***CAUTION: The following is a pitiful rant. Feel free to just skip this one.***
Mamacita always says I'm a perpetual optimist...no matter how much crud life throws at me, I plow on, laughing through the tears, looking for the bright side, keeping hope alive. That always filled me with a secret sense of pride. I. AM. TOUGH.
Those stress charts that gauge how much life events affect a person? In the last ten years, three different doctors have told me I've had a decade of scoring in the high to dangerous range. Did I let that get me down? Hell, no! Keep on keepin' on...and smile, goddamnit!!! There's always someone worse off than me so suck it up, buttercup.
And I've tried. When my life was shattered and I had to start anew at 29, I did. Three kids counting on me, dontcha know? Three amazing treasures, so I got down to the business of regrouping and rebuilding. No matter what was thrown at me...and there was some seriously nasty shit...I kept trying. When I lost my dad I was devestated. Too young, not fair!! But I kept trying. Every time I came close to losing my mom, I kept trying. When I caught a freak virus that permanently damaged my heart at 32, I was seriously challenged in the optimism department. But hey, I was fucking lucky to survive, so I kept trying. Clinical depression and PTSD? Wasn't going to let that conquer me. Did the therapy, take the medication, and live with it. Accept what the doctors say...the periods of extreme stress take a toll, both physically and mentally. Keep trying.
Then came 2007. Mamacita's heart attack. Manimal's dad a few days later. We're still raw and grieving, trying to recover from the early part of the year. The business fiasco. Yeah, we spent a ginormous amount of money on Lawyerman and ended up saving our company. Damage control. Regroup. Think that doesn't cause stress in the home? Hah ha ha. At least we won. Why wouldn't I keep trying to be optimistic and cheery? Nothing but good times ahead, right?
In the past few weeks, I learned my brother's wife has cancer. My father's first wife, who is my half-sibing's mom, has been battling breast cancer. A friend was diagnosed with a treatable but nasty, debilitating, incurable disease. Another friend received news he's terminal. I'm scared and heartbroken for all of them. My half-sister on my mom's side tried to kill herself. I know she didn't exactly check the date first, but it was a double whammy to me that her attempt was on the anniversary of my dad's death. The date played no part in her reason...I doubt she even knew. I hope she's finally accepted that she's bi-polar and stays on the goddamn medication. I don't think I could watch her do that to her kids again. Oh, and I tried to follow my conscience in an ugly little matter amongst friends and probably made it all worse. The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions.
I'm starting to think I'm radio-active.
Tonight, I just wish someone would call off whatever gods I pissed off in my former life. I'm done. I get it, okay? I'm not tough. I'm absolutely fucking broken.
Since we all had a nasty bug a few weeks ago, Manimal's been sick. He just couldn't seem to shake it and went through two bouts of antibiotics. He's been to our GP twice and had one emergency room trip last week. God bless the joke that is our health-care system. But hey, it's free, right?
Saturday night, he was in such horrific abdominal pain and had been vomiting so violently, I took him to the hospital. I can't even begin to describe how fucking scary it was to see him like that. As much as I tease him that I have a higher pain-tolerance than he does, it was like nothing I've ever seen him go through before. I had to dress him. Half-carried him to the car. He lay in the back seat, moaning in agony while I raced to emerg. Looking back, I haven't got a clue why I didn't call an ambulance. Maybe if I had, he'd have gotten better care.
As it was, the moronic male triage nurse, whom I WILL get fired, was absolutely ignorant. Lawyerman will be getting another visit from me very soon because I'm going to sue the hopsital for negligence. Manimal begged repeatedly to lie down while answering questions, and was refused. You want to cry? Try listening to your mate, doubled over and clutching his stomach say, "Please, sir, I can't sit like this. I need to lie down. I'm in terrible pain." Go ahead and try to remain calm and non-combative when the insensitve, negligent prick taking vitals has the goddamn nerve to scold, "Yes, well you're an adult, so you'll have to wait while we take care of a few things. I have to figure out where we're going to put you." Imagine if you will, it's four am. There is one person in the waiting room. Not triaged patients. Simply a man waiting for someone who is being treated. Clearly the emergency room was too fucking busy and overwhelmed to let him lay on a gurney while I made sure the fucking hospital would get paid. God knows, they probably didn't have his health card number or DND information on file from his visit the week before! Nope, the nurse directs Manimal to the waiting room until I've gotten him registered. Except, the admissions clerk is on coffee break. So for 15 minutes, while I told myself it wouldn't do any good and could cause serious harm if I went postal, Manimal lay on the tile floor in the waiting room in the fetal position.
