Now that I've had a little time, I've gone back through this text and corrected grammar and spelling... and lord; there was a lot of it...Thursday May 21st 2009
I promised Teresa my last $100 bill for taking care of my cat Mischief and the apartment for me. She’d do it all for free, but I know she needs it for incidental shit for her new house. I waited as long as I could and then gave up and published my latest BC article on Dynasty's 4th season's DVD collection just before I left for the hospital. In the state of mind I’m in, I was almost hoping I would die on the operating table and have this ordeal over and done with. I requested a room on the 6th floor at the admitting desk, but the bone and joint ward is on the opposite end of the complex, so I don’t hold out much hope on that. I've left word with relatives all over the place, and they all know of this diary, so we'll see who cares enough to call-I know I can depend on Betsy and Aunt Margaret.
I woke up in room 367 in the bone ward surrounded by a bunch of concerned nurses with worried looks on their faces-not a good sign. I’m in one of those “trapeze” beds with four steel poles at each corner that support a frame work above me with big triangles that I can pull myself up with and reposition myself since I can’t use my legs. Without my even asking someone found a pedestal fan for right next to my bed-god love ‘em. The first thing that hit me was the pain. You know that old expression “you can feel it in your bones”; well that’s why a bone operation is one of the most painful there is.
I’ve got a great big black brace on my leg with tons of velcro and steel to hold it straight. A few minutes after they wheeled me in here I began shivering uncontrollably; after I mentioned it, one of the nurses discovered that the thermostat had been turned down to 33… This is not a good way to start this experience.
They gave me a little button with a green light on it. Every time I’m in pain, if the light is on I can push it and it’ll feed me I. V. pain meds. I ran the control cord up to one of the overhead triangles so it’s directly above my head. It hurts so much I’ve got to hit it the moment it says it’s alright for me to have more. I’ve never felt anything like this, it doesn’t come and go-it’s constant and it hurts like hell.
As expected, my TV on the arm over my bed won’t let me program out stations, and it’s one of those where you have to go through all 99 cable channels to get to the one you want and the channel button only goes up; so if I’m on channel 9 and I want 3, I have to go through them all past 99 on the way around to find it… ugh.
I spent the rest of the day burping, coughing and farting and discovered that I can hardly move at all. I put out a load of diarrhea in the bed and was so embarrassed. They said it was normal and even expected after an operation like the one I just endured, but still…
Friday May 22nd 2009
Room #367 Bone & Joint Ward
I called my answering machine this morning to leave a message for anyone that wanted to reach me. The workman’s comp hearing happened today without me being there. I think GB scheduled it intentionally that way, knowing I couldn’t attend-hoping I'd lose by default by not appearing... they don't know my lawyer very well. No word as to how it went from Lawyer K.
I shat a big loaf almost without realizing it in bed and got worried about it seeping into my leg bandage. That’s when I noticed at least one nurse seems to be in my room around the clock-almost as if I'm in some sort of private intensive care unit, which has me puzzled as to what’s wrong. I was awarded a diaper-what a humiliation. I’ve been hit with hiccups, which is very strange because I’ve never had them much in my whole life. They seem to come and go at will with no reason or cause.
I wonder if the GB check was deposited in my account today; I wouldn’t put it past them to fuck me over and then pay me back later at their leisure. I can’t remember the bank’s phone number, though I have it in my briefcase, in fact I can’t seem to remember much-it’s got something to do with the anesthetic drugs that also have an amnesia effect. I’ve started stressing about what bills I can pay and not pay just in case, and I just realized that the next checks won’t come until the first week of June and by then the insurance will be past due; so will the electric.
I realized a minute ago that I can’t remember pissing within the last day or so, and they told me it’s because I have a Foley catheter up my dick and I can’t feel it when I go because the muscles that keep it in have been bypassed… yikes.
Nurses keep frequently checking my blood pressure, my blood sugar and my hemoglobin. They all have worried faces and talk in whispers. Normal blood pressure for me is 120 over 80, blood sugar is 80-110 and hemoglobin for a male is 14. I got scared when I caught them whispering that my pressure was 80/50, sugar was at 226 and my hemoglobin was below 6 again. If any of those readings are only 5 or 10 off it's something to be concerned about, and all three of mine are.
Friday May 22nd 2009
Room #640 Heart Ward
Apparently I passed out some time this afternoon and woke up watching the ceiling go rapidly by. I was being rushed bed and all over to the heart ward! They dumped me sideways off of a big fiberglas board into a new bed in room 640 without the trapeze frame and then left me alone wondering what had happened. Apparently my vital signs got so low that they decided it was more important to have me near my friends in the 6th floor heart ward. I have no pain button now, but a nurse appears immediately at the touch of my button and sometimes without my asking and gives me a shot of morphine. Within minutes of arrival, I was also just as quickly surrounded by a horde of personnel with stethoscopes attaching me to all kinds of monitors that beeped, squawked and squeaked and all sorts of things sounding like the bridge of the Enterprise. They keep coming in, but none seem to be leaving.
I was put on oxygen and told not to speak. Nurses leave in groups and then others come in that remembered me from earlier this year and said hello which made me feel better. A doctor wanted to know why I didn’t have the trapeze any more and sent out someone to find one, another promised to find me a fan to replace the one that didn't make the trip with me here, as I was sweating profusely.
Lawyer K never called back after I called his office and left him my new room phone number; I wonder if that’s a good sign or not.
After everyone left in hushed whispers, I found that my new TV had the menu button disabled too… par for the course. I got a nurse to find my new stereo earplugs and tried them out on the TV and they worked. Some woman appeared and tried to make arrangements for me to leave!?! Christ, I only got here yesterday-this sounds like something GB is behind! She wanted me to go through a list of physical rehab places and after my last experience, that’s the last thing I wanted to think about. I called the bank and GB made the deposit (gasp of relief). That means the rent check will clear.
The one thing I've been looking forward to is the great award-winning food menu, but I'm not hungry at all, and can't remember the last time I ate.
I’m still shitting the bed, but they keep assuring me it’s alright. Around evening time, this nurse wheeled in a giant caliper thing on a crane and after some fussing attached it to a sling under the mattress and weighed me. The surgeries added back all that fluid weight I lost and I’m back up to 265-DAMN IT. She brought in a bedpan; the first time I ever used one and I about overflowed it. It turns out I still have the catheter in so that keeps me from using the bathroom... just as well, I can't move without a lot of pain anyway.
Still no word on how the GB appeal went.
Saturday May 23rd 2009
NO STOOL SOFTNER DAMN IT! I’ve been shitting all over the place because apparently someone thought I needed stool softner, so I yell that now every time they bring me pills, and lo and behold, they’re there in every batch of them they bring.
The doctor came in this morning and was pissed I still don’t have my trapeze bed and ordered one be brought up immediately. My pair of weekend nurses are named Rona and Mona, Rona’s a typical nurse. Mona’s a short little thin girl and she's known as a "tech;" someone that does the menial non-medical stuff for patients. At first glance I didn't notice that she’s got arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Here’s another one of those things that only happen to me. I discovered that my little TV (which is hung from a long arm directly over my bed) was somehow programmed without Ch 5 (CBS)-no CSI Miami??? no NCIS??? I called down to maintenance and a skeptical repairman said he’d be right up. Upon arrival he confirmed the problem and announced he’d forgotten to bring his master override remote. My private room used to be a double, so I have two TVs-one of which is hopelessly out of reach. He decided to just switch my TV for the other one and after some fussing got it hooked up. As he turned to leave, I discovered that the earphone jack I’d been using didn’t work on this one.
He disconnected it again and went downstairs and brought up another one, programmed it and left. That’s when I discovered that he’d forgotten to disable the “menu” button on it, so I got rid of all the channels I didn’t like so I wouldn’t have to scan through them. (They don’t have buttons so you can pick an individual channel) I learned on my last visit here that my universal remote doesn't work on these either, because the sensor was intentionally unplugged.
They pulled the catheter out of my dick today and I experimented with trying to walk with the walker back and forth to the bathroom. I need help getting in and out of bed, and on and off of the toilet, which is embarrassing. At least I didn’t shit the bed today. Unbelievably, the bathroom door is too narrow for the walker and I have to shuffle sideways to get into it! Every time I try to use the walker, I later pay for it with extreme pain.
They finally got around to telling me that I was transferred here because my blood pressure and hemoglobin fell through the floor yesterday and that my sugar is still way over 200 so they thought I’d be better off here. Probably so, as my leg hurts like hell to the point that sometimes I can’t think of anything else, no matter how many drugs they give me.
A new worry is that GB will probably try to get out of paying for the time I've spent here in the heart ward. No matter how much concentrating I do, I can't remember yesterday. This was a problem last time too, so I brought plenty of note pads and pens, because tomorrow there's a good chance I won't remember today unless I read it here.
A huge UFO hovered toward my window tonight, before I realized that the hospital’s helipad is directly above my top-floor room. Oddly enough it was so padded up there that I didn’t even hear it touch down… landing and taking off—now that’s a different matter. I asked Mona to raise the blinds all the way so I could see them approach and she broke the things pulling the string. I’ve already had my “male chauvinist pig” moment for the day when I voiced doubt that as little as she is, that she could help me off the toilet without losing control of me… bad mistake with her muscles. They sort of remind me of the brief period when I had them myself... but then they turned to blubber because I didn't have time to babysit them every single day for the rest of my life. Mona and I became instant laughing friends. Now that I can barely make it to the bathroom, (to both our relief) I don’t have to wear the damned diaper. However, now I have to “go” about 5-6 times a day because of the Lasix drugs.
I’ve started making Welch’s sugar-free drink mix in my water pitcher, which is better than begging someone to find some Diet Dr. Pepper for me.
Someone screwed with the wall clock’s hour hand, and on the hour you can’t tell what time it is because it’s exactly halfway between the number icons. I finally figured out that you subtract an hour from what you think it is… sheesh, trying to tell the time any other way is nearly impossible.
A different lady came in and wanting me to be ready to go home or to a rehab place on Tuesday. Jesus-fuckin’ Christ! I reminded her that I’d only had the operation two days ago! The doctors are talking about a long recovery because of the nature of the operation, what with them severing bone, and yet Grant seems to want me out of here in a matter of days! I picked out some place way out in Hilliard because she says it's brand new and only has been in operation for about 6-months.
I’m trying to get used to the old schedule of people waking me up at 2 and again at 5 in the morning to take a blood sample for the lab, then trying to fall asleep again.
Monday May 25th 2009-Memorial Day
They found me a box fan for my room and now I wake up confused because the sounds just before I open my eyes are identical to home and I have to look around to make sure of where I am. The nurse/doctor traffic seems to have slowed to normal. I appear to be taking more and more pills though, but results of my vital sign tests are getting more and more encouraging.
I’m more and more tempted to stop eating, as my blood sugar is getting higher and higher. That’s usually caused by either emotional stress or an infection. They came in and changed the surgical leg dressings today. There’s lots of dried blood, but nothing to be concerned about and no sign of infection. I’ve got a 2’ long surgical scar from my left hip to just below my knee that’s all stapled shut. I can’t get any of it wet yet, so I gave myself a sponge bath and Mona came in and gave me a “nuclear shampoo”. It’s stuff you don’t rinse out of your hair, but it leaves it clean and has to be warmed up in a microwave first. Afterward, I donned my black t-shirt and scrub shorts, which are a lot more comfortable than that stupid open-assed hospital gown.
They’re still trying to give me the “bum’s rush” out of here. Another lady came in and said I should get ready to leave on Wednesday. Another explained that several cases of swine flu have come through Grant and they’re trying to get everyone in and out as quickly as possible, and that it’s harder to fight viruses that are acquired in hospitals than in other facilities… which I guess makes sense. I really don’t want to go to another rehab place after what happened last time, but I guess if I have to, I’m glad the place is brand-new. The down side is that if anything should happen, Hilliard is too far away for them to bring me back to Grant Hospital downtown.
