The 95th Floor Read online

  “Well Mr. Lundberg, it seems you had a pretty nasty fall which left you unconscious. Lucky for you, a kind gentleman who was in your store called 911 and had you brought here, the Canyon Regional Hospital.”

  “Oh Yeah. Ted…is he here?” I asked weakly.

  “No, unfortunately, nobody came here with you.”

  “Oh. Goddamn, my head hurts. Can I have some ibuprofen or something?” I asked.

  The nurse left the room and promptly came back with some painkillers for me to take. “Here you go. Take these. I just need to check your numbers here, and the doctor will be in here in a few minutes. Just relax until then Mr. Lundberg.”

  The last thing I remember was putting the paper water cup on the tray and closing my eyes. As with typical hospital terminology, ‘a few minutes’ usually means an hour or longer. This would be just about right as I was rudely awakened by the sound of the door to my room closing rather loudly and a husky man who looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in a week stood next to me.

  “Mister….Lundberg? I am Dr. Boyer, how are you feeling?” He asked with a raspy voice of someone who had seen more smoke than a forest fire. This is the kind of person you get for a doctor in small towns. Good personal health clearly isn’t the first thing on their mind.

  “Ugh…never felt better.” I replied with obvious sarcasm.

  “Hmm…funny. That gash on your forehead sure doesn’t look too pleasant. I understand you fell at work. Can you tell me what happened?”

  I stared at the ceiling for a moment trying to remember what happened. I still felt incredibly weak and tired, so thinking was something that demanded a bit of effort.

  “I remember Ted coming into the store to get his usual can of beer and pack of cigarettes. I think he said something about my nose bleeding and when I turned around to get a paper towel everything went blurry and the next thing I knew I was laying here in this bed.”

  “You don’t remember anything after that? From what I heard it looked like a slaughterhouse behind the counter you were working at.” He said with a slight chuckle.

  “I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “Well, you lost a good amount of blood, so it is no wonder you feel weak and tired. Right now you just need to relax and get some rest until your body can recover from what it lost.” He said somewhat passively. “Has this ever happened before?”

  “About a week ago I had a massive nosebleed after one of my usual headaches. That was the only time something like this has happened. I didn’t pass out that time though.”

  “Your ‘usual’ headaches?” His eyes widened with a new-found spark of interest.

  “Yeah, I’ve had these headaches or migraines for as long as I can remember. Since I was just a little kid. Only the nosebleeds just started recently. Like I said, this was only the second time it has happened like this.” I said.

  “Describe these migraines for me, what else happens when they start up?” Dr. Boyer pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and began to jot down notes as I relayed the details to him.

  “Well, headaches obviously. They usually hurt like hell. Then I get really dizzy and feel sick to my stomach. Sometimes my right ear pops, and I get this really loud ringing. It’s not the same every time, but the majority of them happen that way. They usually only last around ten or fifteen minutes, sometimes less.”

  “You said this has been happening to you since you were just a kid, right? I have no records of you coming in here for anything, not even a checkup.” He pointed out to me as he flipped through the few papers in his hand.

  “Well, I just kind of deal with it. You live with something for nearly thirty years, you just get used to it.”

  “You have never had this looked at?” He asked in astonishment.

  “I did when I was younger. I don’t remember where we went, but they could never give us a reason it was happening, so we gave up. My parents died when I was a teenager and I just never went and got myself looked at after that. I figured I’ve been living with it for this long, it couldn’t be that serious.” I admitted.

  Dr. Boyer didn’t immediately reply to what I said. He sat there jotting down notes on his clipboard like an author with a stroke of inspiration. After finishing his notes, he looked at me with the smile of someone who just figured out the solution to one of time’s long unanswered riddles.

  “Just you hold tight, I’ll be right back with you.” He said and whisked out of the room only to return less than five minutes later. “Okay Mr. Lundberg, I may not look it but I actually do know a thing or two, and I have a good idea what might be ailing you. I’m going to have you taken in to have an MRI done on that dome of yours and see what is going on in there. The radiologist will be here shortly to take you down there.”

  “Look, doctor, no offense, but if you don’t recall, I’ve been through all of this before. Nobody could tell me what it was. I’ve accepted it and really don’t feel like going through all of this again. I just want to go home and crawl into bed and just forget today ever happened.” I told him with mild irritation.

  “Well whoever you saw before couldn’t tell you what you have, but I have a good idea what it may be. I just want to make sure, and that is why we will use the MRI. Trust me, if it is what I think it is, you will have nothing to worry about, and we can have you on your way with a plan to take care of this once and for all.” He said with the same smile he had before. The only thing was, it was working on me. For some reason, he actually did sound like he knew what he was talking about. That and I really didn’t have the strength or the will to argue with him.

  “Fine. How long will it take?” I asked.

  “I’ll inform the radiologist and they can fill you in on the details. It shouldn’t take long. Just hang tight, okay?” He said, and again he whisked out the door to attend to his next patient. The short time between when he initially woke me up to when he left to page the radiologist had exhausted me. Rather than waiting for the radiologist I closed my eyes and rested until the time came they needed me awake again.

