"Every government interference in the economy consists of giving an unearned benefit, extorted by force, to some men at the expense of others." Ayn Rand

Sunday, December 28, 2008

The Hospital....part 3.

Ok, now where was I. Ah yes.

Wednesday. Still in the hospital, and not one doctor has said "you can go home today". But the catheter is still in...we're hoping it'll come out today.

Appearance wise, he's looking better.




Not his hands, though. The broken wrist was wrapped up in bandages, but his fingers were swollen to what appeared to be a painful size, and were shades of greenish black. (Honestly, the picture really doesn't do them justice, they were much greener, dark green.) They have made me cry, several times. I look at them and cry a bit.
We settle into our "morning routine", tea (with no milk for Richard, due to the liquid diet), the newspaper and the morning news. Get Richard washed up, change the bedding, change the hospital gown. A few hours pass...

Great news...the catheter is coming out today! The catheter comes out, the liquid diet goes out the window, he can get out of bed to pee....things are starting to look up. OK, this is a bright spot, and we're both encouraged. Removal is short and sweet. Lunch is ordered up, and the physical therapists come again to work with Richard.

That was the plan. But he still can't put any weight on his ankle, and only a bit on his other knee. They are both swollen, and he really can't walk more than a few steps. Sitting up in the chair is too painful for him to bear for more than 10 minutes. Lunch comes, he eats a bit, and can't keep it down. (Actually, I used the term "lunch" very loosely. These pictures are of the PRMC version of "Hawiian Chicken" and "chocolate pudding". As you can see, it was a big hit with Richard.)



This is obviously not going according to plan. The longer he stays in here, the worse he's getting.

Dr. Cuomo comes in in the afternoon, to talk about Friday's surgery. It's obvious now that Richard won't be coming home until at least Saturday. But we both know that there are so many questions that need answers, and he's in the best place to try and get these answers.
Diane and Joe come; Mom and Dad Demers are there, the kids, Maggie and Roger and Max pop in and out; Barbara and Randy come from Milford with a huge basket of fruit and candy from the Guiding Eyes Delmarva Region. Linda K. comes to visit. Vicky and Larry come in. The phone rings, people from his work are calling to see how he is doing; his secretary, his bosses. I try and keep everyone updated via text messages...the blackberry has been a godsend. I can send one text out to ten people at a time...everyone is so worried, and I think that having "morning updates" and "evening updates" are helping to ease their minds. I truly don't think I could have made all those phone calls to all those people. I just didn't have it in me. (Actually, if I had to, I would have. But I wouldn't have been able to convey all the information I could texting.)

For the two days that follow, basically not too much happens; we wait for Friday. We find out the surgery isn't until 2:45 pm, which stinks. Waiting all day for anything is hard, because theres no food, no drinking all day. We pass the time as best we can. Richard doesn't really improve at all during these two days. He's not getting a whole lot of rest though; he's had a series of roommates that are pretty hard of hearing, plus most of the hospital staff feel the need to TALK VERY LOUDLY and move the furniture all around when they come in to take care of him. Plus he can't remember how to work the television, so he calls the nurse once every twenty minutes or so. We chuckled about it in the beginning, but at this point, there's not much we can laugh about.

At about 2:00 pm, the transportation department comes up to get him; he'll be coming back to the same room, so everything can be left; that's one thing I don't have to worry about. Richard is on a special ICU bed, so there is (once again) great trouble moving him out of the room without hitting everything in the path of the bed. (Actually, the hospital now has a uniform color code for all their workers. Transportation workers wear beige scrubs; doctors wear white, nurses wear white and blue. But I didn't need to identify these transportation girls by the color of their uniforms. I could tell right away that they were nowhere near rocket scientist level, and were well suited to wear beige.) Poor Richard with his broken body is being taken down to surgery, and he's being banged off the walls like he's in a pinball machine. At this point, nothing is funny, we're both nervous, and this is finally getting underway. I walk down with him to the OR prep room, and then they tell me I can't be in there; I have to wait in the waiting room, and they'll call me when they've prepped him. So I go and sit and wait. After about 15 minutes, they call me back and I get to sit with Richard while the anesthesiologist comes in and explains everything (they aren't going to give him general anesthesia, they are going to just keep him unconscious with drugs; he won't be on a ventilator. This is due to his heart condition, and they just don't want to put his body and his heart through any unnecessary trauma.) He gives Richard the preliminary valium (jealous, what, me? Hell yes!). I kiss him goodbye and tell him I'll be right outside. It's about 2:40. The doctor tells me it will be about 1 1/2 hours for the surgery, but don't worry, it could go as much as an additional hour, since they don't know what is happening with the wrist; they can't decide how they are going to repair it until they open it and see how bad it is.