I’m starting to get mild headaches, which aren’t a good sign; they usually mean I’m about to get seriously sick. Alas, I spend most of the day stoned on painkillers. They’re saying that the percocet may be causing the headaches??? Apparently I’m taking two 5mg tablets and they’re based on Tylenol. It appears that I’m getting too much Tylenol in my other drugs and too much actually causes headaches! The pharmacy is working on switching me to one 10mg instead. My blood pressure is slowly coming up where it’s supposed to be. Doc says not to worry; heart patients need to be a little low instead of high.
I’m still sweating like crazy, which is a direct sign that my sugar is too high before I go to sleep. I’ve got diarrhea like crazy and it’s driving me nuts. One of the drugs they’re giving me gives me gas from both ends, and I’m still confounded with hiccups that come and go at will for no apparent reason.
I got a headache this evening that was so bad that I started crying as much from the pain as from fear of what’s causing it. Despite my bed exercises, my leg is getting stiffer and stiffer. The bone matter donation site on my right hip is getting very sore when I try to walk… in short-I’m a mess.
Tuesday May 26th 2009
The headache came back with even more intensity today; I’m beginning to suspect that it’s tension from GB pulling anything they can think of to fuck me over. My upper left thigh is slightly swollen and tender to the touch. The doctor looked at it and said it was normal post-surgery stuff and not to worry about it. Mona came around and joked with me, perking me right up. I decided to call her supervisor and compliment her. More often than not my mouth is dryer than desert dust when I wake up. Mona suspects it’s a side-effect of one-or a combination-of the drugs I’m on, I just hope it’s not because I’m sleeping with my mouth open. I’m still sweating like crazy into the towels on my back. My morning blood sugar hit 281-I’m waiting for an eye to explode again.
My old friend Angela from my last adventure here, who's from physical therapy peeked in my room this morning and I was really glad to see her again. She had just enough time to set up an appointment with her tomorrow before I have to leave. It really pisses me off that we won’t have time together, because she really helped me last time I was here. No skipping down the hall arm in arm today, and she really felt bad that we have to start all over again from scratch, though I showed her I remembered the tricks for getting in and out of bed without hurting myself, and managed a very short walk with my walker down the hall about 20 feet before I gave up in exhaustion and pain.
I showed her that I could get the little plastic breath toy up to 2500 vs. 1250 from my last visit and took pleasure that she was impressed, because she was always bitching at me about it before.
Lawyer K called me this morning and described last Friday’s appeal hearing as a “spectacular win,” which takes a lot off my mind. I wish I could talk to Dr. Mind, but she’s in Arizona tending to her elderly mother for two weeks.
While I was down at x-ray, Angela snuck two bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper into my room, just like old times-God love her. One of Dr. P-knee’s assistants is royally pissed that I still don’t have my trapeze bed-it’s a little late, but I could sure use it to reposition myself in bed without so much pain… I’ll probably get it tomorrow just as I’m leaving.
I double-checked my bank balance again, and I’m trying to figure out a way to pay the car insurance on the 28th with the check that won’t come from GB (if it comes at all) until the first week of June.
I wound up with a male nurse tonight named Abu that scared hell out of me the first time I laid eyes on him, because I became convinced he was one of my attackers. He has an attitude problem because the tech that usually helps out called off sick and he apparently feels that he's too good to do her job of getting me ice or helping me up from the toilet. I had a nightmare about the attack. At least I didn’t wake up screaming for a change.
Wednesday May 27th 2009
Grant Hospital
I’m reluctantly leaving today. One last word about this hospital’s “room service.” They’ve got the best full-service menu and the best food, and I can call down and order it anytime I’m hungry between 7AM and 7PM. For some reason, the food isn’t quite as good this time around, and I’m beginning to suspect that it’s because I was comparing it to the garbage I was being fed at the other physical rehab place (which I'll refer to as TDW). I do love the huge fresh dinner salads I could custom create here though.
Dr. P-knee’s assistant came in this morning and changed the dressing on the incision again. I told him it was still tender and slightly swollen and he said to get used to that for a while. He says the staples won’t come out until June 1st at the follow up visit at his office and that I still can’t get it or my right hip wet. The constant “to the bone” pain is something I can’t find words to describe. It wears down my concentration on anything, never goes completely away, and demands my constant attention despite how hard I try not to ignore it.
Angela and I had fun with the workout today and I put a little extra effort into it through the pain because I trusted her. We both laughed when she got the velcro straps messed up on my brace.
Dr. D-heart made a surprise appearance and said he’s monitoring my heart closely and daily though he hasn't been in to see me. He’s still keeping me off Plavix for now and said all the tests say I’m just fine-heart-wise anyway.
Some lady came in and wanted to know how my stay at the hospital was, so I told her about all the glitches and the absent trapeze bed. It turns out she was the nursing supervisor I’d spoken to on the phone complimenting Mona.
As I was cleaning up for the trip to Hilliard, tech Kelly came in with another pair of surgeon's scrub pants to match the one I cut off to make shorts with. She must’ve searched all over because the hospital is using a different color and pattern now. She said it was to remember her by and she brought a pair of scissors to trim them with.
I called my Allstate agent and explained where I was and to get the amount I’d have to come up with; which was $551. He said to call him when I get to Hilliard and he’d try to work out an extension till I got my checks on the 3rd and the 5th, so I wouldn’t have to pay the fees for monthly installments. I’d have risked paying the full amount, but it’d bounce if Rich cashes my rent check too soon.
A couple of hunky brunette ambulance drivers came for me around three and after saying goodbye to everyone, I headed off to Hilliard. I’m worried about going there, but I really don’t have a choice.
Wednesday May 27th 2009
Hilliard rehab #203
The good news is the place is only 6-months-old; the bad news is the staff is only 6-months-old. On the way to my room on my gurney, we passed a large dining hall decked out like a classy restaurant. The place is filled with cranky old people with canes; walkers and wheelchairs giving me looks like "what the hell are YOU doing here?"
The room is semi-private-but in name only. You enter the door and there's a little alcove with a roomy bath complete with shower to your immediate left. From there, there are two curtained openings. My room isn’t a copy of a hospital room like TDW was, but was a fair copy of a nice medium-priced hotel room instead with the doorway being a standard curtain instead of a door.
Furniture is limited to a very roomy and overstuffed chair next to the bed that my open briefcase is now sitting on, a big tall and brand-new wooden wardrobe cabinet capable of hanging a good amount of clothes in with two drawers beneath it and a three-drawer side table next to the bed. One whole wall was built-in shelving and a built-in 4-drawer bureau with a new but quite little 20 inch LCD Hitachi HDTV atop it. The first thing I noticed was that the solid plaster walls were completely bare of pictures, decorations or even a clock. The tan floor tile is so mirror-shiny you can comb your hair in it, and the view out the window was of a nice courtyard/lawn off of the main dining room. In a few years that view would change as the tree/shrubs grow to the point where everything would be blocked. I guess that’s better than looking at the parking lot on the other side of the building. As I watched, a gardener began planting trees and flowers on the perimeter next to the fence.
I was told that dinner would be served at 5PM
The bed looked oddly small and had no side rails that I could use to pull myself upright with. The tech (they’re called “aides” here) couldn’t locate the remote that operated the hospital bed. Above and behind the bed was the standard three position string-pulled fluorescent light. As I settled in, I hit the call button, and a male nurse came in to introduce himself. I asked if I were looking right at the clock without seeing it. He looked puzzled around the room and said it appeared as if the room had been stripped of everything but the TV. I’d called him because I tried to get comfortable in the bed and couldn’t find the remote to raise the head up. I couldn’t believe it when he stooped down on one knee, grabbed something below the footboard and hand cranked it up!!! I’m appalled to realize that every time I’d get uncomfortable and need to change positions someone's going to have to crank the damned thing!-I’d rather suffer than do that.-ergo I if need the bed surface high to get in and out of it since it’s extremely painful to bend my leg, but it needs to be low for the meal table to fit over it with me in the bed.
I’d later discover that the bed had to be in its lowest position in order for the wheels to lock so it won’t move. This means that when I get in and out of bed because I need it raised to do so, it's going to try to slide away from me.
This isn’t turning out to be a very good start.
Apparently I don't have a roommate yet.
I realized that it was 6PM and dinner still hadn’t come, maybe I wasn’t registered in the room yet and they forgot me?
I picked up the phone to change my answering machine message with my new number only to discover the phone didn’t work. An aide said I had to dial 9 first, the same as over at the hospital-duh. When I tried that it still didn’t work and the phone appeared dead. The nurse came back in and said the phone wasn’t hooked up yet and the guy that did that had already left for the day.
This isn’t turning out to be a very good start. In fact I’m beginning to suspect I’m in the other nightmare place (TDW) with a new coat of plaster and paint. I’m also beginning to suffer from the condition I had after the heart operation when I couldn’t remember anything more than three days ago, which is why I’m keeping such close notes. If this keeps up, I may have to read yesterday's entries to make sure I'm not repeating myself.
Dinner came at 6:30 and I would soon realize that everyone confined to a room because of a handicap consistently gets their meals an hour to an hour and a half after the dining room was served. Dinner was luke warm at best and definitely not diabetic.
Someone named Amy came in and apologized for not greeting me when I arrived. She wanted to know what my first impression of the place was and I told her about the lack of a clock and how much knowing the time was important to me, the need for an overhead “trapeze” so I can shift easily because the bed wasn’t electric and I felt lousy asking someone to come in and crank it, and of the phone not working. I also told her that I thought the place was very nice and why I was so apprehensive based on my last experience at TDW that put me in the hospital. She told me that electric beds were on order and promised to get me one ASAP, and was very nice.
I hope I made a good first impression and didn’t come off too bitchy.
Someone else came in around 8PM and turned on the phone somewhere in the main office. My depression began setting in along with feelings of dread at making the decision to come here. I called home and was shocked to discover my phone had been disconnected. I tried again… and then again, beginning to feel like the victim of the Twilight Zone who couldn’t even remember his own phone number. If someone actually disconnected my phone I’d never get it back in service until Monday. Next, in near panic, I called Teresa and got a strange voicemail with music. I hung up and tried again. Now I was really upset.
I called the aide, who informed me that I didn’t need to dial 9 to get out so I’d been dialing my home with a nine in front of it and by coincidence the number was disconnected. I tried and got through and tried to relax afterward. The aide had no idea how to operate the air conditioner (a hotel model with warmer and cooler dial+fan speed,) nor why the TV took so long to come on once the remote was activated. I asked her to turn off the overhead light and it took her three tries to find the right switch.
The nice male nurse came back in to tell me that their pharmacy’s computer is arguing with Grant Hospital’s computer and I can’t get my percocet for pain probably until Monday. We’re talking bone pain here. I threatened that I’d be moaning loudly and continuously unless someone found a suitable substitute. He said he’d get right on it and asked how my visit with Amy went. After I told him, he told me that she was the head administrator in charge of the place. He said he knew of a room with an electric bed that was going to be empty tomorrow and he’d arrange for it to be brought here.
Since the TV is on one side of the room and I’m on the other, my stereo ear jacks won’t reach it. Also because of my diabetic retinopathy, it’s just at the right distance to be unable to fully focus on-three feet closer or farther away would’ve been perfect. Despite the lousy picture quality, I began longing for the tiny TV on a crane arm from the hospital that I could position over the bed at any close distance I wanted it. However the TV came with a remote.
Just when I thought I couldn’t be confounded further, the male nurse came in and administered a tuberculosis test?
When I checked into TDW, I remember something that I thought was a nightmare, but it was confirmed tonight here that it had been very real. Back then two guys came in and with barely a word roughly began stripping my clothes off until I was naked. Then they began charting every scar on me, leaving no part unchecked or untouched. Today's male nurse did the same without the fantasy roughness. He measured every single surgery scar and bruise on me, and kept careful measurements to the point of counting every staple on my body. I can only assume it was to keep me from later claiming they did something to me which would precipitate an injury lawsuit. Another reason to suspect they are more interested in money than my health.