Six hours later, he'd had bloodwork, x-rays and a shot of Demerol. They sent him home with a prescription for anti-biotics and Tylenol 3. "Probably an infection in the intestines and the bowell went into spasms. You should be feeling better in a few days. If the pain worsens, come back. Otherwise follow up with your GP in a week."
I've barely slept in days. Constantly checking on him, hoping he would get better as he slept, feeling totally helpless as I tried anything I could think of to make him more comfortable. He was only allowed clear fluids and I kept pushing them so he wouldn't get dehydrated. I think he wanted to throw a few glasses of ginger ale in my face. Tried to amuse myself trying to get a computer virus off my laptop. Goddamn you too, Messyenger!! By Monday afternoon I started getting really scared. He was still in terrible pain in spite of the meds, nauseous, short of breath and so damn weak he had to take a break when walking from the bed to the bathroom. By the time he'd get back to bed, he was too weak to cover himself up with the blankets. I wanted to take him back in. He wanted to give it a little more time. Can't imagine why he didn't want to go back to the happy place. Monday night he complained he was really cold, but didn't have a fever. He thought maybe a warm bath would help. That completely drained him and he was shaking by the time he got back into bed. In the night, he threw up again and finally agreed I could take him back in after he'd slept for a bit. I checked on him every hour and wouldn't ya know it? He slept pretty good, so I think he was hoping the worst was over. Tuesday morning when I took his temperature, he had a fever.
This time, the emergency room wait was six hours before they finally took him in, so no, the care wasn't any better. But they sure hustled when they got his x-rays this time. An hour later, he was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital the next town over for emergency surgery. When they took him into the OR, the only information I had was that something had ruptured on Saturday night. Best case scenario: a stomach ulcer. Worst: some part of the digestive tract. If it was the digestive tract, he was being poisoned from within. Because the surgeon didn't know what it was, and didn't have the luxury of time to find out, they had to cut him from sternum to pubic bone.
I'm normally really cool in crisis. Not this time. Thank Christ and every other deity that Mamacita and SupahStah were there, because I totally fell apart. Couldn't stop crying. One thought kept racing through my head. I'm not going to be able to live with myself if he dies because I didn't throw a major hissy fit while he lay on that fucking tile floor Saturday night.
He came through surgery and will be in hospital for about a week. I haven't got a clue how long his recovery will be. His colon was ruptured. He was being poisoned because of fucking negligence. And my inaction. Everything inside was so inflamed, he now has a colestemy bag for the next three to six months. The surgeon says after that, he'll have another operation to remove it, re-attach the colon and make everything as it should be. In his morphine haze, Manimal knows what this means, but I dread how devestated he's going to be when the drugs wear off.
41 fucking years old. Because of negligence. With a stunned, guilty, pissed-off wife who is fed up with trying to look on the bright side. I just want to be left alone to cry.
Mamacita always says I'm a perpetual optimist...no matter how much crud life throws at me, I plow on, laughing through the tears, looking for the bright side, keeping hope alive. That always filled me with a secret sense of pride. I. AM. TOUGH.
Those stress charts that gauge how much life events affect a person? In the last ten years, three different doctors have told me I've had a decade of scoring in the high to dangerous range. Did I let that get me down? Hell, no! Keep on keepin' on...and smile, goddamnit!!! There's always someone worse off than me so suck it up, buttercup.