I go outside to the waiting room, find a seat, and look around. There's a sign on the wall "No food or drinks in the waiting room". I put my stuff down and head down to the cafeteria for some food and drink. I'm a rebel.

Two Weeks Until 24! aka When You Open a Can of Whoop-Ass, Jack Bauer Jumps Out


I haven't finished the "hospital" story yet, but I will. Promise.


But it's only two weeks until 24 starts again, and my sister-in-law Diane asked me to send her Jack Bauerisms from my old blog...so I sent it, and I'm going to list them here....


Basic Truths About 24's Jack Bauer

Killing Jack Bauer doesn't make him dead. It just makes him angry.

If Jack Bauer was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Nina Meyers, and he had a gun with 2 bullets, he'd shoot Nina twice.

If you wake up in the morning, it's because Jack Bauer spared your life.

Superman wears Jack Bauer pajamas.

If it tastes like chicken, looks like chicken, and feels like chicken, but Jack Bauer says its beef. Then you better believe it's beef.

Jack Bauer once forgot where he put his keys. He then spent the next half-hour torturing himself until he gave up the location of the keys.

1.6 billion Chinese are angry with Jack Bauer. Sounds like a fair fight.

Let's get one thing straight: the only reason you are conscious right now is because Jack Bauer does not feel like carrying you.

Jack Bauer was never addicted to heroin. Heroin was addicted to Jack Bauer.

Jack Bauer played Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun and won.

When life gave Jack Bauer lemons, he used them to kill terrorists. Jack Bauer hates lemonade.

Jack Bauer once won a game of Connect 4 in 3 moves.

Osama bin Laden's recent proposal for truce is a direct result of him finding out that Jack Bauer is, in fact, still alive.

Jack Bauer is the leading cause of death in Middle Eastern men.

Jack Bauer doesn't miss. If he didn't hit you it's because he was shooting at another terrorist twelve miles away.

When Jack Bauer was a child, he made his mother finish his vegetables.

Jack Bauer killed 93 people in just 4 days time. Wait, that is a real fact.

Simon Says should be renamed to Jack Bauer Says because if Jack Bauer says something then you better do it.

Jack Bauer won the Tour de France on a unicycle to prove to Lance Armstrong it wasn't a big deal. He thinks yellow wristbands are gay.

When Jack Bauer pissses into the wind, the wind changes direction.

Jack Bauer's favorite color is severe terror alert red. His second favorite color is violet, but just because it sounds like violent.

When you open a can of whoop-ass, Jack Bauer jumps out.

When Google can't find something, it asks Jack Bauer for help.

You can lead a horse to water. Jack Bauer can make him drink.

Jack Bauer can get McDonald's breakfast after 10:30.

When the boogie man goes to sleep, he checks his closet for Jack Bauer.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

The Hospital...continued.

Sunday morning. Woke up at 7 and bolted out of bed, fed the animals, let them out and in, showered and headed for the hospital. Felt like I was late, but I wasn't...think it was the guilt talking. I felt horribly guilty about not staying overnight with Richard; my brain knew he was fine and in good hands, but my heart felt like I should have been there with him in case he woke up. He was heavily medicated and exhausted, but I didn't want him to wake up and look for me, and me not be there.