I have just acquired a roommate, and he is a very annoying oldster that can’t stand it if anyone comes to see me, unless he distracts them to his room first. I've noticed that the aides can't even pass our door without him shouting at them. Several have lectured him on using his call button, but to no avail. The problem is; while they’re avoiding him, they’re avoiding me.
Just to put the icing on the cake, when I finally bedded down for the night and an aide cranked the bed flat, I discovered that the bed was too short for me by about three inches! This meant that laying on cotton sheets over vinyl bed covers means slowly sliding lower and lower in the bed, thus my bad leg slowly making contact and then more and more pressure builds up on my leg.
I finally drifted off and was immediately woken by the nurse bringing me a morphine pill to help me sleep from an old prescription he’d found on the computer instead of the percocet that worked better for me.
… This isn’t turning out to be a very good start.
Thursday May 28th 2009
The drug Lasix is designed to pull excess fluid from your body after surgery. The trouble is it gives you very little warning before you have to piss so it’s a race to either hobble on my walker to the bathroom in time, or rush to frantically find the portable plastic urinal pitcher. In the middle of the night I actually overflowed the damned thing for the first time and it got on the bed.
While I waited for them to change everything, I sat up close in the wheelchair so I could actually read the items listed, and played around with the TV and learned how to change the screen aspect ratio so it showed non-HD shows without distorting and stretching them sideways to fit the screen, and finished labeling each channel with what they were so that not only is the number displayed but that 29 is USA channel etc.
I woke up this morning in a lot of pain from my bad leg being compressed against the footboard in my sleep. I can feel my mind trying to wander off from the reality of this, and hoped yesterday was just a bad first impression of the place.
Apparently the oldster next door heard me complain about not having a clock and decided he wanted one too, driving the aides nuts by constantly asking them the time. It was like having a damned cuckoo clock. Breakfast consisted of a bowl of warm oatmeal, toast and coffee… I hate coffee and sent a note to the kitchen about my carbs, diabetes and requested hot tea with my meals instead. I was right about the meals, I get served about an hour and a half after the dining room does, and it tastes it too.
I decided to cheer myself up by making my Welch’s sugar-free grape juice this morning. They brought me a big 2-quart dining room pitcher and I dumped what was left of my glass of water into it to top it off. Trouble was the new carafe had a clear top on it that was so clean and clear I didn’t notice it until the water went all over the place. The Welch's tasted good and reminded me of home.
They’re still giving me the little morphine pills because the pharmacy isn’t cooperating yet.
I didn’t know it, but the GB psychological hearing was today, and Lawyer K called to say he’d gotten a continuance until Monday the 22nd because they wanted to hear testimony directly from me. Great; how to you tell someone you’re depressed convincingly?
The maintenance man showed up with my trapeze and side rails for the bed and I had to sign permission slips for him to install them. This place is definitely legally paranoid beyond belief! As I watched in amazement the trapeze was on only two legs, which bent and supported a single arm with a hand triangle above my head. After he installed it, I tried it experimentally and the thing bent forward about four inches and down toward me about three. I shuddered to think what’d happen if I put my full weight on it, and he said I wasn’t supposed to.
He got me to smile though when he brought in a clock and told me he’d swiped it from the employee break room! He put it up on the wall right in front of me and after asking how it looked I said fine and he left. When I looked back at it to check the time, I couldn’t see it. The bright lights over my bed reflected on the shiny face cover to the point where it was unreadable. I experimented and shifted around in the bed and eventually I could read it okay. I’ll ask him to move it to an adjacent wall next time I see him, but I appreciated the effort and the thought he put into it and reminded myself to thank him next time I saw him.
I called Rich, my apartment building manager to let him know my new number and reminded him that Teresa had permission to enter as she pleased but no one else.
Lunch came at 1:15, still with whole milk and coffee, sent another note like the one this morning. The cook probably doesn’t know how to use the computer yet to change my order. The slip on the tray says regular diet instead of Diabetic and Heart healthy, so it was no surprise that my blood sugar was 275 this afternoon. I’m beginning to wonder if them using two different kinds of competing insulin could be part of the problem.
I figured out most of the TV’s setup menu this afternoon and rescanned for stations that they might have missed during the original installation and found 8 new unscrambled HD stations that weren’t there before I started, that were located above channel 80. No one in the building probably knows they’re there, so while everyone else is watching analogue, I’m watching all of the local stations and a few movie channels in HD.
My oldster roommate still won’t let anyone pass our door without yelling for them to turn his light on or off, or get him water or two minutes later to dump it out and get fresh. He got pissed off at how long they took to answer his call button and insisted an aide take him on a tour of the facility in his wheelchair in order to gauge how long it should take someone to get to him, leaving out that he’s not the only one here and someone might be busy with someone else. They’re beginning to run by the open door carrying things and either saying they’re busy with doing something or ignoring him altogether.
At one point he began bitching and pestering everyone about having a sore throat and no one could find him a lozenge fast enough, so I offered the nurse a roll of my sugar free peppermint Lifesavers without the label and he went over and gave him them saying they were prescription strength and to be careful how many he took. Later he praised the nurse because they were a godsend and cured his throat right up.
I smiled… I, I, I smiled!
Hell I almost laughed!
I called Allstate and explained the situation again and they said I could have an extension till the fourth in order to pay the full amount without the installment fees. Now everything depends on if GB actually deposits the damned check.
Someone (bless them) finally straightened out the pharmacy here and with great relief I’m back on the percocet again. Craig from physical therapy came in and insisted I go to the crowded gym. I told him about how recent the knee operation was and he promised to be understanding with my limits. He floored me when he told me that GB refuses to pay for more than two weeks of physical therapy, even though the doctors say I need six! He’s going to be on my ass like over at TDW because in his words-we have to try to cram six weeks of therapy into two. The frustration I started feeling at the bastards at GB began building and building in me.
I’m beginning to think maybe they’re trying to drive me over the edge so they don’t have to pay me any more. I began having trouble with all the people being around me in the gym, and I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. No one looked threatening and I don’t think I was scared, but suddenly I was very uncomfortable and wanted to retreat quickly back to my room. He made me stay of course.
Afterward my leg ached like hell and I’ll have to remember to get a percocet about an hour before he comes and gets me tomorrow or it’ll be hell. The bed being too short is really torturing my leg. They tell me the electric bed will be longer and the mattress can be raised above footboard level if need be, but so far it hasn’t arrived.
Meals are still coming about an hour or so after the dining room is served, and are warm at best and I’m still getting coffee and sugary fruit juices instead of tea. I’m worried about not eating everything for fear that they’re doing what TDW did; basically feed me cheap sugar-laden food and dosing me extra insulin to cover it, so rather than risk another coma with a reading of 41, I’m eating everything on the tray.
A woman came in to talk to me about transportation arrangements to see Dr. P-knee on Monday and informed me that GB is refusing to pay for a cab to and from Ohio State on Wednesday to see Dr. Mind, nor would the pay for one to see Dr. D-heart. Those fucking heartless sons of bitches are going to drive me crazy if I let them… if they haven’t already.
Nothing was on TV so I went to sleep early. From long experience I’ve learned that wanting to sleep all the time is a classic sign of depression, but I couldn’t fight the fatigue and drifted off before I knew it.
Friday May 29th 2009
I called Lawyer K to report GB’s latest shit this morning, and to tell him that they’ve given this place the impression that all of my benefits will run out a week from Wednesday. He said he’d look into it and get back to me. I have a feeling he’s not really working for free and sees a big financial gain for an out of court settlement check from them when this is all straightened out. I’m fucked if that happens because he’ll get a third, social security deducts anything I take in as income and reduces my checks accordingly so the only one who’ll gain is he and social security. It feels so damn hopeless sometimes, that I wonder why I keep fighting and don’t just give up and kill myself. Thinking that way scares me, but if you talk about it, you don't usually do it. It's the ones that don't say anything that eventually commit suicide, so I think I'm keeping myself safe by being open about it.
Some doctor from Dr’s North Hospital came to see me since Grant’s MD’s don’t come out this far into the ‘burbs. He basically asked a bunch of questions, filled out a clipboard and left… ten minutes.
At rehab, Craig promised me a regular 3PM appointment when the place is less crowded and so I can schedule the painkillers an hour before we start his intensified program. All the time I was in the hospital, I was avoiding percocet because I was afraid of getting addicted to it, but now I can’t do without it. The doctors there said it was important that I took it every four hours whether I thought I needed to or not because I’d pay for it with intense pain. I’m beginning to suspect they’re giving me some generic equivalent that isn’t as strong. Most people don’t know this, but by law a generic only has to be 85% of the drug it’s copying. My leg and hip where they took the bone matter are beginning to hurt like hell. My right knee is taking a beating to from supporting most of my weight for the last four years.
Apparently I’ll only have Sundays off from working in the gym.
Got dinner at 6:30 and the chicken fingers were barely warm and the fries were barely cooked, soggy and cold… They’re still sending me coffee, juice and I suspect whole milk instead of no-fat skim. I hate to keep comparing this place to my former nightmare facility TDW, but it’s getting harder and harder not to. As the frustration in me began building I had my first PSTD episode and had a sort of nightmare with my eyes open and kept trying to clamber out of bed to get home and had to be restrained by the male nurse. I began chewing the skin at the upper corners of my fingernails.
They don’t have a shrink here, only a minister who keeps showing up at my door with his Bible enquiring if I've been saved, and that was the last thing I need. I’m confused about dinner and can’t figure it out because I seem to remember a half eaten sandwich on my tray and saying I didn’t want it. I’d just calmed down and had control of myself when the place thought it‘d be the perfect time to test the fire alarm and I went crazy again, thinking they’d done it intentionally to drive me over the edge on GB’s orders.
I slept for a while and the nurse (who knows I’m a diabetic) brought me a snack around 11:30 to replace my refused dinner… a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread, vanilla ice cream, and a tiny vanilla milkshake in a carton??!!
Saturday May 30th 2009
The weekend night nurse HAS to be a relative of Lady Dracula from Grant because she insisted on waking me at all hours of the night for blood tests and pills. I used the walker around 6 this morning to take a shit but couldn’t get back up off the toilet because of how low it is. When the aide got me back to my bed I noticed that the leg brace was now twisted so that the knee joint was almost over my kneecap, so I asked her to help me adjust it. She said she didn’t know how, but she’d get the nurse… she came back a moment later and said the night nurse said that brace adjustments were only done by the day staff and I’d have to wait for the shift change.
I barely controlled nearly flying into a rage, and with the help of an experienced male nightshift aide, I pulled the straps loose from their velcro and did it myself. This is too fucking ridiculous to be real!
My blood sugar was at 215 this morning-gee I wonder why?
Someone showed up and tried to give me a breathing treatment. After being mystified a moment, I realized he meant it for my oldster roommate next door. People keep walking into my room to answer his frequent call buttons and yesterday I almost got his pills! I was almost taken away today for his therapy appointment too.
Speaking of the nurse call button; over at Grant you press the button and someone gets on the intercom and asks what’s needed, sending the appropriate person. Here, even though there’s a speaker in the panel with the call light that they have to switch off, no one seems to be able to use the speaker part, or at least hasn’t figured it out, and the entire time I was there I never heard a single sound out of it. I know it works because the identical one in the gym went off constantly. The drawback to that is I’d press the call button for a refill of my ice water pitcher and a nurse would show up with a stethoscope, which made me feel guilty for pushing the button. In fact I’ve been living in discomfort since I got here because I feel guilty asking someone to crank the bed into another position every time I need to move so I just lay there and take it.