And I've tried. When my life was shattered and I had to start anew at 29, I did. Three kids counting on me, dontcha know? Three amazing treasures, so I got down to the business of regrouping and rebuilding. No matter what was thrown at me...and there was some seriously nasty shit...I kept trying. When I lost my dad I was devestated. Too young, not fair!! But I kept trying. Every time I came close to losing my mom, I kept trying. When I caught a freak virus that permanently damaged my heart at 32, I was seriously challenged in the optimism department. But hey, I was fucking lucky to survive, so I kept trying. Clinical depression and PTSD? Wasn't going to let that conquer me. Did the therapy, take the medication, and live with it. Accept what the doctors say...the periods of extreme stress take a toll, both physically and mentally. Keep trying.
Then came 2007. Mamacita's heart attack. Manimal's dad a few days later. We're still raw and grieving, trying to recover from the early part of the year. The business fiasco. Yeah, we spent a ginormous amount of money on Lawyerman and ended up saving our company. Damage control. Regroup. Think that doesn't cause stress in the home? Hah ha ha. At least we won. Why wouldn't I keep trying to be optimistic and cheery? Nothing but good times ahead, right?
In the past few weeks, I learned my brother's wife has cancer. My father's first wife, who is my half-sibing's mom, has been battling breast cancer. A friend was diagnosed with a treatable but nasty, debilitating, incurable disease. Another friend received news he's terminal. I'm scared and heartbroken for all of them. My half-sister on my mom's side tried to kill herself. I know she didn't exactly check the date first, but it was a double whammy to me that her attempt was on the anniversary of my dad's death. The date played no part in her reason...I doubt she even knew. I hope she's finally accepted that she's bi-polar and stays on the goddamn medication. I don't think I could watch her do that to her kids again. Oh, and I tried to follow my conscience in an ugly little matter amongst friends and probably made it all worse. The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions.
I'm starting to think I'm radio-active.
Tonight, I just wish someone would call off whatever gods I pissed off in my former life. I'm done. I get it, okay? I'm not tough. I'm absolutely fucking broken.
Since we all had a nasty bug a few weeks ago, Manimal's been sick. He just couldn't seem to shake it and went through two bouts of antibiotics. He's been to our GP twice and had one emergency room trip last week. God bless the joke that is our health-care system. But hey, it's free, right?
Saturday night, he was in such horrific abdominal pain and had been vomiting so violently, I took him to the hospital. I can't even begin to describe how fucking scary it was to see him like that. As much as I tease him that I have a higher pain-tolerance than he does, it was like nothing I've ever seen him go through before. I had to dress him. Half-carried him to the car. He lay in the back seat, moaning in agony while I raced to emerg. Looking back, I haven't got a clue why I didn't call an ambulance. Maybe if I had, he'd have gotten better care.
As it was, the moronic male triage nurse, whom I WILL get fired, was absolutely ignorant. Lawyerman will be getting another visit from me very soon because I'm going to sue the hopsital for negligence. Manimal begged repeatedly to lie down while answering questions, and was refused. You want to cry? Try listening to your mate, doubled over and clutching his stomach say, "Please, sir, I can't sit like this. I need to lie down. I'm in terrible pain." Go ahead and try to remain calm and non-combative when the insensitve, negligent prick taking vitals has the goddamn nerve to scold, "Yes, well you're an adult, so you'll have to wait while we take care of a few things. I have to figure out where we're going to put you." Imagine if you will, it's four am. There is one person in the waiting room. Not triaged patients. Simply a man waiting for someone who is being treated. Clearly the emergency room was too fucking busy and overwhelmed to let him lay on a gurney while I made sure the fucking hospital would get paid. God knows, they probably didn't have his health card number or DND information on file from his visit the week before! Nope, the nurse directs Manimal to the waiting room until I've gotten him registered. Except, the admissions clerk is on coffee break. So for 15 minutes, while I told myself it wouldn't do any good and could cause serious harm if I went postal, Manimal lay on the tile floor in the waiting room in the fetal position.
Six hours later, he'd had bloodwork, x-rays and a shot of Demerol. They sent him home with a prescription for anti-biotics and Tylenol 3. "Probably an infection in the intestines and the bowell went into spasms. You should be feeling better in a few days. If the pain worsens, come back. Otherwise follow up with your GP in a week."
