The Day after the Day
By noon the intestinal bloating was again becoming intolerable. My go-to cure, ginger powder, wasn't positively impactful in the least. And neither was intestinal massage, applying a heating pad, nor wishful thinking. Heck, as I've just awoken on a Tuesday morning, my heart rate remains elevated, likely due to the internal intestinal pressure.
Anyway, because they do not offer proper care here at the nursing home, I had to hit the road. Because really, if I were to patiently wait for prescribed gluten-free simethicone to arrive at my bedside, it's highly possible my heart rate would have accelerated beyond light speed. And nobody here in their right mind wanted to clean up that.
The nurse on-duty called my primary physician to request transport… (except the primary listed wasn't my primary care physician). So then eventually they figured out who was whom, and sent out the request, my needing to be deflated.
They also called my emergency contact, the person formerly (as of 19 days ago) known as my wife. So I tripped out for a moment or three, fearing she may become involved. But fortunately, she didn't answer the phone or respond to the messages left behind. And that's not surprising.
I immediately changed my emergency contact to … my medical advocate. Sure, she's two thousand miles away, and I've only known her for what.. 19 days? But she's been more helpful, supportive, and just plain old caring (in these recent days) than anybody else (outside of this forum) in these past several years.
Yeah. Different people are capable of different things. And everybody's good at something. Blame is unnecessary. And disappointment is a real thing. Right now, my advocate is good at being there, as needed. And that's exactly what I require.
And so you know, it's not a one-way street. At least, I do not suspect, because that's what my advocate tells me. In a sense, I return the favor.
Come to think of it, am I being too demanding of my resources here? Jeeze, I used to help out a fair amount more in and around the forum. If any of you need what I have (Howard thinks long and hard) ... an ability to put things into perspective? ..dial me up. I mean, I think that's what I am capable of doing. Does that sound right?)
Medically? No. Please. DO NOT rely on me. You will die. Well, you'll die somewhat at ease, at least.. knowing your intestinal motility has been satisfactorily resolved by way of ingesting ground ginger powder.
Not wanting to unnecessarily worry the former wife (in case that's suddenly become a thing), I eventually texted the daughter of my former wife, letting her know that I was okay, while also explaining that her mother had been removed as an emergency contact on all fronts and would no longer be bothered.
Her daughter was pleased to hear from me (we've had a very good, mutually emotionally available relationship over the years), but I'm not going to make a habit of contacting her at this time (which I'd already explained to her, via email exchanges).
At the Hospital
Empty. Totally empty. E.R. was dead. And I was not. No, I was merely inflated beyond bounds ever known.
Either way, the staff descended upon me. I was big news. The only news. So the doctor (and her student nurse) locked right in. The doctor? Wow, I was impressed merely watching her process. Assess. Conclude. She had a subtle intensity, combined with empathy. And so you know, as a tribute to the doctor, I am never ever removing my hospital wrist band, because…? Her name is on there, just above the barcode. Haha! And she impressed me in such a way.
Yes, I am weird.
Oh, and of course I got the, "You CANNOT be in your 50's" reaction from the entire roomful, which sometimes helps. I mean, why not? When you're 6 feet tall, 123lbs, and bedridden, you take what you can get!
And really, I think it's more so the way I carry myself, than anything else. The way I communicate and interact. It is funny though.
So of course, the next line of questioning had to do with me currently residing in a nursing home (come on people, what about my darned bloating/heart rate issue!?). Apparently, I'm not the nursing home type.. which we sort of already know.
Anyway, a succession of staff members came into my room throughout the night, seeking additional details and background regarding my recent transition, while also offering to help.
"Maybe you should write a book."
Yeah. Perhaps I should, haha!
The best part was Dallas. You remember him, don't you? We last connected in June, during my tube replacement/bedsore visit. That's the time wherein the caregiving company assigned one of their administrators to communicate for me and on my behalf. Why? Because I was so severely affected by the paramedics' handling of me, carrying me down those difficult stairs. Talking, much less, breathing freely, were slow to return (typically, an hour or two). So yes, I needed somebody there to help. To protect.
Anyway, I was glad to see my friend, and we quickly got back into it as he probed my forearm, seeking out a most proper place to poke me. You see, Dallas used to be an air transport medic, covering much of the borderland. So he takes pride in being able to place an IV under any circumstances.
"Easy as cake," he tells me.
He hung out with me for 20 minutes or so, as we discussed this and that. And he also shared valuable insight regarding my nursing home, and others in the immediate vicinity. Instances of neglect, yes, too many of those. And he also mentioned the resulting heavy fines had been levied in the past (not my facility). He, as well as other hospital staff, encouraged me to report any issues.