Obviously there’s still no promised electric bed yet, and I don’t expect one until probably Monday… if then. My knee hurts constantly and the short bed isn’t doing it any good either.
While watching one of their commercials, I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen my usual purple Nexium for my ulcers and asked the nurse when she brought in my pills. She pointed out a capsule that was half light purple and half pink and said it was right there… a generic. I asked her about the bed and she said it was coming.
After all the hell I got for not telling my mother, Pittsburgh sister and brother in Seattle when my heart operation was because they wanted to comfort me at my bedside, not one single one of them has called, even though I left instructions and my private phone number here on my answering machine for them. That says a lot, and proves all they really wanted to know was when I’d be out of my apartment for a long period of time.
UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE-I got the wrong lunch today. I didn’t realize it until I looked at the paper tray slip to see if they finally got the message about my being a diabetic when I smelled the coffee, and found my roommate’s name on it. When I got mine, I still got coffee anyway. I wrote a big-lettered note on a legal pad page about hot tea instead of coffee, no juice and only non-fat skim milk and had the aide deliver it personally to whoever was in charge of the kitchen. I guess I’ll be paranoid now and make sure every pill delivery is actually mine instead of his.
A Jamaican aide got distracted to the oldster’s room to answer his trivial “open the curtains for me” call instead of my urgent one for percocet. Afterward another person joined the first in the alcove outside my closed curtain and acted annoyed that I had the nerve to interrupt their spirited conversation to find out what I wanted, stomping around the bed to shut off the call light.
Some rehab lady showed up at one just after I finished lunch instead of the promised 3PM and I told her she’d have to wait till then because I needed to get my still undelivered percocet and to let my stomach settle before I worked out. After hearing that and apparently ignoring it, she said she’d be back at 2, so I called again for the pain meds.
By 2:30 she still hadn’t shown up, nor had the percocet. Apparently the shift change is at 3 and I’d have to wait until then before I got anything from them. By then my knee was throbbing and I was pissed as hell, but controlled it by watching something on TV.
She showed up at 3 and I went down to the gym with her and worked minus the painkillers, and being pissed off and in pain makes you work harder and faster. When we were done, I showed her why I was having so much trouble by demonstrating how the footboard was compressing my bad leg. She promised that the electric bed would fix it and left to make sure I got one soon.
Uh huh
I tried to calm down and sleep early, but my neighbor had a John Wayne movie going at nearly full volume most of the evening, so I just sat there and took it. Tried draping my left foot over the side of the bed and nearly fell out of it when I drifted off. The nurse came in to take my blood pressure and the batteries on her little machine were dead and she had to get new ones.
I was feeling really down, so I asked one of the aides and her sidekick if they’d give me a sponge bath from the waist up, since I couldn’t get the staples wet, and it turned into a funny little production and for a while I actually enjoyed myself. It felt good to be clean, and clean-shaven. They sent my shorts and shirts down to the laundry and traded me a dreaded hospital gown. (I’d learn later they got in trouble for shaving me because apparently the place can’t risk my bleeding to death from a nick because of the medications I’m on.
Give me a break!
Sunday May 31st 2009
I’ve started to get to and from the bathroom without too much trouble; it’s painful but at least I’m moving on my own; though I don’t chance it more than once without paying for it by enduring an aching leg the rest of the night. I can’t believe I’d ever consider going to the bathroom an accomplishment. With the regular doses of Morphine and Percocet my knee is bothering me less than before, but it’s still sore when I wake up in the morning. I’ve tried propping a pillow under my left foot at night so that my heel is higher than the footboard, but sometime during the night it always slips sideways and I’m afraid of it falling off the bed onto the floor. There are times that I think I’ll slap the next person in the mouth that promises me the damned electric bed. For now I just resign myself to suffer-something I’m well practiced at.
I spent the morning deciding that I’m going to have to go home, get the car and drive myself to see Dr. Mind at OSU and then drive back to Hilliard in case GB won’t pay for the transport home. With the double appointment on Wednesday, I don’t see how I can afford a quadruple cab ride.
Maybe when they take me to Dr. P-knee’s office tomorrow, I’ll just disappear. After all it’s only two blocks from my apartment.
I’m working on the exercises that Angela taught me over the last few months, and I’m trying to flex my knee as much as I can. I can now sit up with my legs draped over the right side of the bed looking out towards the window, using my over-bed table as a desk. If I let it hang down loosely, I’m hoping the knee will droop down to more than a 45-degree angle.
I worked my way over to the corner of the bed closest to the TV and discovered that if I push the left or right arrow keys on the remote, a favorites menu appears that I can program all of my favorite channels into and get to them at the push of a single button… anything to occupy my mind I guess. You’d think they’d at least provide an instruction sheet for the TV, but so far I haven’t found it.
I’m tired of screaming, “I don’t fucking believe this!”
A lady I didn’t recognize until after she left, showed up at my door with a quarter inch thickness of papers that I had to sign-my admitting papers from last Wednesday-FIVE days after I got here??? All of it was in legalese that I couldn’t read or understand. I probably just signed away any rights to sue the living hell out of them I have in case something happens to me. If I hadn’t been knocked off balance by it, I’d have made her wait a few hours while I read all of it.
This IS Sunday isn’t it?
While I was trying to mentally digest all of that she informed me that I had to pay a dollar a day out of my own pocket for my phone service, which is why it wasn’t on when I got here. She promised I wouldn’t have to pay for it since they didn’t tell me, until the period after the day I signed… yeah like the promise of an adjustable electric bed. There were also fees for hair care, shaves and for all I know there’s an electric meter on my room somewhere, or maybe they’re charging me for the tuberculosis tests too. Come to think of it, they never completed the results of that test.
It was only after she left, that I realized that it was Amy the administrator in street clothes and unstyled hair.
She must’ve noticed I still hadn’t gotten the bed, because within about half an hour, it finally arrived.
Dinner was served in the dining room at 5PM; I got mine at 7:01. I showed it to the friendly male nurse just to have a witness before I ate it-Half a bowl of luke warm beef stew, a biscuit, a white confectioner’s sugar topped chocolate brownie and 7 apricot sections. No tea, no juice, no water, no milk. The nurse said he’d raid the kitchen for leftovers around 11PM for me in disgust. He came back a few hours later with a ham sandwich on a stale bun; a carton of whole milk and another vanilla shake in a little paper milk carton. Good God.
After experimenting with the new bed buttons, I finally found a comfortable position to sleep and my leg no longer is compressed against the footboard. I fell asleep on top of the blankets and woke up a few times to use the portable urinal, realizing I wasn’t sweating and hadn’t all night. Someone’s checking up on me pretty regularly, because the bottle’s always empty when I reach for it. Lasix gives very little warning; certainly not enough to get to the bathroom on my walker before pissing myself, so I stick to the urinal at night.
Monday June 1st 2009
This morning’s blood sugar was 288; considering yesterday I’m not surprised.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out Friday’s PSTD episode and I’ve decided to leave it be and hope it doesn’t happen again. I just wish I knew what triggered it.
My left leg hurts a little less this morning thanks to the new bed; though the knee is sore like there’s a bone chip in it somewhere or maybe it’s just a crooked staple. I sat up on the right side of the bed and started drawing mazes out of the blue on the legal pad. I had them pull the blinds all the way up and let the sun shine in on me, hoping to brighten the day.
Lawyer K called today to remind me that the psychological hearing had been put off two weeks, and he told me he doesn’t think Dr. Mind is being paid for our sessions. Damn it, I knew she was paying for them out of her own pocket. As if I don’t have enough to feel bad about. I told him I was concerned that Social Security will commandeer any money I get from a settlement from GB and I’ll wind up empty handed for all the stress they’ve put me through. He said to let him worry about that.
Since my follow-up appointment with Dr. P-knee is at 2, I begged for lunch at noon because I knew I’d have to leave early and they actually brought it! A nice-guy ambulance driver took me downtown for the appointment.
I always cringe when they take the staples out of an incision, and this one is nearly two feet long, but I barely felt it. I want so badly to take a shower, but I still can’t get it wet until Wednesday. They took the staples out of the donation sites on my hips too, which are still sore. Dr. P-knee says the x-rays look great and he’s very encouraged, but warned me not to put more than a quarter of my weight on it, and confirmed that I need about 6 total weeks of therapy. I told him that I barely understood why I was only getting two from GB, and he was pissed. I promised to keep in touch with him about it. I feel so frustrated that I can barely get around without a great deal of pain and he warned me to be patient and not push too hard; after all I’ve just had a major bone operation.
Still it bothers me to have to ask for help doing basic things I used to be able to do myself… like just moving around.
By the time I got back to “the home” I was exhausted, but was ambushed by Craig as we passed the gym and he insisted that I come in and do therapy. I’d not had pain meds since this afternoon when I left, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
I was glad to hear from my sister Betsy when I got back to the room; she always cheers me up, and my Aunt Margaret called too and chatted for a while.
It’s getting embarrassing when some aide comes into my room and asks if I had a “bowel movement” every day.
My male nurse revised his theory of what caused the fit I had last Friday. It seems I get a dose of percocet around 6-7PM and a morphine pill at 8, I may have been stoned out of my mind instead of losing it. My sugar was down to 95 this evening! His idea of a reward was to bring be a couple each of Fig Newtons and sugar cookies.
I can’t go very far with my walker unless someone follows so that I can rest in a wheelchair, so that’s how I get to and from the gym. Trouble is the aides leave the damned thing parked afterwards in places that I don’t see in the dark until I’ve almost fallen over it using my walker to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Tuesday June 2nd 2009
I’ve debated long and hard about including the following, but then what the hell you already know a lot about me anyway so…
There’s an A-number-one blonde HUNK that works late-night early-morning shift as an aide here, and it’s the first time in a long time that my libido has been aroused. He’s about 24 and painfully straight though. He has a smile and a cheerfulness that could melt the coldest of hearts-even mine, and is always so anxious to help me move here and there holding me intimately close, and he shows up without being called for, to ask if I need anything. They give me Lasix just before I go to sleep and I wind up using the urinal pitcher as many as 5 times a night. Somehow he creeps in while I’m asleep and empties it before I need it again (about every 2 hours or so.
I fell asleep again on top of the comforter last night and he came in and had me sit on the edge of the bed while he turned the blankets down. While he started, he had me steady myself by putting my arms around him with my face against his hard abs and for about a minute I was in gay heaven and didn’t want to let go. Then he’d gently lift me here and there in order to get the covers out from under me and then tucked me in. At one point I was tempted to kiss him goodnight with his head so close to mine as he adjusted my pillow.
He wears snug-fitting T-shirts that show off his muscled torso and white jeans that I swear his girlfriend (who is a nurse here) must paint on him just before he leaves for work. As much as I enjoy looking at this ultra-masculine “eye candy”, I wish he’d get assigned to another ward, as it accents how much I feel so alone, and how I haven’t had a lover in nearly five years. Everyone on God’s earth needs to feel like they’re the most important person in someone else’s life, but that’s something that’s blatantly absent in mine. I think when I lost my looks and my confidence; the ability to attract a lover went with it. After all how to you get someone to love you if you don’t love yourself?
A couple of nights ago I fell asleep with my hand dangling off the right side of the bed. He came in to empty the urinal and the sound of the curtain on its metal rail must’ve barely woke me. As he sidestepped between the bed and the table, his beautiful ass brushed my fingers and I thought I was going to faint. After he left I had to keep testing to make sure it was real and not a dream.
He has started waking me in the middle of the night to warn me some tech is about to come in and take some blood or my vital signs, instead of like on his nights off when she just shows up and does it. I asked him a few nights ago to find me another big legal pad to keep daily notes on-as I've well nie filled this one; I wonder how he’d react if he read these. I usually sleep “in the raw” at home, so here; I’ve started sleeping in just the scrub shorts on top of the blankets to see if I can cut down on the sweating. The trouble is after he “tucked me in” I kicked the covers off in the middle of the night because they were too warm, and apparently my scrub shorts too.