I got there and he was sleeping. He looked like absolute hell...black eye, stitches and dried blood on his face, his wrist bandaged and a semi-cast on it. He was absolutely grey, and so small in the bed. I couldn't even give him a hug or kiss, for fear of hurting him. He slept on, and I was grateful for the time to compose myself.

Day two at the hospital brought more unanticipated news from the doctors: Richard's bloodwork showed extremely abnormal kidney function. The doctors weren't sure what was causing it, but was definately a cause for concern.It also brought out the bruising and trauma from the fall...Richard looked and felt like he had been run over by several trucks. His eye was black and blue, his forehead was three shades of black and blue, and his body ached like he had fallen 20 feet. He couldn't stand because he resprained his right ankle. (The doctors had reviewed the xray again, and said that there were no broken bones).

They started tests on his kidney function, and they called in a kidney specialist. His kidneys were functioning at 30%, and were not filtering the protein out of his body. They thought it may be possibly linked to a premature birth, they thought it might be kidney disease. They were just guessing at this point. But with Richard not able to walk and with a definite kidney problem, he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't happy about it, but he had to stay in the hospital.

Monday turned into Tuesday, and then Wednesday. Surgery on his wrist was scheduled for Friday, and we figured he'd be discharged, and then readmitted on Friday. We were wrong. This visit turned into a Pandora's Box, with each day bringing more problems. He wasn't able to walk. He couldn't pee. He was anemic. His pain was at a level that required morphine. His kidneys weren't functioning. We had doctor after doctor after doctor coming in, and we couldn't hardly keep them straight. Physical therapists came in to try and get him up and around; it was difficult using a walker with a broken wrist and a catheter. He couldn't keep food down, but it might have been from the pain medication. Plus, he wasn't getting any sleep. Everyone knows that you don't sleep in a hospital, but when he got a roomate on Tuesday night, the circus was brought right into his room. Just when he'd fall asleep, someone would have to come in to do something, turning on all the lights, rearranging all the furniture, taking blood pressure and temperature readings. And he couldn't have anything to help him sleep, due to the subdural hematoma.

So, we're there all week, with no difinitive answer on the kidney problem, but we have a new kidney specialist who wasn't happy with "we'll just watch it and see what happens". This guy wants to find out what is going on, and orders more tests and calls in yet another specialist. But speculating on what is wrong is silly, and until we have a diagnosis of anything, we're not going to dwell on it. We see Dr. Yu in January (he wanted to wait until Richard is well on the mend from this before he subjects him to more tests.)

In the interim, physical therapy people come in, and there's no way in hell he can stand. They came in with this fancy walker, with a shelf where his left hand would go; they get him out of bed and he can put zero weight on his feet. He took no steps, and was in incredible pain. This wasn't good. Did you know when a man doesn't stand, he usually cannot pee? (Men are so strange.) So, here comes mr. catheter. Lord Jesus, the end did justify the means (he finally could pee through the catheter, so he was more comfortable), but what a horrible means of torture for a man. So now he's tied even further to the bed by the catheter. He's on a liquid diet, and can hardly keep that down. This is a man who cannot afford to lose one pound, and I can see him wasting away in front of me. It was kind of a panicky feeling, constantly, that I was feeling. Richard's life was moving fast in front of me and there was nothing I could do to help.

Things continue to happen outside of these little crises that we have...the world continues to march forward. School continues to be in session. Dogs and cats continue to need food, and to be let out, petted and watered. Cat litter needed to be changed. Laundry needed to be done. How do you do these things when you are at the hospital for 14 hours a day? I found out how.

The kids rallied. They worked together, they worked separately. Cooking, cleaning, feeding animals. Laundry. They put all the Christmas decorations up. I walked into the house late Sunday night, and it was spotlessly clean and decorated. I looked at Max and just burst into tears. It was about 9:30 at night, I had been at the hospital since 8:30 that morning...and driving home I was thinking about how I needed to clean up the house when I got home. I was just so tired, and walking into the house and seeing it like that...wow. I am so grateful and so proud of both Maggie and Max for all that they did during this ordeal.

