After no sleep thursday night because I just couldn't get my breath when I layed down, enough was enough, and after a few phone calls my wife took me to the ER of a hospital 30 miles away from home. They ask a lot of questions, and poked, prodded, and listened as I sat on a gurney that was like cement. I was hooked up to a machine that checked my heart, and with those two little plastic tubes up my nose giving me oxygen that smelled like wine gone bad I started down the road that 3 1/2 hours later led to me jumping off the gurney with a behind I couldn't feel any more, blood streaming down both arms because they couldn't get a needle in my veins, and a blood pressure deal on my arm that felt like Hulk Hogan squeezing it when it kicked in. Finally Doctor Sanchez walked inlooking like a retired bull fighter, and in a thick Mexican accent asked how I was doing tonight. ten seconds into my rant I looked over to my wife setting quietly in a chair in the corner and got the look. You know the one that says your being a idiot again dear, so I buttoned my lip and let her take over. She stood up and walked over to the Doctor and started talking to him in a low voice that I couldn't even hear. Whin five minutes I was taken up to a room and my healing was started with some meds, and a pretty good dinner. They gave me lasix for the water in my lungs, and the next afternoon with a prescription in hand I left the hospital feeling like a new man. Its too bad they seem to have to hurt you before the healing starts, but it seems thats sop for a hospital.