When I woke up, I was glad the door curtain was closed.
This morning’s breakfast included the usual oatmeal again. It was so cold the butter wouldn’t melt after I buried it down inside of it. I’m going to stop eating it anyway as it’s loaded with carbs and my blood sugar is still insanely high. I didn’t get tea or coffee this morning; only a glass of orange juice. I’m tempted to go over my finances to see if maybe I can order delivery, though I doubt anyone delivers breakfast.
My regular gym appointment is at 3, so I called for my percocet at 2:30 and again at 3:15. A few minutes later I was reminded via an aide that the nurse’s shift change is at 3 and it never did come, probably lost between shift messages. I “played through the pain” and wheelchaired up and down the halls while Craig attended to two other old ladies. It was as much for exercise as to try to get to know my new “home.” I never did find the kitchen to try to talk to the manager about my menu in person. I finished the hour myself with only brief instructions from him, mostly about trying to walk while supporting myself on a pair of parallel bars. After I got back to the room within an hour I was very sore and finally got my percocet, being careful to put off the morphine by about an hour to avoid what happened Friday.
My 4:15PM sugar was 113! The dinner fries were stone cold again and no tea-just juice. I wrote a note to the kitchen manager in GIANT letters on a legal sized sheet and expressed my frustration about being a diabetic and not getting anything to drink, especially the tea that I’ve pleasurably gotten used to. I spent the night watching an NCIS marathon on USA Network.
Around 1AM my leg started cramping and my hunk came in and massaged it. That kind and caring grin of his is going to be the death of me.
Wednesday June 3rd 2009
The night nurse with the random 3-6AM attacks was back again last night, with the hunk running interference. At least I woke up with my shorts on this morning. I’m still losing a lot of potassium from the near-continuous pissing from Lasix doses, but I’m losing the surgery fluids too and the water weight that goes with it. I’m beginning to hate sleeping under the covers because the velcro on the leg brace sticks to them and gets tangled.
Today is escape day. I plan to start off for home around 9AM by cab, get my car, see Dr. D-heart and then Dr. Mind, and then drive back to “the home.” I lied and said I was meeting a friend so I’d have the whole day to myself to try to get my head together and as an excuse to visit Mischief at home because I miss her so much.
I took a good shower this morning until I tried to get up from the bench and nearly slid off of it. I hurt my leg trying to stop myself before I got hold of the safety rail. No more showering solo until I’m sure I won’t kill myself in the process. I tried to stand up in there enough to get to my walker and slipped, stopping myself with my good leg this time. I wish I could shower with the leg brace. I called an aide to follow me the few steps back to my room in case I slipped.
I so fucking hate being this helpless.
I wore my denim cut-offs and a black t-shirt and wheeled myself down to the front doors after calling the cab. By 9:30 he still hadn’t arrived and I called to find out what was keeping him from the reception desk. That’s when I realized I couldn’t find my house and car keys. I wheeled myself down to my room and couldn’t find them anywhere, only to discover them beneath my wallet in the pocket of the cut-off jeans I was wearing. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Just as I got back to the front doors, the cab pulled up and to my amazement without even coming to a full stop, he took off again! The sweet receptionist who was watching actually stood up and exclaimed, “What the hell?” and called the cab company to tell them what just happened. They said he thought he was in the wrong place and left, but he’d be back. The trip into downtown to my place cost me $41!
It was a fight just to get myself up the handicap ramp with my walker and I made it by more determination than strength. By the time I got in the apartment I was exhausted. After snuggling Mischief and nearly falling a couple of times, I knew there was no way to get back down to the car, much less drive with my leg in the condition it was in. I called and rescheduled Dr. D-heart and asked Dr. Mind’s receptionist to ask her if we could have a phone session from here and told her I’d be here most of the afternoon.
My San Diego friend/business partner Brock e-mailed me from New Orleans. God the money we used to make together and the fun we had picking up sailors and marines on the beaches of the west coast. He’s almost in as bad a shape financially as I am now. After we sold the business to a studio in L.A. he moved to New Orleans to be with his family and all his hundreds of thousands of dollars went toward rebuilding their homes and trying to put their lives back together while sacrificing his own security. Hearing from him almost brought me to tears thinking of the many friends I miss so much that were scattered to the four winds in California when we closed down.
Now I just feel empty and alone. I’d just gotten my life together and was a success when all this happened. It’s like God wanted me to taste the good life, get addicted to the money and friends, and then laughed as he slowly and torturously swept it all away. I have to keep reminding myself that there is no God, just fate and circumstances. Sometimes I feel my mind going back to the fucked-up state it was in when I was in my twenties. I fought so hard to tear myself away from that and now I’m sliding back into the frustrations, the inner anger and the paranoia.
…and to think that at one time in my life I wanted to become a Presbyterian minister.
No other e-mails were worth mentioning; none from Mom, my brother or sister-not that I expected any. My sister Betsy calls me nearly every day, as does my Aunt Margaret. Blogcritics Magazine published my DVD review of Dynasty’s fourth season, and gratefully didn’t notice that I published it myself out of necessity on my own site a few hours before they did because I had to leave for the hospital.
One smile-the electric bill was $10.70 again. Despite instructions from the city auditor, I wonder how long I can get away with that? At least while it lasts I’ve got an extra $90 or so to play with. I found a 45-day lease notice that my rent thankfully isn’t going up next term… my god, my 23rd lease in one place. I'm sort of trapped here in my penthouse, not able to afford to move because I can’t raise the money to hire movers, and the first, last month’s rent and security deposit somewhere else… unless I moved into my car under some bridge.
I know I’ll never be able to take care of myself in this condition. I’m unable to stand for more than a minute without pain to cook at the stove or do dishes. Everything will have to come out of the toaster oven or microwave, and there’s no way to carry hot food with both hands operating the walker, plus drinks will spill all over the place if I try to carry them so pop cans will have to substitute, getting shaken up in the process. I experimented around and at least I’ll be able to get on and off the toilet with the sink and tub on either side to brace myself. Driving is going to be a necessity, but how I don’t know, I’ve got a back log of regular prescriptions that I’m glad I hoarded up now, but I’ll still need the pain meds and fucking GB won’t pay for a cab to get them.
It has also occurred to me that I can't drive while stoned on percocet, so how do I get supplies or make heart or shrink appointments?
It’s fucked up that I’ve pushed away nearly every friend I have over five years except Teresa, and she’s working three jobs just to survive. I’ve seen the folly of locking myself away in my apartment for over four years too, because I don’t know any of my neighbors enough to ask for help shopping etc. Dr. Nick down the hall always seems to be away on vacation somewhere and poor Vicki is now in a walker herself. It all seems so goddamned hopeless.
Poor Mischief must have been crying for me for the last two weeks, because her pitiful meow sounds hoarse. She is constantly rubbing against me and crying and I have to be careful where I aim the walker for fear of hitting her with it. It’s going to break my heart to leave today without taking her with me… hers too probably.
Dr. Mind called and I told her the recent events. Was also pissed that she’s treating me for free, and may be paying for my treatments out of her own pocket. She said not to worry and that she’s on salary at OSU regardless. I’m not buying it, because I’ve seen the bills they’re sending me now that GB won’t pay her.
I cooked a couple of frozen breaded chicken breast portions in the toaster oven for lunch. The fridge smells like rotted meat because I forgot to clean it out before I left and there’s a loose deli package of sandwich roast beef in there, and some tomatoes and lettuce. I’d clean them out, but I’d never make it to the dumpster. Saint Teresa took out all of my trash-god love her and cleaned the living room and den. I’m not going to be able to carry groceries or push them in my rolling cart from the car to the apartment.
A feeling of impending doom is setting in.
I grabbed one of my 12-packs of Diet Dr. Pepper and my talking clock and then reluctantly called a cab. I waited down in the lobby for it to come before giving up after forty-five minutes. It was a struggle to get back to my apartment just to call them and find they had no idea what happened to him, and they said they’d send another in five minutes, which they did. The trip back cost another $40 so this little adventure of mine ran $80 that I probably don’t have to spare.
I got back here around 4:30 tired, but glad I saw home and my beloved cat, regardless of how brief the visit was. 5 o’clock dinner came at 6:25 and was luke warm as usual complete with melted strawberry sherbet. At least they’re sending the tea again, but I’m beginning to hate this pretty place… well most of it.
Thursday June 4th 2009
Some girl walked in just as I was getting ready to eat breakfast early this morning and asked if I had a bowel movement, (talk about timing) and then wanted to know if it was large, medium or small. Sheesh. My warm diabetic breakfast consisted of hot tea, a bowl of oatmeal, and a biscuit covered with sausage gravy. No surprise that my noon blood sugar was 212. Lunch was no better or warmer and consisted of a warm hot turkey sandwich, sugar beets, mashed and gravy and (are you ready for this?) cherry cake. My blood sugar, despite insulin injections was around 328!
Again, I asked for my gym percocet at 2PM and again at 2:30 and didn’t get it until she showed up at therapy at 3:20... again. I spent a lot of time using the walker going up and down the halls with a wheelchair aide in tow. Craig spent a lot of time gushing over what wonderful progress I’m making and how proud he is of me, spouting enthusiastic “Good job!” like a dog trainer to a reluctant Chihuahua on one of those Animal Planet shows. I think I pulled my right shoulder muscle, as it was really sore when I got back to the room. One of the aides finally located the t-shirts and shorts I’d sent to the laundry last Sunday. I’m going to attempt a shower later this evening and it’ll be nice to have clean clothes to go with it. I got some replacement leg stockings that prevent blood clots to swap for the ones I’ve been wearing for about two weeks.
I used my debit card and paid my electric and phone bill by phone. I’ve been keeping a careful checkbook since I got here since I can’t go on line for transactions. I call the bank every day to check the balance since I had to fill out a paper slip for the cabs, which means my account number is out there with two different cab drivers.
Even after the morphine, my shoulder still hurts. I’m really drowsy and at 8:30 I’m going to turn in for the night.
Friday June 5th 2009
I woke up around 2AM with another painful leg cramp and the hunk massaged it out again, (I’d use his name but…). The nurse came in and said I’m probably not getting enough potassium again. Great; I hate those huge pills. Anyway I decided to take the shower I’d planned for yesterday evening and could barely move and between my shoulder and my knee I was in near-agony. He gently helped me get the brace off my leg and then undressed me, then guided me to the shower.
He suggested an extra towel on the bench would make it less slippery and he was right.
I was so stiff I couldn’t reach below my right knee and my whole leg hurt like hell, so he stayed in there without being asked and helped me wash. His shirt was getting wet, so he took it off and I nearly fainted. He washed my legs and back, and while I did the rest, he massaged my sore right shoulder and then watched me while sitting on the toilet seat. It was a fight just to keep my eyes off of him. Somehow I don’t think he’d let me thank him the way I wanted to thank him, but I came close several times to offering…
When I was done, he lifted me up off the seat long enough to put the towel on the floor over the drain so I wouldn’t slip and then helped me stand; he dried me off completely without my asking him to. Then he helped me to my bed and got those damned tight stockings back on and then the leg brace, all while still shirtless. While he did the upper straps of the brace near my crotch, I got hard. I turned beet red and was so embarrassed, but he smiled it off and said it happens all the time as he helped me with my shorts. My heart did one hell of a lot of pumping for a good cardio workout and it took me an hour to fall to sleep after he gently tucked me in.
It’s sad that I’m probably reading more into it than is really there out of loneliness and he probably does the exact same thing for a dozen of the old men in this place every night.
I woke up this morning and noticed a lump in my abdomen from where someone injected Lovenox probably too high on my stomach. I pointed it out to the nurse and she agreed with me. I got my roommate’s fucking breakfast again, which worries me to no end that I might be getting his medications by mistake too. Breakfast was only luke warm too and God I’m getting tired of oatmeal, or its evil twin cream-o-wheat.