On the animal front, I had called Barbara, our regional manager for Guiding Eyes, and let her know what had happened. She sent out the call for help, and an outpouring of help came. The plan was for me to take Fina to Delmar where Robin, one of the sitters, would watch her for a few days. It was left open ended, because I didn't know what was happening when. When I took Fina, it was like a thousand pound weight was off my shoulders. It eliminated the "whatamigoingtodowhatamigoingtodowhatamigoingtodo" regarding my commitment to GEB. Mookie would be fine all day, but Fina is still a pup and needs walking, training, poo and pee time. I didn't have time to worry about it, and having her somewhere else eliminated my worry. Richard was very upset when I told him she was going to the sitters, but his anxiety was over the fact that it was because he had fallen that this had to happen. I told him to stop worrying about it, it had to happen, and that was that.

Now I've started to jump back and forth on time and stories...sorry about that. It's after the fact, and I wasn't a good blogger keeping up every night. But plow on I will...

Thursday, December 11, 2008

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.....

Probably most of you who read this already know about what's been going on in our lives over the past two weeks. For those of you who don't let me fill you in briefly, and I'll add pictures where I can.
On Saturday, November 29, we were just doing routine things around the house. It was a fairly nice day, and Richard wanted to get the Christmas decorations done. He's done it a few times, I've done it a few times. In the years that he would be extremely busy or travelling a lot, I'd do it, usually when he was away, and he'd come home to a decorated house. In the years where I've been sick, he's done the outside, and the children have done the inside. I'm still recuperating from my plantar fascia surgery that I had October 24th;