I've barely slept in days. Constantly checking on him, hoping he would get better as he slept, feeling totally helpless as I tried anything I could think of to make him more comfortable. He was only allowed clear fluids and I kept pushing them so he wouldn't get dehydrated. I think he wanted to throw a few glasses of ginger ale in my face. Tried to amuse myself trying to get a computer virus off my laptop. Goddamn you too, Messyenger!! By Monday afternoon I started getting really scared. He was still in terrible pain in spite of the meds, nauseous, short of breath and so damn weak he had to take a break when walking from the bed to the bathroom. By the time he'd get back to bed, he was too weak to cover himself up with the blankets. I wanted to take him back in. He wanted to give it a little more time. Can't imagine why he didn't want to go back to the happy place. Monday night he complained he was really cold, but didn't have a fever. He thought maybe a warm bath would help. That completely drained him and he was shaking by the time he got back into bed. In the night, he threw up again and finally agreed I could take him back in after he'd slept for a bit. I checked on him every hour and wouldn't ya know it? He slept pretty good, so I think he was hoping the worst was over. Tuesday morning when I took his temperature, he had a fever.
This time, the emergency room wait was six hours before they finally took him in, so no, the care wasn't any better. But they sure hustled when they got his x-rays this time. An hour later, he was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital the next town over for emergency surgery. When they took him into the OR, the only information I had was that something had ruptured on Saturday night. Best case scenario: a stomach ulcer. Worst: some part of the digestive tract. If it was the digestive tract, he was being poisoned from within. Because the surgeon didn't know what it was, and didn't have the luxury of time to find out, they had to cut him from sternum to pubic bone.
I'm normally really cool in crisis. Not this time. Thank Christ and every other deity that Mamacita and SupahStah were there, because I totally fell apart. Couldn't stop crying. One thought kept racing through my head. I'm not going to be able to live with myself if he dies because I didn't throw a major hissy fit while he lay on that fucking tile floor Saturday night.
He came through surgery and will be in hospital for about a week. I haven't got a clue how long his recovery will be. His colon was ruptured. He was being poisoned because of fucking negligence. And my inaction. Everything inside was so inflamed, he now has a colestemy bag for the next three to six months. The surgeon says after that, he'll have another operation to remove it, re-attach the colon and make everything as it should be. In his morphine haze, Manimal knows what this means, but I dread how devestated he's going to be when the drugs wear off.
41 fucking years old. Because of negligence. With a stunned, guilty, pissed-off wife who is fed up with trying to look on the bright side. I just want to be left alone to cry.
7 comments:
... wow... my goodness.....
Eric
This is just beyond belief ... you are all in my thoughts. I'm so sorry! Thank goodness people were there to hold your hand.
How, just how, can this happen in civilized countries?
I have extensive working knowledge of ostomies...my oldest son had one for 10 months...so if you need any help or ideas on side effects, etc. Let me know.
Easy Janet, b/c we don't take responsibility for our own health care. And we're all to blame for it.
It's only b/c of the boys and their dx's that I've learned that the medical system doesn't expect you to be nice if you expect answers. If you are sick, they want to see you NOW, not later. When they say "come back", that's 24hrs tops from now, not next week.
But we're use to over the counter meds. Feeling like we are inconvieniencing people over a silly cold or the stomach bug, that we don't go like we should.
I refuse to go to my local hospital, it's serviced by the local GP's on rotation. I go 30min W to the closest "real" hospital. I've had problems with the local one.
S.
So sorry to hear about this. Wow- Sending Xtra Strength Prayers for you all!
Holy Crap! I thought our problems were bad at the moment. Robyn, I'm sorry it took me so long to come over here to check on you!
Please let me know if I can do anything. ANYTHING!!!! Do you need another 'care package?'
You and yours are in my thoughts and prayers.
Tweet,
OMG!! I had no clue any of this was going on. Like Lemon, that will teach me to let so many days go between readings! Do you need anything??? I still have some contacts in Detroit....some big, hulking guys who can go chat with that moronic triage nurse....just sayin......sending lotsa love, hugs and prayers your way from down here in the desert.....love V.
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