I talked to Teresa this morning and told her of my sneaking off home Wednesday. I got a strange message on my answering machine from Allstate that turned out to be their ultimate computer warning I hadn’t made my payment, though I had.
At 1PM my clock went off saying “One o’clock PM” in a woman’s voice and startled the hell out of a tech standing next to it, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. We both laughed.
They moved the annoying oldster in the adjoining room to the long-term care wing, so for now I have the place to myself. At least I no longer have to worry about getting his pills or meals. I perked up after that and was cheerful. I even got my percocet on time for it to take effect before I went down for physical rehab. On the way there in the wheelchair, I met up with the maintenance man and he said he’d move my clock for me and fix the light in the shower, which has burned out already. Things are going well today and when things go well it means a disaster is coming to spoil it, but I won’t let that dampen my spirits. Maybe the psychic energy that I’m putting out is effecting events-who knows-I don’t know any other logical explanation for the repeated things that befall me.
Anyway, I was energetic enough to do wheelchair laps around the therapy desk/nurse’s station area. Craig had me stepping up and down stairs today, which scared the hell out of me because my leg hardly bends. I’ve got to admit he knows his job and was very patient. Despite the pain meds, I still feel a twinge in my right shoulder, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday. I asked Craig about it and he told me I’m probably trying too hard and to take it easier.
When I got back from therapy, the wall clock was where I can see it now and the light works in the shower. I sent an aide to find him with my thanks. If it keeps up like this, I may have to force myself to smile and I don’t think I’m ready for any signs of the apocalypse just yet.
Some workman came in carrying something metal in his hand, frowned at my bed and remarked that he’d brought the wrong piece for an electric bed. It turns out he was here to fix my ex-roomie’s bed, so he wandered over next door only to discover there was nothing wrong with it. No surprise
The lump on my stomach above and to the right of my belly button is now a bruise. I showed it to the nurse earlier and she said someone injected my Lovenox in the wrong place and it’d go down eventually. I’m having less and less confidence in this place by the day.
Dinner came at 6:15 and was a foul looking piece of fish that I chanced one bite of and rejected it. I ordered a Domino’s pizza rather than risk another peanut butter and jelly sandwich and wouldn’t you know it, they sent the pizza on the wrong crust. My God, after you’ve avoided salt for as long as I have, you can taste it really strong when you get something with a moderate amount in it, and the pizza tasted like it was coated with it… wow. It was good anyway.
Saturday June 6th 2009
Good Grief! I slept from 9PM last night until 7AM this morning. I don’t think it was depression as much as exhaustion. My mouth was bone dry again this morning and the strange thing where I wake up with both my pinky fingers numb and tingling hit me again. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s one of the drugs or something with my spinal cord that’d affect both fingers at once. It usually subsides after about an hour, but it seems to happen more regularly now.
For some reason I keep getting this urge to draw mazes and have completely covered several legal-sized pieces of paper. Maybe my desire to create is coming through? I’ve experimented and still can’t draw a ball that looks like a ball, which is depressing in and of itself considering the art I used to crank out without even trying hard.
There seems to be no aspect of my life that God isn’t willing to take away from me in order to make me more miserable than I was yesterday.
My blood sugar was 251 this morning. I’m getting really bored with these daily bowls of oatmeal every morning. While wondering what I could’ve smuggled in to substitute for what they feed me, a fun memory came over me. I was declared an emancipated minor when I was 16 and lived in a motel room near school until I graduated. I figured out a way to cook in my room to save money without actually getting evicted for having a hot plate or something. I’d buy canned ravioli and stuff, strip off the labels and then leave one sitting in the bathroom sink full of hot water. When it was heated up enough, I’d eat it right out of the can. It’s funny the things that occur to you out of the blue at the oddest times.
Now today’s lunch was interesting. When I used to travel around the country on business I’d judge a restaurant by its chili, so when that’s what they served me today I was really skeptical, but to my shock and amazement it was really good. Now if only it’d been more than luke warm I’d be singing its praises to heaven. I even asked… and got 2nds! I could tell it was first-day by the taste of the tomatoes and was really tempted to ask if they’d save some overnight for tomorrow’s lunch, by which time (chili is always best on the second day) it’d have been magnificent, but I didn’t want to press my luck.
My blood sugar seems to dip after the gym, so I’m keeping that in mind and doing quasi-isometric exercises with my legs in bed. The lady weekend therapist was early, but I gave her my all. She had me on an odd leg push-hand pull machine that she was amazed I could figure out before she’d shown it to me. With the gym downstairs from my penthouse and my experience from when I used to be a hunk, it was relatively easy to figure out. She asked for 10 minutes on it and I gave her 20, just to show her I wanted to progress as much as she wanted me to.
Along about dinnertime, I started feeling a twinge in my shoulder again. I think I definitely pulled a muscle last Thursday or Friday. The machine I was on works both your arms and your legs and I had her retract the hand grips so I was only using my legs.
Maybe a hot shower will cure it later.
They served something I couldn’t identify tonight for dinner, which was later identified as Chicken Cordon Bleu, it was mostly breading and cheese, but it was good. I skipped everything else and the desert, because there wasn’t a thing on the plate that I dare eat that wasn’t loaded with either sugar or salt. So what did I do? I ordered a pizza again.
Now at first blush, that may sound silly, but in days to come I discovered that my blood sugar was lower after a Domino’s pizza than after one of their dinners!?! Now if that doesn’t say something I don’t know what does. I sent another note to the cook, and I know of at least two nurses, several aides and even Craig himself who’ve promised me that they’ve mentioned it to whoever is in charge there, but to no avail, so I’m giving up. I shudder to think how many insulin unit doses above what I usually get, that have been given to me here. At least Domino’s got the pizza right this time but at $20 a shot, I can’t afford this forever by any means.
What with only a thin sheet between the plastic-covered bed mattress and me; is it any wonder I’m developing sores in my ass? I’ve requested baby powder several times over the past week, but always the aide or nurse nods and goes after it, then they either come back empty handed with a puzzled look on their faces, or not at all. If I ever get an explanation for why they can’t give people baby powder, (it’s probably some ridiculous legal stipulation) it should be either preposterous or at best interesting. With what I’ve discovered in the last seven days, I’ll probably have to pay for it.
I took a very long shower this evening and it felt sooooooooooo good. I’m kind of leery about taking another one with the hunk for fear of getting hard again or insinuating what I’d really like to do to him. I made it all the way to the shower without help, but the brace was a bitch to get off by myself and my leg hurts because of it, so I had an aide help me put it back on. I still can’t reach my left foot, and my leg won’t bend sideways to put it up on my right knee so I can reach it that way either. I hate feeling so helpless.
I keep getting more and more pills. Tonight new ones were added that were large, round, and orange. They turned out to be a different kind of potassium supplement that’s easier to swallow; I’ll say!
I stayed awake until 1:30 watching TV. I can’t sleep tonight for some reason.
Sunday June 7th 2009
I skipped the cream-o-wheat this morning; does this moron dietician understand carbs??? As if breakfast was bad enough, lunch included a temptation nearly as strong as the night hunk tech… a large slice of chocolate cream pie, which I tried to hide under the plate cover so I wouldn’t have to look at it, but couldn’t hold out DAMN IT and ate it anyway. It was so damned good (sniff).
I spent the entire day watching Tiger Woods win the memorial in spectacular fashion. We’re so close to the course in Dublin that I can hear the blimp buzzing around.
Dinner was this fucking horrible 2” diameter mound of tuna noodle casserole on a plate. It was so dry that it actually stayed that shape, though being nearly cold probably congealed it. It was also obviously made from tuna in water-which I can’t stand the taste of. I also got a ton of peas and carrots and peach halves for desert. I know I shouldn’t and money is tight, but I ordered another $20 pizza. I know I’ll pay later for my financial stupidity now, but at this point I’m past caring.
It scares me that sometimes I actually make decisions based on the assumption that I won’t be on this planet much longer.
The cable service kept going out while trying to watch “Gone in 60 Seconds” for just a glimpse of the “Eleanor Mustang” and the other cars, and I eventually gave up and went to sleep about 8:30 PM.
Monday June 8th 2009
I still have no idea when I’m going home. I’m under the impression that GB won’t pay for me past tomorrow, but now they’re making sounds like I might actually be here until Thursday? I really don’t know if I want to go home, or if I can’t wait to go home. For one thing, I have no idea what my limitations are with my leg and could do some real damage to it without professional advice. What GB is doing should be criminal.
I’m exhausted this morning as I was pissing almost constantly last night and didn’t get much sleep. I better be losing tons of water weight. I woke up with a really sore right shoulder and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s just a pulled muscle or something more ominous.
The usual Oatmeal and a cold cheap waffle came for breakfast.
I’m getting concerned about this sudden obsession with drawing mazes, as if I’m trying really hard to occupy my mind with them instead of how miserable I feel. I guess it’s better than sleeping all day, but the need for sleep seems to be more physical than mental. At 12:30 two lunch women came in and offered me a choice of entrées, and I chose Salisbury steak, which came only 15 minutes later… and it was hot! But then again, so was the vanilla ice cream. If it weren’t for the rubber pencil eraser mushrooms that it was covered with and the obvious carbs from the mashed potatoes, I’d even say it was excellent. I asked if the meal choice was something new and they said yes, so things are looking up. (I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s the one and only time that I was ever given a choice for some mysterious reason… they probably were trying to get rid of some leftovers from last night’s dining room dinners.) Another fly in the ointment was that no hot tea came with it, and when I asked, they said they were out of it… alas.
Now come on-you have to see this one coming… The girl that came to get the lunch tray told me they were out of iced tea-not hot tea and offered to get me some. I declined.
Dr. Mind called me and for some reason I couldn’t remember anything before this morning at that moment, which worries me, so our conversation was very brief. It was good to hear her friendly, caring and reassuring voice though. The memory loss for events only hours ago is really beginning to wear on me.
An issue of trust came up today that I’ve never had a problem with the medical staff before. I called for my percocet at 1 this afternoon, so I could take it at 2PM for the gym session at 3. An old cranky nurse I’d never seen before brought it and wouldn’t let me have it unless I took it in front of her an hour early. The others let me have it to take later in order to time its effects for my therapy session. I humored her and hoped for the best.
Therapy today involved making sure I could take my leg brace off and put it on by myself, some more work on the machines and the stairs again. Craig has no idea if I’m going home tomorrow or Wednesday either.
Well, it was finally explained why my butt’s been suffering without baby powder; the law office apparently thinks I might use too much of it, it could get on the floor, and I might slip and fall on it. The reason some techs give me shaving razors and others don’t is because somehow they think I’m still on Coumadin and if I nick myself, their corporate lawyers think I might bleed to death. (sigh)
I sat and anticipated a choice for dinner, but it wasn’t offered. At 6:30 the 5PM meal arrived with a sandwich of McRib style meat on a bun, soggy undercooked and cold fries, a salty dill pickle spear, cooked carrots and a bowl of applesauce.
I ate the meat off the sandwich and left everything else. I told the nurse about it and he assured me that he’s told the kitchen repeatedly that I’m a diabetic. He brought me an egg salad sandwich and two shortbread cookies as a substitute-good God.
A lady came in this evening with a big tan shorthaired dog and wanted to know if I wanted a visit. I consented and the dog proceeded to enthusiastically sniff everything in the room vigorously… while completely ignoring me. When she tried to urge him toward me, he suddenly clambered onto the bed, just missing my leg. Needless to say it was a short visit.
I can’t seem to remember when it was, as I don’t seem to have written it down, but last Thursday or Friday I was given a 2nd tuberculosis test. This evening the nurse showed up and gave me a third one; despite my telling him I was probably going home tomorrow. It turns out that they have to read the results within 24-48 hours of injecting it and everyone kept forgetting to. I was assured that I wouldn’t get it from the repeated injections over such a short period of time, but I was skeptical.