  Apparently, at this hospital, it isn’t customary to wake the patient before wheeling their bed to the MRI room, or anywhere else for that matter. When I awoke, I was in a room with the large MRI machine and who I assume was the radiologist getting the slab ready for me to lie down on. I had never been in an MRI machine before. Wherever my parents took me for checkups as a kid did not have one. Either they did not want me to go through it, or there was not one nearby in those days even though I know it was commonly used by that point. Either way, this was uncharted territory for me, and I did not know what to expect. I decided to try and see what I could get out of the radiologist in the room with me.

  “Is this the MRI room?” I asked groggily

  “Ah, Mr. Lundberg, yes. This is the machine we will use to take a look at your head and see if we can find the cause of those migraines you’ve been having.” The radiologist explained.

  “Cool. So, uh, how long will this take?”

  “Well, it really depends. Usually, a brain scan can take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. Since the doc seemed to think he knew what the issue was, we can do a more direct scan of the area in question which should shave some time off that.” He said without taking a break from prepping the machine for me.

  “Well, what do I need to do to get this going?” I was awake now, and my patience was already running thin.

  The radiologist had me lie down on the slab which felt like lying on a block of ice. A little bit of heat to warm it up would have been welcome. After getting me settled down on the slab and making sure everything was in place, I was slowly slid into the large circular machine which gave me a very intense feeling of isolation. My nerves began to act up since this was a new experience for me.

  “Okay, we are all set here. Now nothing is going to touch you or move you around, you simply need to lie still until the scan is complete. Do not be alarmed by the sounds, they may be quite loud. If you would like I can giv
e you some headphones to listen to some music while the scan is going.” He offered.

  “No thanks, you probably don’t have anything I would want to listen to anyways.” I scoffed. Another annoyance about living in Idaho is it is hard to find people with the same interest in music that I have. Most folks you meet either listen to country music or claim they will “listen to anything” meaning they don’t have a preference because they don’t really listen to music unless someone else puts it on. That kind of passive attitude towards music will always be alien to me.

  “Okie dokie, then here we go.” He warned.

  When the machine started up, it was a somewhat loud but gentle sound of something spinning. Almost like the sound of a belt-driven wheel rotating slowly. As I continued to lay there on the slab, this was the only sound I heard for a minute or so. As the monotonous noise persisted, I just closed my eyes thinking this would be an easy scan and I could just nap through it. Around the two minute mark, a deafening alarm went off that sounded akin to what an engineer would have heard in the control room at Chernobyl. Needless to say, I was not expecting this sudden blast of auditory rape. My whole body jerked, and I attempted to sit up only to smack my head on the top of the tight enclosure I was situated in. While my head caused no damage to the machine, it did cause more damage to the already bandaged gash on my forehead causing blood to seep through the fabric.

  “What the hell was that?” I yelled to anyone who might hear me.

  “Ah, sorry about that. I warned you it might be loud.” The radiologist apologized.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything about sirens or horns blasting in my ears. You can put ruptured eardrums down on my charts now in addition to everything else.”

  “Well, we are going to have to start the scan over since you moved. Do you want to reconsider wearing the headphones?” He asked trying to lighten my mood.

  “Shit, I doubt I will need them after that last one. Fine, bring them here, I’ll see if there is anything worth listening to.” I said.

  He gave me the headphones and to my surprise, I was able to listen to online radio, meaning I could literally find any type of music I wanted. This worked wonders on my mood as I was able to focus on some modern technical death metal in my ears rather than the repetitive whine of the MRI machine. Unfortunately, the alarms still bled through the music in my ears, but it was nowhere near as loud as it was the first go around and I knew to expect them this time.

  The scan finally finished just in time for me to reach the end of one of my all-time favorite albums. In the music I love, thirty minutes is the average length of a full-length album. When you are playing upwards of 300 beats per minute, thirty minutes will give a musician quite a workout, as well as the listener if he has a habit of whipping a thick mop of greasy hair about.

  Eventually, I was wheeled in my bed back to the room I started out in and remained there with the sound of my thoughts and the restless shuffle of nurses and doctors in the room outside of where I was staying. I waited a couple minutes—about an hour in ER lingo—until Dr. Boyer came back to see me.

  “Okay Mr. Lundberg, it looks like the scans and everything was completed, you can get dressed and head home if you would like. Do you have anyone you can call to pick you up?” He asked.

  “No, I have no family. No friends. No life, really. I’ll be fine on my own. So did you find anything from the scan that nearly took my forehead and my eardrums out?” I asked with a slight smirk.

  “Well, we won’t have the results right away. The radiologist needs to look over the scans, and he will get in contact with you in 24 to 48 hours. You can follow up then, and we can go over everything with you at that point. Are you sure you will be fine on your own?”

  “Yep, just another day in the life of Stan Lundberg. Well, aside from the bloody nose. I’ll be fine, doctor.”

  “Okay, well just get yourself some rest and try to take it easy. We will contact you as soon as we can.”

  “Thanks, doc.” I said and walked the three long miles back to my house.

  When I finally arrived, I walked through the door and plopped on my couch like a drunkard after a kegger. Only I wasn’t drunk or partying. I felt like boiled over shit and would have been completely okay with dying right then and there. But that would have to wait as I wanted nothing more than to finally get some uninterrupted sleep. Everything else could wait until the morning.