Later, as my nurse came off her shift, she stopped by, offering assurance that things would be okay. She smiled, then gently rubbed my shoulder before she left. And damn. I needed that. How very nice of her. Perhaps she knew.
Before I departed, the charge nurse came back in and packed my lunch (travel) bag with extra supplies, a dropper, saline syringes, and some take home simethicone.
"Don't let them take this away from you," she instructed.
Also, my always-on-top-of-everything advocate instructed me to request a referral for a G.I., which my doctor readily provided.
Oh, and the CT scan revealed numerous bladder stones, but nothing else of consequence. The Superior Mesenteric Artery did not appear to be pinching off my duodenum, but the CT method utilized wouldn't have identified that anyway.
Back Home (much later)
Eh, pretty much the end of the story. I slept a few hours, then by 7am my bpm's dropped into the 90's.
No outdoors for me. Listened to music, quietly. Room dark most of the day. Then… my little sister called at 1051pm, in a panic.
"Are you awake?"
"Sure, why not?" I responded.
And immediately, she gets into it, because.. she smells smoke in her house. And her electrical outlets are flashing red, making odd clicking sounds. And most importantly, how is she going to charge her cell phone?
Long story short, I have her call her only neighbor. And fortunately, her only remaining neighbor is a volunteer firefighter (everyone else already moved off the mountain, not wanting to get snowed-in all winter). So the neighbor recruits the rest of the firefighting gang down in the valley, and they arrive within an hour.
It turns out there was an area wide power surge in her small community that happened to fry her electrical system.
I was up until 1am (otherwise occupied on my phone) by the time the "all clear" was given.
An electrician came out yesterday and did the best he could for a reasonable price.
Slumber Party
Oh. I slept 5 hours. In a row! It's a once per week occurrence of late. Somewhat surprisingly, I've been getting by on three or four hours, mostly.
Right now it's 5am on the following day. My roommate had medical things going on for the past 106 minutes (to be exact), so I may only get three hours sleep for now. Of course, he's already back to snoring. He did, however, apologize for the inconvenience.
And…. yesterday Jeff told me that he appreciated having me for a roommate, mentioning how smart I am, while also thanking me for helping him. He's been much much quieter of late, too.
In tomorrow's edition, we'll discuss ...missing formula feeds. Yes, three in the past four days! It's becoming a bit of a problem.
Take care,
Howard
By noon the intestinal bloating was again becoming intolerable. My go-to cure, ginger powder, wasn't positively impactful in the least. And neither was intestinal massage, applying a heating pad, nor wishful thinking. Heck, as I've just awoken on a Tuesday morning, my heart rate remains elevated, likely due to the internal intestinal pressure.
Anyway, because they do not offer proper care here at the nursing home, I had to hit the road. Because really, if I were to patiently wait for prescribed gluten-free simethicone to arrive at my bedside, it's highly possible my heart rate would have accelerated beyond light speed. And nobody here in their right mind wanted to clean up that.
The nurse on-duty called my primary physician to request transport… (except the primary listed wasn't my primary care physician). So then eventually they figured out who was whom, and sent out the request, my needing to be deflated.
They also called my emergency contact, the person formerly (as of 19 days ago) known as my wife. So I tripped out for a moment or three, fearing she may become involved. But fortunately, she didn't answer the phone or respond to the messages left behind. And that's not surprising.
I immediately changed my emergency contact to … my medical advocate. Sure, she's two thousand miles away, and I've only known her for what.. 19 days? But she's been more helpful, supportive, and just plain old caring (in these recent days) than anybody else (outside of this forum) in these past several years.
Yeah. Different people are capable of different things. And everybody's good at something. Blame is unnecessary. And disappointment is a real thing. Right now, my advocate is good at being there, as needed. And that's exactly what I require.
And so you know, it's not a one-way street. At least, I do not suspect, because that's what my advocate tells me. In a sense, I return the favor.
Come to think of it, am I being too demanding of my resources here? Jeeze, I used to help out a fair amount more in and around the forum. If any of you need what I have (Howard thinks long and hard) ... an ability to put things into perspective? ..dial me up. I mean, I think that's what I am capable of doing. Does that sound right?)
Medically? No. Please. DO NOT rely on me. You will die. Well, you'll die somewhat at ease, at least.. knowing your intestinal motility has been satisfactorily resolved by way of ingesting ground ginger powder.
Not wanting to unnecessarily worry the former wife (in case that's suddenly become a thing), I eventually texted the daughter of my former wife, letting her know that I was okay, while also explaining that her mother had been removed as an emergency contact on all fronts and would no longer be bothered.