TDW all over again, but at least they haven’t put me in the hospital, though they have a day or two yet.
Tuesday June 9th 2009
I woke up from a nightmare last night and almost instantly my hunk appeared without my so much as touching the call button. Probably because I woke up screaming. He got me to talk about it while he massaged my sore shoulder and brought me some ice water. His girlfriend came in and wanted to know if I needed some pain meds, and sort of ruined the mood. No one here has shown me more than the absolute minimum of concern except him, and I’m glad I’m going home before I start falling in love. She told me I’d be going home on Thursday by the way, and I asked her to note that I’d like to go in the afternoon if possible.
After she left, he seemed to be sad I was going… so was I. He asked if I wanted to do another late-night shower and I fought every urge in me to say yes, and said I’d like to wait until tomorrow night before I leave. He said to just call and he’d be there. He also said something about the therapy staff wanting to make sure I was safe standing in the shower without slipping or falling.
This morning’s breakfast contained a good cheese omelet, cold toast and the obligatory oatmeal and hot tea. I ate everything but the oatmeal. They’ll probably put me on a diabetic meal plan tomorrow and my last meals here will be bland.
I asked a tech for another one of their “welcome” books that contain a section to keep a diary, as I’ve nearly filled this one up with notes, and also another legal pad. It comes in a cellophane bag with rainbow strips of cloth tying it at the top. I braided them with the others I’d gotten into a bookmark.
At 11AM some lady came to try to take me to physical therapy and I told her I wouldn’t go until 3 because I hadn’t taken my pain meds yet. Apparently Craig’s is going to be in staff meetings all day. She confirmed that I’m leaving Thursday afternoon.
Lunch was Swiss steak, mashed, gravy and apricots. I found little comfort when the girl told me the fruit bowls are all in their own juices instead of heavy syrup.
Around 2:30 another woman showed up with a giant black poodle, and it was a much nicer dog. If he didn’t slobber all over me I’d say it was a nice visit, and I rather enjoyed it. I’m glad I’ll be going home to Mischief soon, I miss her so much. I thank god every day for Teresa sticking by me and taking care of my beloved cat.
This must seem so boring to you, but when you’re confined to your bed and can hardly move, the smallest and most trivial things become events.
Just before I went to the gym I asked a tech if she could change my bed linens, as they didn’t yesterday. She said she would. The lady at the gym kept wandering off on me to help this or that oldster, so I was pretty much on my own. I used the walker to haunt the halls and out of curiosity I checked out the menus on the dinning room tables and they don’t have much of a choice either, which makes me think the menus are more decoration than anything else.
I’m really becoming convinced that all the pain meds they’re giving me are inferior generics, because my right shoulder really began to hurt-even more than my stiff knee. My right leg has been taking a beating too because it’s bearing the brunt of most of my weight while my left leg heals.
Every time I went back to the gym during the hour-long session, the lady ignored me and I got pissed and went to my room about half an hour early. I discovered the bed was made, or so I thought until I discovered that someone had merely pulled the comforter up, lowered the bed flat and left. Pulling back the bedspread, I discovered the blanket and sheet were actually crumpled beneath it… un-fuckin-believable.
I went into a sort of blue funk, pissed because therapy didn’t go well and upset that I know I need six weeks of physical therapy and GB will only pay for two. I lifted my right arm and my shoulder was near my ear and I heard an alarming grinding sound. I rested my hand on it and moved it and could feel it-and got really upset that it feels the same as when my ankle collapsed. Wanting to cry, I began wondering if this ordeal will ever end, or if god is still testing to see how much I can endure before I finally give up and kill myself to end this suffering.
I closed the window blinds and sat in the dark as sadness and hopelessness overwhelmed me. I rang for the nurse and a tech said she’d get her. She didn’t show up for a while, so I made a pitcher of Welch’s and watched TV.
When the nurse finally arrived it was the cranky bitch. She practically ignored me when I explained what was wrong and proceeded to test my blood sugar instead, just like the night I wound up in the hospital over at TDW. When I insisted that she feel or listen to my shoulder, she informed me that her nurse training didn’t involve listening to joints and I’d have to wait for a doctor to see me, which probably wasn’t until next week. She ignored me when I said I was leaving tomorrow.
She pointed out my surgery scar from the quadruple break last August, and insisted my pain was probably from that, as if she were more concerned with laying blame anywhere but here.
I got more and more depressed after that, and also anger began building up in me. With my ankle and now possibly my shoulder, I could wind up a cripple in pain for the rest of my life. I asked if Administrator Amy could come see me and she appeared within minutes. I told her about the nurse refusing to examine my shoulder and how I’d mentioned it to Craig last Thursday or Friday and she felt it and said she’d have a doctor here in about five minutes and left. She said I wouldn’t be charged for the extra day tomorrow and sort of set my mind at ease… this was at 4:30PM
I asked for some pain meds that never came. Miss Crabby eventually showed up making an effort to be cheerful and failed miserably. She said the doctor had left for the day, and was surprised he didn’t stop by… I wasn’t.
I got a new roommate with a family of about 10, who insisted on conversing right outside of my curtain instead of in their room. I eventually raised the blinds and turned on the TV to drown out their voices.
Craig surprised me by showing up around 7PM and insisted I go down to the gym with him, apologizing profusely for the other woman ignoring me. I refused, and explained the earlier events. Dinner came and was a strange concoction called Mexican lasagna, which contained refried beans, lots of chili powder and was topped with black olives… yuk. After surveying my dinner tray, he was really mad because he’d told the kitchen help several times about my being a diabetic. He also said he’d confirmed to Amy that I’d mentioned the sore shoulder to him last Friday. When I still wouldn’t go with him, he left. He’s really a nice man; he’s just a nuisance sometimes.
Around 10 my shower stuff arrived with extra towels and disposable razors. I’m tempted to shower now, rather than risk getting overly horny with the hunk tonight. His girlfriend came by and said to be sure I showered tonight, so I was sure I could safely stand and get in and out of the tub on my own once I got home.
An assistant of the visiting MD showed up around 10 and examined me. His preliminary diagnosis was arthritis. Great.
I went to sleep depressed and wondering why I kept fighting to endure.
Stopped eating deserts and oatmeal and sugars dropped to mid 150s, I apparently go home Thursday instead of today.
Wednesday June 10th 2009
I’m still reeling from last night. The hunk came in around 2AM and wanted to know if I wanted to shower with him… his words. We got me undressed and into the shower and he shocked the living hell out of me by stripping all the way down to a skimpy white Speedo and got into the little shower with me. I couldn’t help it, that lithe frame, the muscles that seemed to be vacuum-sealed to his body through thin skin got to me and I got hard. On top of that, once the water was turned on, that thin white fabric turned nearly transparent and left nothing to the imagination, and that fucker was hung like the proverbial horse!
He smiled after noticing I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and I told him I was gay. He told me he knew already by the rainbow keychain in my open briefcase. He didn’t mind and just as we were getting started with the shampoo, his girlfriend came in unannounced and reminded him I had to stand sit and wash on my own. It was a fight to hide my erection, and she only smiled as if she knew.
In the tight confines of the little shower, I stood up carefully while he held on to me and then sat back down again. I told him I have a bench to sit on in my apartment and we proceeded to wash every part of me. It was insanely difficult not to explore his beautiful physique with my hands, and he seemed to not be uncomfortable at all with my roving eyes. In fact a few minutes into it, he told me he took it as a compliment.
It wasn’t easy, but I got through standing and sitting back down without slipping to show him I could, but it hurt like hell and my leg is still really stiff. Without hesitation, whenever I seemed on the verge of slipping he’d offer a strong steady hand.
After we were done, to my amazement as I carefully exited the shower, he peeled off his wet speedo right in front of me, with only a wicked smile as if he were enjoying my discomfort. Naked, he dried me off and then I returned the favor by drying his back, allowing my hands to wander down to just above one of the most beautiful asses I’d ever laid eyes on. He put on his tight white jeans and then escorted me back to my bed while still shirtless. While he helped me with the tight anti-clot stockings and my leg brace, our eyes kept meeting, and I gave up and told him how attractive he was and how lucky his girlfriend was.
His only reaction was a grin and we got into a conversation about carbs, protein shakes, diets, muscle building and gyms. I warned him not to become a slave to his body, because the moment he stopped, it’d all turn to flab, and I was living proof.
I told him I’d miss him a lot and he gave me a hug that sent me into heaven. Then he was gone. God, the money he could make in San Diego or San Francisco……
…First thing in the morning, a girl showed up with a portable x-ray machine. The space between the bed, the window and the shelving unit was so confined, that she couldn’t maneuver it anywhere near me and eventually gave up and took two films from the foot of the bed. As she attempted to leave, she bumped into my carafe of grape juice and spilled it all over the bed and me.
I absolutely hate it when someone starts apologizing and won’t stop. Yes she was clumsy, but she didn’t do it intentionally and despite my reminding her of that fact several times, she kept right on genuflecting.
Breakfast was sausage gravy over a biscuit and of course oatmeal. Lunch featured a huge sweet potato covered with cinnamon and pear halves. The promised doctor never did show up to examine my shoulder, leaving it to his assistant from last night instead. Though I kept asking, by mid afternoon, I still couldn’t get anyone to tell me the x-ray results.
Around 2 I was told I wouldn’t have physical therapy today, and at the same time the pretty black nurse said the x-rays said there was nothing wrong with my shoulder??? I asked her to feel it and she was surprised and said she’d recommend a cat scan or something similar. It turns out that Dr. B-M.D. never showed up yesterday. A woman named Mary Beth showed up to apologetically tell me that they were having lengthy trouble arranging transportation home tomorrow because the woman at GB was being uncooperative about paying for it, and that it took Amy to call her personally before it was authorized!
They weighed me today and I’m down to 225. Dinner tonight could’ve been leftover lunch for all I knew, and consisted of vegetable beef soup, potato salad, bean salad… and an egg salad sandwich! More pears came with it that I suspect were diced from yesterday’s meal. I ate part of the soup and didn’t dare touch anything else and ordered a pizza… at least that was hot.
Thursday June 11th 2009
The leg brace keeps slipping down toward my ankle, which means the metal joint supports for my knee usually end up near my upper calf. Woke up to the usual oatmeal breakfast and skipped it as usual. Spent the morning drawing another maze as opposed to laying in a mental coma wondering what would happen next. My shoulder still bothers me, even with morphine and percocet pill. I wasted time thinking about how my Pittsburgh sister, mother and brother all had fits at me about not telling them when I was in the hospital for my heart operation, so I told all of them when I was going in for this surgery and not one of the hypocrites ever called me once through this whole ordeal. I even e-mailed them that I was only allowed two emergency contacts-Betsy and Teresa, and told them all they had to do was call my home and my answering machine would have the private number at the hospital and “the home”.
The ambulance guy came to take me home, and there was an immediate fight about not being allowed to take the walker! GB wouldn’t pay for it-this is getting fucking ridiculous. While that was being argued over, I realized that Dr. B-Mwas sitting at the nurse desk-NOW he shows up! He wrote me out a prescription for my walker and told me I could get it filled at any pharmacy, to which I queried “How do I get to a pharmacy to get it without a walker?”
They finally relented and allowed me to take the walker home on loan, while they ordered another walker for me. I’ll probably be billed for it. Half an hour later, as we were about to leave, Dr. B M.D. gives me prescriptions for my painkillers using drug names I didn’t recognize-I was right, they were using less powerful generics. If we’d left when we were supposed to, I’d never have gotten them. I told them about “prior authorization” problems and asked them to call it in for me, but they refused.
I was so disgusted I just wanted out of there.