  Chapter 2

  If I could say that I have been lucky once in my life, it is because I managed to get weekends off at my job. Though I can’t say I am proud to admit it is only because I have worked at the same gas station for 6 years now, an eternity in the illustrious career of gas station attending. Regardless of that embarrassing fact, it worked out to my advantage. I managed to catch up on nearly eighteen hours of rejuvenating dreamless sleep since I got home from the hospital.

  After making myself upright and cracking all of my stiff and aching joints I noticed in my rush to crash on the couch that I left the front door slightly ajar. One advantage to living in a small Idaho town is the relatively low crime. Leaving one’s doors unlocked or even cracked open usually isn’t something to worry about although it is never a recommended thing to do in any place. Not that I would have much to worry about in the first place. The overgrown shrubbery and lack of any proper landscaping isn’t exactly an invitation for any would-be burglar seeking expensive materials to pilfer. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

  After closing the door and waddling to the bathroom with an unwelcome hard-on due to my bladder being past the point of maximum capacity—and pissing with enough pressure as to nearly chip the porcelain in the toilet bowl—I checked my phone to see a missed call from what could only be the hospital—almost nobody calls me except for my work when they need someone to fill in. Even though I still held zero expectation of any actual results, I politely returned their call.

  Of course, they would not give me the results over the phone since Dr. Boyer wanted to review them with me, face to face. The earliest I could secure an appointment would be first thing Monday morning. Until then, I had the weekend to myself to do whatever my heart desired. What does a loser like me do to entertain himself you ask? I am a history nut and not ashamed of it in the least. My appearance may strongly suggest that I have bent spoons with sticky tar stains in every nook and cranny of my house. That would be a completely incorrect stereotype, my friend. My days of dabbling in drugs are long past me. Like anything else—except books anyways—drugs became boring. Instead, I can sit and read history books about nearly any topic from sun-up to sun-down. I will admit that my curiosity peaks with topics of war and mayhem.

  Sadly, the money my parents left me slowly dwindled due to my lack of commitment to finding steady or good paying work. When I did spend money, it was usually to pay any bills I had, and I always treated myself to a new stack of books to read. Bookshelves line most of my walls, and I love it that way. If my house ever caught fire, at least I know my death would be quick with the amount of kindling sitting on all those shelves.

  Since it was only Saturday evening and I had nothing to do until Monday, I ventured into the kitchen and prepared a pot of French Vanilla coffee, and settled on a book compiling most of history’s major aviation accidents and the subsequent investigations of them. Airplanes have fascinated me since childhood. I also had a morbid curiosity with disasters, man-made as well as natural ones. If my life hadn’t taken such a drastic turn in my teens, it is possible I would have been a pilot. I sure wish there was a way to go back and alter history. Too bad that is impossible.

  Monday morning, the sun rose with an intensity that normally would have kept me inside the house with a blanket over my head and the air conditioning at maximum. Summer in Idaho could sometimes compete with the Sahara Desert in terms of arid heat. At least that is how it feels to a pasty white homebody with a preference for all black clothing. Nevertheless, I dressed in my usual weekend attire, ate a heaping bowl of cereal, and set out for the hospita
l.

  As I arrived at the hospital, my nerves seemed to begin acting on their own. I hadn’t had any coffee or any caffeinated drinks before leaving the house yet my hands were shaking and tremoring as if I had. Yet another reason to add to the list of reasons why I avoid going to doctors.

  After waiting the usual thirty or so minutes, I finally heard my name called to be walked into Dr. Boyer’s office. Once I sat down and looked at the good doctor, I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever showered as he looked even worse than he did during my ER visit.

  “Ah, Mr. Lundberg. Feeling better today, I hope?” He said with the very same smile he had two nights prior.

  “Yes, my eardrums have recovered nicely, thank you.” I said.

  “Right…Well, that is good to hear, how about your head? Any nosebleeds or anything unusual?” He asked before also adding, “aside from your usual headaches.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for the 18 hours after I got home because I was literally dead to the world during that time. But, I didn’t wake up in a pool of blood if that speaks for anything.”

  “Good to hear.” He said while pulling out a manila folder which contained some papers regarding the MRI results. “Well, I have good news for the both of us. First, I was right.” He said staring at me.

  “Ummm…okay, congratulations?” I said looking puzzled.

  “Oh come on, not even a chuckle? I was right with my hunch. I told you I knew a thing or two and the MRI results proved it. The culprit inside your skull is what is called a vestibular schwannoma, otherwise known as an acoustic neuroma. Basically, you have a benign tumor pressing on a major nerve that connects your inner ear to your brain. It is uncommon for children to develop one but not unheard of.” He then pulled out what looked like a scan of the right side as well as a birds-eye view of my cranium. “If you look here on the right side by your ear there is a small white circle. That is your little friend in your head.”

  “Okay, well, this is the first I'm hearing anything other than ‘we don’t know.’ So what can we do about it?” I asked with a serious tone. There was no way I could hide my excitement of the fact that I finally have results.