so he headed outside after lunch. I asked him again if he wanted me to come outside and help him and he again said no, that he wanted me inside with my foot iced and elevated. (Yes, actually, I do feel guilty!) I kiddingly said to him to make sure he had his cell phone in his pocket, so he would be able to call me in case he fell off the ladder. (Is that an example of tempting fate?) He put on his coat, took Mookie with him, and went out front. Not ten minutes passed before I heard a yell from outside that stopped me cold. I ran out the garage door, and there was Richard, laying on the ground face down, blood absolutely everywhere. He was quiet, but conscious. I ran inside and dialed 911, and told them I needed an ambulance. I wasn't sure how far he had fallen, but he was in front of the garage door, and the little giant ladder was in full extension, so it was at least 15 to 20 feet. I ran back in and got the first thing I could grab to put under his head, a beach towel, and when I lifted his head to put it under, I saw that he had about a 3 inch gash in his forehead, and it was gushing. I grabbed another towel, and held it against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. He said he was ok, and didn't need to go to the hospital (he later told me he said that he did need to go to the hospital...which for Richard is rare. He is king of the "it's only a flesh wound" club.) He said his wrist hurt and his ankles hurt and his head hurt. He asked me how I knew to come out; he didn't remember calling for me. He made a joke about Mookie just laying there after it happened; we both laughed about how Mookie was no Lassie, and would never have let me know that Timmy had fallen into the well.
The ambulance came in about 10 minutes or so, although it seemed like forever. Hebron VFD responded with an ambulance, and about two minutes after that, a fire truck. They put a collar on him, then rolled him over onto a back board, loaded him up into the back of the ambulance, and away they went, lights and sirens going. I was terrified, but I'm one of those people that kind of goes on autopilot in a crisis. I went inside with the dog, put on shoes, grabbed my purse and a diet coke, and headed for the emergency room. When I got there, I went to the window, and they wouldn't let me back. The ER is all different now, and everything is locked; there isn't access unless they grant it. So I sat quietly until I couldn't stand it any more; then I'd go ask, they told me I had to wait just a bit more, and I repeated the process. In the interim, I texted the children, and Diane and Jennifer, who was up for the weekend. Max was with his cousins, and I told him that he should stay there; I would keep everyone up to date when I found out anything. Maggie and Roger came to the ER anyway, and waited with me for awhile. FINALLY, the let me back. He was laying on a stretcher, and I was taken back by how much he looked like one of those Revolutionary War soldiers, with the white bandage wrapped around his head at an angle, and the blood seeping through it. He was awake though, and in so much pain. They couldn't do anything for the pain until they saw xrays and MRIs and determined the extent of his injuries. We waited for what seemed a long time (I'm sure to Richard it seemed days); finally the ER doctor came in with some news. His wrist was broken to bits, and his head needed stitches, but so far that looked like that was it. They called an osteopath for the wrist, and the ER doctor was a surgeon. They were going to stitch his head and cast his arm right there. Dr. Handel was the surgeon, and she was both very capable and funny; the three of us were laughing at the situation we found ourselves in. She said she had one of these every Christmas, and she hoped that we were the "one"; she didn't want to break her streak. She brought in all the stuff to stitch, and said that Dr. Cuomo was on his way for the wrist. The wrist looked like it had been pushed back, and was going to need to be pulled out and repositioned; they were going to need to knock him out for that (thank God). I said I'd be fine to stay, and she commenced to stitch Richard's forehead. After the numbing shot, he said he didn't feel a thing. Fifteen stitches, about an inch and a half above his left eye. Richard lamented the end of his modeling career as she stitched.
Dr. Cuomo came in just after that; they knocked Richard out with something that only lasts about 2 minutes, and proceeded to pick up his left hand and pull and push and twist.
I watched the stitching. I was fine. Dr. Cuomo pulled and manipulated the wrist back into shape in order to cast it. I almost barfed. That's a noise I never want to hear again in my life.
Dr. Cuomo said that he would need surgery; the break was bad. Weather or not the steel was going to be on the inside or the outside would be decided once they opened up the wrist. It wasn't an emergency, so it would be scheduled for later in the week, possibly Wednesday.
Ok, we said. Ok. We'll get a prescription for painkillers and we'll go home. He's going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but he's ok.
Just then, Dr. Handel comes in. She said that they are bringing in a Neurosurgeon; the MRI is showing a subdural hematoma. A what? This is a term they talk about on House, MD and on CSI and on all the other stupid television shows we watch. This is not something that happens to us. Now they are talking about neurosurgeons and brain surgery to relieve pressure.
Dr. Pierre, the neurosurgeon comes in and tells us that the brain bleed is between the two hemispheres of the brain, which, if you have a hematoma, is the best place for you to have it. Theres a bit of room there for the blood to collect; the doctor said that Richard would stay overnight so that they could watch it. We weren't happy, but it was just something that had to be done. So we resign ourselves to it, and we wait for a room. They tell us they are going to put him in the ICU so he can be watched closely, but they don't have a bed. They are going to open the old ICU, and they are calling in two nurses just to watch Richard. Ok, we say. We wait. Richard sleeps, as he's got some pain medication (not totally working, but making him a bit more comfortable). I think we waited in that room for about two and a half hours. Richard slept. I explored as much as I could the room we were in; I took some alcohol pads and Q tips and cleaned the outside of our cell phones. I reassured Richard when he woke up, and tried to get him back to sleep. I chased down the nurses for more pain meds. Finally, about 12:45 am, they came and moved Richard out into the hallway, for what I thought was the move upstairs. Turns out they needed the room. An ambulance had come in, and they came rushing in with a lady on a stretcher, and a paramedic on top of this lady doing chest compressions; the very upset family trailed behind. We were right outside the room, and I heard everything; the efforts made to bring this lady back, the decision to stop, the family realizing what was happening. Richard was sleeping, but I felt so awful to be within earshot of such a private, personal, agonizing family event. I felt I had no place to be there, to be so close, but I couldn't go anywhere else. That poor family.
We got up to the room at 1:45 am, 5 South, and encountered the nicest nurse. She helped Richard get comfortable, and gave him morphine for his pain. She and I worked together to get him settled, and by the time I left, I knew he would be in good hands.
I went home then, and that's when the tears started to come, on the drive home. But just a little bit. One of my thoughts was for Fina; how the hell was I going to do this? Richard was my backup walker; and I was still pretty far from being able to walk her three miles daily. My head was full of questions and worry; I got home and spent some time with the pups and fell into bed.
End of day 1. This is a longer story than anticipated so I'm going to write more later :).