We got here home-sweet-home and he was nice enough to wheel me up to my penthouse door… only to tell me that no arrangements had been made to return the wheelchair! I was in so much knee pain by then I brushed off his objections and closed the door on him after telling him to drop it off on his next trip there. No way I can afford shipping to return them their own wheelchair!
So far I haven’t been in the bedroom, livingroom or the kitchen, I just plopped down in disgust at my desk, loved the cat with lots of ear scratching and purring, and began typing out this diary from notes I took. Dr. Mind called and I covered the whole thing over the phone. She thinks I have a real case to sue GB for emotional damages and permanent disability.
Right now, I’m just too physically and mentally weary to do anything and collapsed on my bed around 7:30.
Friday June 12th 2009
Spent the morning working on fleshing out my notes from the hospital stay. Mischief is all over me and won’t leave me alone, which is great, but mildly annoying when she hops up on the desk and sits between the monitor screen and me. She’s also learned to intentionally sit on the note pad that I’m trying to type from.
No usable snack food, but a few frozen dinners and no ice. The fridge smells like spoiled meat and I’ll have to figure out some way to clean it before I can bring perishables and ice in.
A couple of stray thoughts hit me this afternoon.
In 1912 in the wake of the Titanic disaster, the bandleader was so beloved that when his body was recovered, well wishes and gifts arrived from all over the world for his family’s funeral for him… except from the White Star Line-his employer. They sent his loved ones a bill for his two uniforms that were lost at sea. That’s how heartless I’m beginning to view GB; they could care less about people and what they do to them; they just care about money.
The other was god-fearing people must really fight with themselves. Knowing how powerful the devil is here on earth, it’s a wonder more of them don’t kill themselves in order to assure that they get to heaven before Satin ruins their chances.
Saturday June 13th 2009
I went over my budget on the computer and it looks like I’m going to have a problem with next month’s rent, even if GB sends me the check next week. I’m going to have to cut my meals down to one a day, and possibly eat everything in the house that’s been here for a while like dry noodle mixes and cans of tuna and chicken. That’ll mean having to figure out a way to stand over the stove while they cook.
The brace is just too much to bear in bed, I keep tossing and turning and the damned metal parts hurt like hell when they hit other parts of my legs, so I’m going to stop wearing it at night. Also the Velcro keeps sticking to the blankets.
Mischief is all over me lately, which I love for a change. She’s taken to laying on the desk to my right and resting her chin on my mouse hand when I’m working on the computer.
I spent most of the rest of the day transcribing these notes.
Sunday June 14th 2009
I went on-line at Wal-Mart pharmacy to order refills only to discover that rehab called them in, but with no fills or refills on my prescriptions??? Not only that, they ordered the wrong kind of insulin again. I called the pharmacy and they said my stuff was already waiting for me, which despite my request, they filled before I could figure out a way to get there. What kind of doctor orders prescriptions without refills? One paid by GB-you need look no further than the prescriptions for my cymbalta.
Teresa didn’t answer the phone. It’s going to be impossible to carry any groceries and operate the damned walker, and so I decided to buy a bunch of pop on sale, load up the mini cart with enough weight so that it wouldn't slip out from under me, and then use it to get from the car to up here. Trouble was I had to carry the cart and use my walker to get down to the car in the carport.
My heart must really be getting better, as I wasn’t as tired when I got home, nor was I panting for breath after pushing the loaded cart up the handicapped ramp to the lobby. I risked half a dose of morphine to get there and back. I spent over $100 on groceries that I can cook and heat without standing in front of the stove, and another $21 on prescriptions. I got everything put away and discovered that my daily vitamins and lo-dose aspirins weren’t part of the order. Fortunately I have the stash.
Talked to Betsy for a while and transcribed some more notes and then went to sleep. Despite the pain meds, my leg still hurts like hell.
I’ve suddenly realized that as I get drowsy in the evenings, I’m not taking my evening meds, or my bed time ones; this is not good, but I’m so sleepy at the time, I don’t remember to take them.
Monday June 15th 2009
I e-mailed Lawyer K about my concerns regarding not being able to get supplies and prescriptions because I can’t afford cabs and can’t drive on Percocets; which forced me to go without painkillers every time I have to go out. I also touched on the problem of not getting any physical rehab since the 11th and not knowing what I can do without hurting something. Also, since they wouldn’t pay for that, I was positive they wouldn’t help with a visiting nurse or someone to help me clean.
I’m trying to get all of the hospital/rehab notes transcribed before Wednesday so I can take them with me to Dr. Mind.
Betsy called me to say that Aunt Margaret’s granddaughter was raped yesterday, I felt sad but I don’t know what I’ll say when she calls. Betsy’s boyfriend Norm bought her a new computer monitor and she was having trouble setting it up, so I helped her on the phone for an hour or so. Her computer is still using the parameters from her old monitor and doesn’t have the plug-and-play feature to accept a wide screen model. I tried a few things, none of which worked and when I started getting frustrated, I got off the phone rather than take it out on her.
I began working on a new banner for my diary blog, incorporating pictures of my penthouse garden, some of my collector cars and the station wagon we had when I was a kid. It’s amazing some of the photos I found last year on dad’s computer before I had it wiped clean. I even put a photo of his 1953 Indian motorcycle in it.
I spent the rest of the day basically doing nothing but typing this and sleeping. I’m beginning to worry because this is the kind of "can’t keep my drooping eyes open" kind of sleepy, instead of the desire to sleep. My right eye is still blurred and my left is starting to cloud around the perimeter. I'm going to have to make an appointment with OSU's eye clinic-just what I don't need.
Tuesday June 16th 2009
Betsy called first thing this morning to tell me that her new monitor isn’t getting signal from her computer tower, keeping me from finishing my new blog diary title banner until this afternoon. I hadn’t taken my depression drugs yet and got pissed at her when I shouldn’t have.
Knowing the problems I’ve had with Cymbalta etc in the past, I decided to get off with her before I went too far, then changed my mind and was determined to fix her problem today. Basically her computer went on strike after she turned it off last night and wouldn’t feed the new monitor with a signal today. She wanted to blame the monitor, but every time she turned it on, it showed its own start up routine, so I knew it was alright. I went over basic things like one of the cable ends coming loose, but nothing seemed to work.
After a lot of confusion with her, I finally told her to hold her F8 key down while turning the computer off and then back on. This got her into safe mode and it booted up with my help into system restore mode. I guided her through it, she remembered what I taught her from last time, and after about 15 minutes she restored the settings to about ten days ago and presto-she had a working computer again.
I left her to call her monitor’s manufacturer about putting the correct settings into her computer so everything didn’t look all stretched out.
I’m way behind on the diary, and I don’t know if I can get it all down and printed before I go to see her tomorrow. I published a lot of it this afternoon on my website.
About half an hour afterward, my walker got caught on something and I fell-fortunately I didn’t hurt anything, but the walker fell forward and part of my shelving unit tumbled contents and all between it and me. I was trapped, frustrated and angry for about half an hour until I could struggle to stand which hurt like hell. I couldn’t bend down with my stiff leg without excruciating pain so I just sat here at my computer and played chess until I calmed down and took two Percocets. After that I slept the rest of the afternoon and evening. This is going to play hell with my sleep/wake cycle.
Wednesday June 17th 2009
Lawyer K finally answered my e-mail this morning; ignoring all of the issues but one, and stated it was rare that work comp would pay for additional transport. Oh well
I went to see Dr. Mind today and completely forgot that the city has half of the exits on Rt. 315 closed, including the one to OSU’s medical center. By the time I got done cussing at myself and trying to figure out an alternate route, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the damned thing was still open and wouldn’t close until day-after-tomorrow.
By the time I got from the parking lot to her office without painkillers so that I could drive, I was out of breath and in agony. If someone had offered me poison right there and then I’d have swallowed it gladly.
I took in what I’d transcribed of the hospital/rehab adventure. It was printed on about 40 pages. I came out feeling a little better than when I went in, but only a little.
I always feel good when I drive around, so despite the pain, I cruised downtown for a while seeing what had changed in the 4 years since I stopped paying attention. Mostly a lot of closed businesses were all I noticed. When I’m in my convertible with the top down, I don’t have a handicap; I’m just the same as anyone else on the road with the exception of maybe driving a snazzier car. It's interesting that I see a lot of convertibles, but I'm the only one that puts the top down... I thought that was the point of buying one?
I got a jolt from Wal-mart when I went to pick up my vitamins and lo-dose aspirin. I used to get them for free, or a buck each and just assumed they still were that much. With my co-pays, my monthly meds usually total around $22. I found that they're charging me $4 a piece for the damned things now-which is more than the $3 co-pays for the expensive drugs I'm buying!??, and which is about a third of the total drug costs. I'll have to see if I can beat that price or just use up my hospital backlog for a while to make ends meet.
I got home, took two morphines and slept the rest of the day.
Thursday June 18th 2009
On Friday morning I couldn’t remember what happened Thursday, or for that matter anything that occurred beyond Tuesday and had to read this to see. Everyone keeps telling me that between the drugs I’m on and post surgery, it’s completely normal, but I’m still concerned.
Friday June 19th 2009
I’m beginning to get really bored having to sweat bullets over whether my next GB check is actually coming. That may seem a little irrational, but they’ve fucked me over so many times it’s understandable. I watched a bunch of episodes of Mod Squad so I could write a review of the DVD collection, typed out a little of this blog and slept most of the day.
Monday June 22nd 2009
Teresa surprised me with a nice long phone call yesterday evening and we talked about her new house, her cats and my pain problems. It was so nice of her, but I was shocked as I was convinced she slept late until having to go into her 3rd shift job. It felt so good to talk to a caring friend... and to know I still had one.
I drove out to Dublin to see Dr. D-heart today and forgot how much I hate that city. They think they’re so classy and above everyone else to the point of not allowing any business to have a street sign-even McDonald’s can’t fly their golden arches out front, so everyone has a dinky little sign that's usually hidden behind an overgrown shrub. Anyway, because of that it was damn near impossible to locate his office and I wound up being about 20 minutes late.
His billing department wouldn’t even let me see him until I signed an agreement to apply for financial assistance. I can’t pay the hundreds of dollars in co-pays and I don’t know if I ever can. God it hurts to think I used to glance at $500 expenses and just laugh them off like they were petty cash. I took him the rest of my Plavix prescription. He donates unused portions to an organization that sends them to poor villages in Africa somewhere.
He said my heart is doing great. He pressed his hands against my back and chest and squeezed, saying that my sternum is healing nicely (which reminded me that the damned thing is being held together with wire) and said he wanted to see me back in 6 months… Christmas Eve in fact.
Since I was already out, I took advantage of the sunny day and went grocery shopping up at Wal-Mart for stuff for a toaster oven or microwave. I thought I still had half a bag of dry cat food for Mischief yesterday, only to discover that Teresa had emptied her litter box into an old bag of it and that I was actually out, so shopping today wasn’t an option.
I’ve tried standing on my own without the walker and was so unsteady; I didn’t dare try it again. I’m still wearing the brace regardless of comfort during the day and only take it off to sleep or to take a shower.
I still haven’t brought myself to open my window blinds, since I didn’t plant the flower seeds that Teresa forgot take home for her new house. Even if I had, I’d never be able to haul water out to them every day. It’s so depressing not to have flowers out there, so I just shut myself away from the sunshine.
On Dr. Mind’s suggestion last week, I began publishing some of my mazes on-line and created a new web page for them today.
Monday June 29th 2009
For all the fuss, the hearing didn’t really need me at all, I think I testified 5 minutes. Lawyer K says he thinks it went well. GB is trying to claim that I talked to Dr. Mind about non-work injury problems that they don’t want to pay for, like my father’s death, my bankruptcy and nearly losing my car. They wonder why I’m not making any real progress; probably because they demand Dr. Mind’s notes on all our our sessions (since they’re paying for them) which makes it impossible to open up to her.
I called my apt building manager and got him to agree to let me use a post-dated check for next month’s rent.
