to the hospital. Me calling a doctor, and telling a panicked Drew which hospital to utilize. Joel abandoning his drink on the bar to rush to Daigle's side.

That's what family is all about. Drew and I bonded in the hospital's vending room yesterday evening over a microwaved taco and a can of orange Fanta...under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lighting the United States government is so fond of. He's like the mama (he's ten tears my senior) and Daigle is the little bratty brother (he's eleven years my junior).

Yet somehow, we're all on the same level, and a bit closer after this episode. I have no doubt in my mind they'd be there if anything ever happened to me, and I needed help.

It makes me feel safe.

:::UPDATE:::

Brian Shields, the online news director over at KRON-4 saw this, and decided to post this on thebayareaistalking.com, KRON-4's local blog aggregate.

I'm blogging...apparently, KRON, or at least Brian, is listening.