Her daughter was pleased to hear from me (we've had a very good, mutually emotionally available relationship over the years), but I'm not going to make a habit of contacting her at this time (which I'd already explained to her, via email exchanges).
At the Hospital
Empty. Totally empty. E.R. was dead. And I was not. No, I was merely inflated beyond bounds ever known.
Either way, the staff descended upon me. I was big news. The only news. So the doctor (and her student nurse) locked right in. The doctor? Wow, I was impressed merely watching her process. Assess. Conclude. She had a subtle intensity, combined with empathy. And so you know, as a tribute to the doctor, I am never ever removing my hospital wrist band, because…? Her name is on there, just above the barcode. Haha! And she impressed me in such a way.
Yes, I am weird.
Oh, and of course I got the, "You CANNOT be in your 50's" reaction from the entire roomful, which sometimes helps. I mean, why not? When you're 6 feet tall, 123lbs, and bedridden, you take what you can get!
And really, I think it's more so the way I carry myself, than anything else. The way I communicate and interact. It is funny though.
So of course, the next line of questioning had to do with me currently residing in a nursing home (come on people, what about my darned bloating/heart rate issue!?). Apparently, I'm not the nursing home type.. which we sort of already know.
Anyway, a succession of staff members came into my room throughout the night, seeking additional details and background regarding my recent transition, while also offering to help.
"Maybe you should write a book."
Yeah. Perhaps I should, haha!
The best part was Dallas. You remember him, don't you? We last connected in June, during my tube replacement/bedsore visit. That's the time wherein the caregiving company assigned one of their administrators to communicate for me and on my behalf. Why? Because I was so severely affected by the paramedics' handling of me, carrying me down those difficult stairs. Talking, much less, breathing freely, were slow to return (typically, an hour or two). So yes, I needed somebody there to help. To protect.
Anyway, I was glad to see my friend, and we quickly got back into it as he probed my forearm, seeking out a most proper place to poke me. You see, Dallas used to be an air transport medic, covering much of the borderland. So he takes pride in being able to place an IV under any circumstances.
"Easy as cake," he tells me.
He hung out with me for 20 minutes or so, as we discussed this and that. And he also shared valuable insight regarding my nursing home, and others in the immediate vicinity. Instances of neglect, yes, too many of those. And he also mentioned the resulting heavy fines had been levied in the past (not my facility). He, as well as other hospital staff, encouraged me to report any issues.
Later, as my nurse came off her shift, she stopped by, offering assurance that things would be okay. She smiled, then gently rubbed my shoulder before she left. And damn. I needed that. How very nice of her. Perhaps she knew.
Before I departed, the charge nurse came back in and packed my lunch (travel) bag with extra supplies, a dropper, saline syringes, and some take home simethicone.
"Don't let them take this away from you," she instructed.
Also, my always-on-top-of-everything advocate instructed me to request a referral for a G.I., which my doctor readily provided.
Oh, and the CT scan revealed numerous bladder stones, but nothing else of consequence. The Superior Mesenteric Artery did not appear to be pinching off my duodenum, but the CT method utilized wouldn't have identified that anyway.
Back Home (much later)
Eh, pretty much the end of the story. I slept a few hours, then by 7am my bpm's dropped into the 90's.
No outdoors for me. Listened to music, quietly. Room dark most of the day. Then… my little sister called at 1051pm, in a panic.
"Are you awake?"
"Sure, why not?" I responded.
And immediately, she gets into it, because.. she smells smoke in her house. And her electrical outlets are flashing red, making odd clicking sounds. And most importantly, how is she going to charge her cell phone?
Long story short, I have her call her only neighbor. And fortunately, her only remaining neighbor is a volunteer firefighter (everyone else already moved off the mountain, not wanting to get snowed-in all winter). So the neighbor recruits the rest of the firefighting gang down in the valley, and they arrive within an hour.
It turns out there was an area wide power surge in her small community that happened to fry her electrical system.
I was up until 1am (otherwise occupied on my phone) by the time the "all clear" was given.
An electrician came out yesterday and did the best he could for a reasonable price.
Slumber Party
Oh. I slept 5 hours. In a row! It's a once per week occurrence of late. Somewhat surprisingly, I've been getting by on three or four hours, mostly.
Right now it's 5am on the following day. My roommate had medical things going on for the past 106 minutes (to be exact), so I may only get three hours sleep for now. Of course, he's already back to snoring. He did, however, apologize for the inconvenience.
And…. yesterday Jeff told me that he appreciated having me for a roommate, mentioning how smart I am, while also thanking me for helping him. He's been much much quieter of late, too.
In tomorrow's edition, we'll discuss ...missing formula feeds. Yes, three in the past four days! It's becoming a bit of a problem.
Take care,
Howard
